Page 75 of Devil In A Suit

“I don’t know. Heavy stuff with the governments. I can’t really talk about it.”

“What the fuck!” she screams.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s cool. He just wants to make sure I’m safe. New York is not all that safe nowadays, you know. There are kidnappers everywhere,” I add airily.

“Have you gone totally mad?”

“Look, it’s just a precaution, okay. Drop it for now, Leila. I’ll explain everything fully when we get back, okay?”

Leila takes a deep calming breath, but there’s still a hint of unease in her eyes. “Well, I get that a man can be worried about his girl, but still… a tracker?”

I nod slowly, the weight of the pendant suddenly feeling heavier against my chest. “I know it sounds crazy,” I admit, “but with everything that’s been going on, it oddly makes sense.”

There’s silence on the line, and I can see Leila trying to process everything, just like I’ve been trying to. Her skepticism fades into something warmer, a protective sort of worry. “Fine, I’ll leave it until you get back. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I will,” I promise, but the words feel thin, insubstantial.

“Are you in love with him, Lara?” she asks outright.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I admit honestly. “He confides in me. It’s... hard not to feel something when someone lets you in like that.”

Leila leans closer to the screen, her expression shifting to concern. “Girl, look out,” she warns, her tone serious but playful. “This is the man who made you sign a contract.”

“I know.”

“I guess I’m just letting it play out. He’s different than I thought. It’s not just... It’s more than that.”

Leila sighs, leaning back. “Just be careful, Lara. Guys like him...”

“I know,” I whisper, more to myself this time. I feel like someone who’s crossed a line she can’t come back from.

I end the call, and slipping my phone into my pocket I go and splash cold water on my face. It’s supposed to help, but it doesn’t. Nothing really does. The book I’ve been holding onto for hours? I haven’t even read a single sentence, not really.

I step out of the bathroom and return to my seat, and it hits me like a wave. The lights are dimmed down low, but the air is thick with tension. Ivan’s face is tight, frustration written in every hard line of his jaw as he speaks rapidly into his phone in Russian.

I’m careful not to disturb his conversation, but it’s hard not to stare. He looks... worn down. His posture rigid, his hand gripping a half-empty glass of whiskey. Whatever’s happening on the other end of that phone, it’s bad. I can feel it.

I sit quietly, refilling my glass of wine, watching him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t notice me. He’s too wrapped up in whatever storm is brewing around him. And as much as I want to reach out, to ask him what’s going on, I know better. I’m just here, on the edge of it, watching him fight battles I don’t understand.

The rest of the flight passes in a blur. Eventually, the phone calls stop, and Ivan slumps in his seat. His exhaustion is palpable in the tense set of his shoulders, and the way his fingers tap restlessly against the armrest.

Then, before I know it, we’ve landed back in New York.

Chapter Forty-Seven

LARA

The next few days merge together in a haze of routine and uncertainty.

Ivan is always busy, constantly on the phone, lost in meetings, his attention divided between the chaos unfolding around his businesses and trying to find solutions. Yet, somehow, every evening, no matter how late, he makes it home for dinner. We don’t plan it, but it’s become our unspoken ritual. Muriel sets up the table as we are having a formal dinner, with gorgeous flower arrangements, candles, good chinaware, and antique linen. We sit across from each other, often in silence, but as the meal progresses, I see the weight of the day slowly melt away from his face.

He’s different now. Tired in ways I hadn’t seen before. He wears his strength like an armor, refusing to let it crack, but I can feel the strain beneath the surface. The lines on his face have deepened. His smiles, when they come, are fleeting. Even so, he reaches for me. Every night, he slides into bed, pulling me close, like I’m his last tether to something real, something grounding.

We fall into each other then. There’s heat, always, but it’s laced with something softer, something unspoken. In those moments, I feel like we’re drifting into our own world, separate from the chaos outside. I’ve started to count the days with dread. I would have laughed if someone had told me I wouldn’t be celebrating, but dreading the day my contract ends.

When he falls asleep, his body is warm and heavy against mine. I listen to his breath, steady and deep, and then at some ungodly hour he wakes up. A phone call, the London stock exchange is opening, or a Zoom call from Shanghai. There’s always something. I start to appreciate how hard Ivan works. That he earned the right to be proud of his success. His money is not inherited. Nikolai is fun and charming and he dances very well, but he lives an idle life of luxury on his father’s dime.

During the day, while he’s out, I lose myself in Muriel’s garden. It becomes my sanctuary—my escape. Both my apple and orange have started to root and bear shoots. It’s the most beautiful thing to see. The feel of the earth between my fingers, the scent of the flowers blooming under the sun, it’s grounding. I spend hours there, letting the simple act of tending to the plants bring me a sense of calm. I hope I can infuse the same calm when Ivan comes home.

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