Page 112 of Sinful Promise

“Fair enough,” he replies, tracing the large emerald on my ring finger. “It’s all new to you, and it is tragic to take a life, but the bastard had it coming to him. I only wish I could have been there to do it myself.”

“I was so nervous. I’m surprised I hit him.”

“You have a natural ability. You took to it immediately. I didn’t have any doubt you’d hit your mark, though I might have underestimated your willingness to protect yourself.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Well, if that man was going to take me to Andrian, then he was a dead man walking,” I scoff.

“Spoken like a Volkov, and we’re not married yet. I love it.” He plants a kiss on my lips. I used a pencil to outline and accentuate them before I applied gloss to make them look plump.

“You are gorgeous. Please remind me to thank Francesca for helping with your dress. Green is your color.”

“That’s what she said.” I rest my hand on my lap. The emerald is stunning, and the diamonds glimmer in the light of the art deco streetlamps, which give the night a 1920s vibe.

I look over the black and dark beige hood of the Bugatti Roman is driving. The car eases forward another meter. I can vaguely make out the shimmer of window glass in the distance and the lights glowing in the hotel rooms.

The hotel we’re approaching is French in design. Shrubbery lights project a blue glow on the off-white building, giving our destination the allure of something decadent. The building represents the Belle Époque of architecture between 1871 and 1914. The copper dome in the middle is patina green.

“The opera house is over there.” Roman points to another structure. “I’ll take you there for a performance. I’m sure you will love it.”

“I’m sure.” I’ve never seen a live performance, musical or dance, only a few plays in school.

“We’re next. Let them open your door for you.”

“Okay,” I reply nervously.

We roll to a stop, and Roman puts the car in park. My door is quickly opened. Gathering my clutch and dress, I allow the attendant to help me. I thank him and join my fiancé.

Roman slips my arm through his, and we stroll through a courtyard filled with exhibits, couches, and artwork on display. We walk down a red runner lined with photographers. The couple in front of us pauses to have their picture snapped.

Roman pulls me closer. “Ready?”

“I guess so.”

“Smile.”

I smile and place my ringed finger on his muscular forearm. Bright light bathes us, and then we’re ushered along the procession to marble steps covered by a red carpet.

I take my time on the stairs. I don’t want to trip and embarrass myself.

We enter a large receiving area with gleaming floors stretching endlessly. Every doorway is framed by columns. Grecian, I think, but my knowledge of art and history is limited.

Roman produces our tickets, and we are screened by security.

Once inside the massive building, we wait in line for an elevator to the second floor and step off with other elegantly dressed couples. We follow the crowd, and I smell the sweetness of magnolias.

There are strobe lights over a stage set up for a band. At one end of the large room, frozen sculptures of icebergs are on display. The walls of the room also have holographic images of icebergs, a fitting theme for a Gala for Global Change. Someone bumps into my arm, an actress from India. To the right are two large staircases with side steps that frame a podium.

The tables are as elegantly set as those on the yacht. Servers in crisp blue and white uniforms walk around with trays of appetizers. Roman and I walk to a bar hung with golden chandeliers where bartenders busily mix drinks.

“I wonder where the girls are,” I muse.

“Rubbing elbows with the hottest singer performing tonight, no doubt.”

“Really? That’s going to happen?”

“Oh, yes. What do you want to drink?”

“I’d like a lemon drop martini,” I reply, watching the women swirling around the room dripping with jewels. This is a thieves’ paradise, and I wonder who’s working the crowd to steal a few trinkets.

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