Page 52 of Savage Vows
“You looked them in the eye,” I say. “That’s more than most people do.”
The building glows gold and glass, high above the city—one of those places you can only enter if your name is on the right list. We step inside and a rush of warmth hits us, the low hum ofa hundred voices, laughter bouncing off marble floors and cut crystal.
It’s a ball, not just a dinner. Maksim never does anything by halves. Everywhere, there are people in tuxedos and sequined gowns, moving beneath chandeliers bright as new money. Waiters in white jackets circle with trays of champagne, small talk sparkles and flares, and someone’s quartet plays soft and quick near a wall of glass.
Then I see Maksim, surrounded by old men in black suits, his father at his side. He glances up, and the expression that crosses his face isn’t just polite; it’s genuine surprise.
“Dante,” he says, but his attention flicks right to Adriana. “You clean up better than you did in school, Petrova.”
She laughs, soft and genuine, and for a second the tension in her shoulders lets go. “You’re one to talk,” she shoots back.
Maksim’s father, a heavyset man with the same eyes, claps her on the back and leans in, voice full of real warmth. “It’s good to see you, Adriana. Been too long since a Petrova graced one of these floors.”
I can feel how easily she fits here, how the Ivanovs want her close. It does something to me, watching them welcome her with open arms.
Then Maksim’s father says, “Will Julianne be joining us later?”
The question hangs, awkward and unwanted. Adriana’s jaw tightens, but she says nothing. The space between them turns brittle.
Maksim, quick as ever, nudges his father. “Let’s not scare Adriana off before the wine’s even poured, Papa.” He gives her an easy smile, the kind meant to smooth over everything.
She recovers quickly, the mask dropping back into place. “Someone has to keep you in line, Maksim.”
He laughs and offers her his arm for the dance floor, but she shakes her head. “Maybe later,” she says, and turns to me.
I feel a flicker of jealousy as Maksim lingers a second too long, but I keep it buried.
“Sorry. My dad’s memory isn’t how it was,” he says, gentle but clear. “He has dementia. He doesn’t remember the whole deal with Julianne.” He looks at Adriana, then at me. “I’m afraid I learned about it too late as well.” His gaze holds a second longer. “Or I would have been at your wedding.”
The word lands like a bruise.Wedding. I watch Adriana instead of him. Her glass doesn’t shake. Her breaths are even. Only her eyes give away the hit before she tucks it out of sight.
I nod once. “Understood.”
Maksim’s father pats Adriana’s hand, oblivious now, already smiling at someone waving from across the room. Maksim turns back to us.
“Let me get you both a drink,” he says.
“We’re fine,” I tell him.
Adriana answers with a smile that looks almost real. “I’ll take some water.”
“Of course.” He signals a server and it’s in her hand in seconds. The room bends toward him when he moves. He knows it. He also knows I see it.
Maksim eases his father toward the far side of the room, the crowd folding around them. The music swells and settles. For a breath, it’s quiet where we stand.
Then my father arrives.
Sergei Volkov rolls up in his chair, an aide a step behind, a woman keeping pace at his side. Silk, perfume, a smile that expects a welcome before it asks.
“Dante,” my father says, pleased. “An old friend wanted to say hello.”
She’s on me before I can answer, arms around my neck, quick and practiced. “There you are,” she says, planting a bright mark near my collar. “I blink and you get married.”
Adriana lifts one brow. It lands better than a speech.
“Larisa,” the woman says, turning to Adriana while keeping a hand on my arm. “Family friend.”
“Adriana,” my wife replies, calm. “New spouse.”
