Page 63 of Devil In A Suit

I realize that now, more than ever. She is like a secret I’m desperate to keep. The kind you never share with anybody. Not because you’re ashamed, but because you are afraid they will try and take it away from you. I’m aware that everyone is watching and speculating. I don’t want her here—at least, not here in front of all these people. I want her back in my bed, away from this crowd of piranhas. They’ll cheerfully consume you down to your skeleton if you let them.

As we move through the room, various people approach. High-profile executives, highly placed government officials and celebrities. An internal bunch of globetrotters, but they all have one thing in common: they want something from me. Each one comes forth with charm and smiles, but every one of them is curious about Lara.

“Mr. Ivanovich, so glad to see you. And this is...?” One of them asks, raising an eyebrow, the implication hanging between us.

“This is Lara,” I say simply, ignoring the unspoken question in their gaze.

The awkward silence that follows is delicious, watching them expect something more—a title, an explanation—but I give none. Lara stays silent, her arm looped through mine, meeting their curious gazes with a polite smile.

After a few strained pleasantries, they get the message and drift off.

Then the icing on the cake, my mother floats over, her stern and regal demeanor demanding attention as always. Her eyes land on Lara immediately, but she doesn’t acknowledge her.

"Ivan, darling," she says, her voice a smooth purr. “Have I missed anything?”

I can already see the flicker of irritation in her eyes as she finally turns her gaze to Lara, assessing her for the first time.

“And whose daughter is this charming creature? I don’t believe I’ve seen her before,” she says disapprovingly.

Before I can respond, Lara laughs, the sound light. You’d think she’s been dealing with Russian snobs all her life. "You’re right, you’ve never met my parents or seen me before," she says with a smirk, causing my mother’s eyes to widen in surprise. “I’m his new girlfriend for the month. Actually, more like a lover... maybe an escort even?”

I feel a burst of amusement and glance at Lara, my lips curling into a fond smile. She’s good at this, better than I expected.

The shock on my mother’s face is priceless. For a second, she is too outraged to react. Then, her back stiffens and she turns to glare at me. “Did you bring a whore to my Gala?” she asks in a fierce whisper.

“Relax, Mother. Lara has a strange sense of humor. She’s an estate agent.”

“Sorry about that,” Lara says, her voice sounding not the least bit sorry. “I’m an estate agent. I help people find their dream homes.”

My mother’s eyebrows lift in subtle judgment. I’m not sure she’s convinced yet that Lara is an estate agent. “And how did the two of you meet?”

“He found me on social media,” she says in a bright happy voice. “Decided he had to have me.”

It’s hard to tell if my mother believes us. Her eyes dart between us, searching for some kind of confirmation that this is not some kind of joke we are playing on her, but neither Lara nor I offer her that satisfaction.

Clearly annoyed, my mother purses her lips. “For the love of God, at least mingle,” she mutters to me, before turning on her heel and walking away.

Lara leans in closer to me, her breath brushing against my ear. "I think I upset her."

I chuckle softly, glancing down at her. "You think?"

I’m starting to really like this girl. I admire the ease with which she handled my mother’s condescension. Here, under the golden glow of chandeliers and surrounded by people who only see the version of me I choose to show, she’s the only one who feels real.

“What?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked.

“Nothing. Come on, let’s find our table,” I say, putting my palm possessively on the small of her back and guiding her through the soft buss of voices talking and laughing above the muted sounds of Mussorgsky’s piano’s concerto.

The table is near the front of the ballroom, of course—where all eyes can find us easily. A prime spot reserved for people who matter. Like my sister, Natalia, and my half-brother, Nikolai.

My eyes lock with Natalia’s first. There’s no warmth in her expression, just that distant, assessing look she always wears ever since she found out that every man she meets is only after her money. She’s eight years older than me, an investment banker with a razor-sharp mind, and she is also my father’s favorite child. We used to be quite close—before the family divisions… before she put her inheritance first and sided with our father. That connection is a memory now, something fractured beyond repair. She glances at Lara briefly, her gaze unreadable, then she turns away, getting pulled into a conversation with someone else.

Before I can pull Lara away, Nikolai approaches us with his usual charismatic smile. I stretch my lips into a smile. I have no beef with my brother, but he is a notorious womanizer. That is almost exclusively what he does. And his greatest sense of achievement and victory comes when he can steal another man’s woman. “Ivan!” he exclaims. Perhaps he is genuinely pleased to see me, I can never tell. “And this must be the infamous…”

“Lara.”

“Lara,” he says, looking at her almost in awe as he rolls her name on his tongue. “What a beautiful name. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

I nearly roll my eyes. What a smarmy bastard. I’ll never understand how women can fall for such cheap tricks.

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