Page 68 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

It’sfear.

Outside, the fresh air is welcome, although all I can think about is eating and sleeping. Meanwhile, the car trunk is open and Walter already has his arms laden with countless plastic bags.

Looking at them, I have to smirk. It’s one thing to be flinging on one kazillion-dollar dress after the next. It’s another thing entirely to see all the outfits we bought—like a Politician Wife Barbie Starter Kit—all piled together in their snazzy glory. I honestly forgot we got so much.

“Need any help?” I ask him as he struggles to stand.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ludmil says smoothly from directly beside me.

I jump. “You have a knack for sneaking up on people, did you know that?”

“And you have a knack for not paying attention.”

That’s when I notice what he’s talking about. In the time it took for Mario to disappear—with Chowder, by the looks of it—someone else has appeared.

Standing at the door is Gavril. He’s looking at me as though completing a mental checklist.

New clothes:check.

New totteringly high-heels:check.

New attitude:not so much.

I shrug, turning away a little. Excuse me if I can’t undergo Extreme Makeover for the Soul in ten seconds flat. It’s not like this wasn’t the most insane of unbelievable days, either. Maybe I’m supposed to feel all Cinderella, but I’m only getting Alice in Wonderland vibes.

This can’t be real. None of it. I don’t belong here.

If Gavril notices all that, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he merely gestures me inside and I follow like the good fake wife I am.

Now, it’s just us. “You look stunning,” he says, like a fact, as we walk along.

Really?a small voice asks low in my chest. “Mario did well,” I say instead with a shrug of my shoulders.

Can’t hurt to put in a good word for the poor guy. Lord only knows what Ludmil is going to report back to his head honcho.

“You did well,” Gavril clarifies.

“I aim to please.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” He’s stopped now, and I realize we’re in the wooden masterpiece of a dining room, complete with the same dusty, judgy-eyed portraits as before.

Footsteps sound behind us to reveal Walter, who’s wheezing like he just sprinted a hundred-meter race. He only just managed to plop down my mountain of bags before racing after us.

“Mr. Vaknin, if you’d like, I can have the pheasant ready in—”

“No,” Gavril says crisply. “My wife and I will dine alone.”

Which doesn’t make much sense, since it isn’t like Mr. Butler was proposing to cook the pheasant right here on the cherrywood table in front of us. In any case, now we arealonealone, which I can’t say for certain is a good thing.

My gaze goes nervously to the door. Fake wife or not, I can still GTFO if need be. This guy is paying me to be his arm candy for the press, not his private hooker.

Although, after what happened in the shower the other day …

Do. Not.

But how can I not? The way he touched me in the shower, the way I became in there … like I lost all sense of control.

“Joy,” Gavril says from right next to me.

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