Page 85 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

She smiles, and the tension in the room dissipates. “Good. Because I’d hate for you to tire me out so much that tonight I slip up and admit I don’t even know my dearly beloved spouse’s middle name, and poof, the whole jig’s up.”

The others and I can’t help but chuckle at her impishly evil expression.

Ludmil is the first to sober up. He looks to me. “She doesn’t know your middle name?”

I shrug.

Ludmil starts tapping away on his phone, making some notes. “Joy’s got a good point. Not that anyone would think to quiz either of you on stuff like that, but it could be helpful to know. Just to throw in a bit of authenticity.”

Joy bobs her head. “I’d hate for them to guess that I’m a”—she takes a significant pause—“paid woman.”

She’s fucking with me now; I can see it in her eyes. I suppress a smile as I rise. “Enough of this.” I say, nodding to the others. “It’s time to get ready.”

“You don’t have to pretend, you know,” she says quietly as we exit the room. Her hand is slack in mine.

“Pretend what?”

“That you don’t enjoy spending time with me as much as you do.”

Her hand slips out of mine. I keep walking to the car. I can feel her, waiting. “Let’s just focus on the gala,” I say after a long pause.

She doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Silence follows us all the way home. Inside, the air smells warm. Like cinnamon. Walter must have switched the cleaning products or the scent in the air filters.

Chowder greets us both jubilantly. He leaps up so excitedly that he topples over onto his back. He stays there for a few seconds, stubby legs cycling.

Joy picks him up and disappears upstairs without another word. I go to my home office to deal with some business matters for a few hours.

When I am finished, I get ready, then go to the car. Joy knows what time we’re leaving. What time to be ready. I made sure of that.

But as soon as she puts one toned lower leg in the back seat of the car, I tense up. Then I see the rest of her dress: a muted teal that clings all the way from her knees to her shapely neck.

My teeth clench together. Mario, that devious little shit. He always knows how to press my buttons.

But already, the car is pulling away. We don’t have time for her to change.

“Yes?” Joy says. Her gaze meets mine with a challenge.

I turn away. There’s no point.

That dress, thatfuck-me-here-and-nowdress, hits the mark. Even though it’s tight enough to be painted on, tight enough to emphasize every curve, to suggest how it would feel to stroke them …Careful, Gavril… it’s still just demure enough for a politician’s wife.

I inhale, then exhale. Fuck, but how tight it is on that ass … I know how goddamn hot the body underneath is. A sharp intake of breath. I look over. Joy lowers her phone, frowning.

“What is it?” I ask.

“My mom texted again. I’ve been meaning to ask you—what did you have your men tell her when you just showed up and carted her away?”

“That you got a good job, one good enough to look after her.”

“And she bought it?”

“She bought it.”

She’s still staring at me, wanting more. I tell her some of it.

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