Page 16 of Forbidden Vows

“That’s actually a superb vintage,” I reply. “I would love a glass or…” My voice trails off as I’m reminded of my newly discovered condition. “Or lemonade. I think I’ll stick to lemonade.”

“What?” Ciara sounds confused.

“Girls, come on,” my father pokes his head through the kitchen door. “The Karpovs are here. Let’s make the introductions before the announcement later tonight.”

“But, Daddy, the canapes—”

“Ciara, for fuck’s sake!”

That’s enough to silence her, at least where the food and drinks are concerned. I draw a deep breath and follow Ciara and our father through the kitchen door into the main salon. At the far end, I see the glass doors leading into the ballroom. My stomach churns at the sight of so many people already gathered in there. The main salon still feels breathable at this point, with only a handful of guests. Two men and a woman.

“Oh, my God,” I gasp as I recognize the tall man with dark hair and hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and salt-and-pepper hair. The man who made me feel like the most precious of all women on a night two months ago.

“Ciara, honey, this is Anton Karpov,” my father says, nodding at my mystery man. “Your future husband. Anton, meet my youngest, Ciara Donovan.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Anton says.

I’m frozen in place, unable to move or say anything. All I can do is stare at this dangerously gorgeous man, fragments of our night together, causing my core to tighten and my throat to close up, my stomach to churn and my heart to flutter.

“Likewise,” Ciara replies, eagerly straightening her back as she lets him take her hand in his. She giggles, careful to bat her eyelashes for maximum effect. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you, Anton.”

Really, Ciara?

Like what? Like he’s the leader of the Bratva? Like he’s the most ruthless Russian American on this side of the country, if not the whole continent?

Dammit, why is he looking at me like that? He’s so calm. No expression whatsoever. Just a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“You must be Eileen then,” Anton says, his voice low.

“Yeah,” I bluntly reply.

I know what this is. He got his groove on with me that night, knowing precisely who I was. He got what he wanted, and now I’m just a big, fat nobody. I feel used. I feel stupid. I feel so many uncomfortable things that I don’t even know what to do with myself or how I’m going to survive the rest of this evening.

“Eileen?” my father says, intensely looking at me.

“Yeah?” I manage.

“What’s up with you? You’re being rude,” Ciara says.

I give her a confused look, trying so hard to avoid Anton’s gaze and ignoring the other two people he’s with. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“My God, Daddy, I think she’s already drunk,” Ciara sighs deeply.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then I am sure you could do better at entertaining our special guests,” my father says. “After all, we’re going to be family, and Anton here deserves more than a dry ‘yeah.’”

“My apologies,” I say, switching to a more polite version of myself—a dead-eyed version—while I try to manage the turmoil within. I give Anton a small smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Karpov. You’re definitely the luckiest man in Chicago right now.”

“Please, call me Anton,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I suppose fortune has smiled upon me lately.”

Yeah, you boned one Donovan girl and you’re about to marry the pretty one.

The nerve of this guy. “My stepsister will make a fine wife,” I say.

There’s a tremor in my voice, and I hope nobody caught it.

“I’ll do my best to rise to her level as a husband,” he replies.

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