Page 19 of Scarlet Vows
My mouth goes dry, and I struggle to swallow. “That’s not true. I like her, true. Who wouldn’t? Alina’s a doll.”
“I don’t moon over her.”
“Even I know no one says ‘moon over.’”
“Ijust said it,” Isaak says. “And I’m serious. She’s a great choice, the perfect choice. You two know each other so well, and you know…crush city, man.”
“I don’t have a crush.”
Isaak laughs. “It couldn’t be more obvious than if you put up a ten-foot sign. But more than that, Demyan is family to you. And Alina… Look, real talk, if this grandfather put that in his will, I’m betting he’ll have some kind of test or vetting thing in place. Alina lights you up. She makes you different, and if you told me you guys were getting married, I’d believe it.”
“He isn’t asking me to make a love match. He wants me to find someone with bratva ties and marry them for twelve months.”
“Okay,” Isaak says, “but that still makes her the perfect choice. Yegorov is a powerhouse, and you know it. If there’s a vetting, it’ll be over the validity of a union between two bratva houses. Obvious. Choice.”
“Or I let it go and don’t play his game.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Alina’s off the table.”
“Your funeral.”
When Isaak rings off, I can’t get his words out of my head.
Yes, his words about her being perfect make sense, but those aren’t the ones that concern me. If I didn’t have feelings for her, shewouldbe perfect.
No. It’s Isaak pointing out that he knows I crush on her.
And if Isaak’s noticed how into Alina I am, how long until she does?
Or worse…Demyan?
Chapter Five
ALINA
I stare downat my half-empty glass of wine. Everything about the night is surreal, from the sleek limo that picked me and Ilya up to us sitting at one of the oldest, fanciest, most exclusive Italian restaurants in Chicago.
I pick up my glass and take a gulp, spilling a drop on the tablecloth somehow. I rub at it with my finger.
Well, fuck. This has got to be the most awkward-as-fuck evening ever.
Not just surreal. But awkward as fuck.
Because I’m sitting here with Santo and Ilya, and while that would be weird enough, Ilya’s in full-on fiancé mode, sitting close to me, his arm draped around my shoulders.
And I… I like it.
More surrealness. More weirdness.
Max was always a modern man, a loving one, but he wouldn’t ever make an arm around me akin to a pissing contest.
Yet this…
A small sigh escapes as I lean into Ilya, that fresh summerTuscan citrus of him lifting my mood, relaxing me as I stop myself from snuggling in.
His warmth is oddly comforting, and I’m willing to cling to it in this moment.
Because I still don’t know what Santo wants from me.
The fact I turned up with a man, one who claims he’s my fiancé, should have been enough for him to just have a drink with us and then end the evening. Instead, it’s like I’m with a suitor and my man in some weird threesome audition.
