Page 56 of Brutal Promise

I step out, afraid the ground will move. This is surreal as flashes on cameras pop. I manage to get out of the limo, and Dmitry has his arm gently around my waist, guiding me into the sea of paparazzi.

“Smile. I thought you’d enjoy this,” he says.

“The gowns, the tuxes. Oh, my.”

I scan the horizon. Single women, men, and couples are standing and talking to reporters. I smile. I need to enjoy my five seconds of fame. Someone obtains Dmitry’s attention. We pose, pointing our toes toward each other and smiling at the photographer who snaps numerous pictures. I glance up at my fiancé and catch him smiling.

Dmitry slides his hand into mine. We wait our turn on the red carpet. My palm is sweaty, but he doesn’t seem to care. He squeezes it and gives me a reassuring smile. I smile back. I can do this. Remembering Vera’s words, I pull my shoulders back and stand taller.

Someone behind me says something, but I can’t hear it due to the commotion. How do stars do this? I’m overwhelmed by the perfume and cologne floating in the air. I glance over my shoulder and discover an event coordinator spreading the train of my gown behind me. An ephemeral breeze blows my way, and I catch a whiff of Dmitry, him, mixed with sandalwood and musk. Our eyes lock. I’m smitten with his dark, brooding eyes and sexual vibe. He looks dashing in his black tuxedo.

He leads the way, and I walk beside him. We’re next. I pray I don’t trip in my heels. When we reach the steps—and it’s a repeat of the lights from cameras and overhead ones staged to light the vicinity. I’m blinded. I blink and try not to squint.

“Smile,” Dmitry murmurs as his head dips into my neck.

The tantalizing manliness of his aura sweeps over me. He’s so intimate and comfortable with me. It’s as if we’ve been together forever. We pose once more for the camera crew.

My sleeveless dress doesn’t cover the tattoo on my arm, and I wonder if this is on purpose. The message is loud and clear:Here I am. If you come for me, my future husband will come for you tenfold.

I discreetly turn my arm to make sure the cameras capture the image of my bird tattoo. And just when I think our time on the red carpet is finished, a woman in the crowd calls Dmitry’s name.

Dmitry stops and greets the woman. I wonder if this is a liaison from his past. She asks him about the recent sale of a hotel property to another well-known international hotel chain. He plays the billionaire smoothly and explains that the deal will allow him to downsize and focus more on his family. With that, he brings my hand to his lips and kisses it.

When the reporter asks if he’s engaged, he replies, “Yes, I am. This is Isabella Lucci, my future wife.” His radiant smile makes the woman happy.

“Congratulations. How does it feel to be marrying into the Volkov family?”

“Fantastic.” I smile nervously, sticking to a one-word answer.

She moves the microphone back to Dmitry and asks another question. I can’t hear their words. The noise from people behind us leads me to believe someone famous is getting out of a limo. I’m about to turn my head, but Dmitry pulls me closer to him. As we break away from the reporters, we continue to walk the red carpet.

“Don’t look behind you. Keep moving forward,” he murmurs. I walk beside him, following his lead. We walk the red carpet, and at the end, I slip my phone out.

“Time for our picture.” He dutifully takes my phone and holds the camera high, snapping a few pictures of us.

Satisfied, we continue off the carpet and circle back to the waiting limo as I inquire about the dinner reception.

“Too dangerous. We’ll pick up food on the way home and leave in the morning. I’m afraid it’s an early night for you. Besides, the rubber chicken and a drop of pea soup aren’t what I’d call food.”

I take it he’s done this before, and I wonder who he was dating.

20

DMITRY

I’m relieved when we’re heading back to the condo. I send Anton into the restaurant from last night, and he returns with my pre-ordered dinners to go. Izzy is famished and dives into the burgers made of the best beef money can buy.

“Thank you for the MET. Is it strange that I enjoyed visiting the garden more?”

I knew my little bird would appreciate the beauty of the roses and spring flowers in the Channel Garden.

“No, in fact, I prefer it too.” Something about the quiet atmosphere of the garden inside a city buzzing with life creates a calm oasis, like the eye of a hurricane. I never felt uncomfortable when we walked together in silence. There was no pressure to carry on a conversation. With Izzy, I can be myself. She seems to tolerate my brooding and moody nature.

Her phone dings with a text message alert.

“That’s probably Alena.”

She pulls her phone out of her purse to text a reply.

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