Page 34 of Wicked Vow

“I can’t decide what to wear. It’s been so long since I’ve gone to one of these things.”

Viktor is hosting a charity gala tonight for the foundation that Caterina is a part of, which is apparently about to expand into New York with her at the head of that branch, while the woman married to one of the McGregor brothers who host Max and Sasha in Boston, Saoirse McGregor, continues to head the Boston chapter. It’s clear that Caterina is incredibly excited for the expansion and to help with it, and that the gala means a lot to her. I want to be as much my old self as possible for her, to support her after everything she’s done for me. Still, I feel a ball of nerves starting in my stomach that only gets worse as it gets closer to the time to leave. It’s beenfartoo long since I’ve been this person.

Sasha is already dressed in a long rose-gold gown with a low back and v-neckline, braided straps across her shoulders, and rose-gold jewelry to match. Her curled blonde hair is gathered to one side and pinned with a rose and diamond hair clip, and she looks like nothing so much as a shimmering faerie princess. I’ve never seen her like this, every inch the high-society lady, and I can’t help smiling as she turns in a circle, laughing as she sees the expression on my face.

“I might not have grown up like this, but I can clean up nice, too,” she says teasingly. “Now, what about this one?”

She points to a slinky black evening gown towards the foot of the bed, with diamond clasps at the shoulders and the point of the v-shaped neckline.

“I don’t want to look like a widow just re-entering society,” I tell her dryly. “Some color would probably be good.”

“Okay–so maybe this?” Sasha picks up a shimmering gold option. “It’s really low-cut, but that works for you. The whole ballerina figure–you look high-fashion instead of, well–”

“Obscene?” I suggest, laughing. The neckline would go nearly down to my ribs. “I also don’t want to look like an Oscars statuette.”

“We could be sparkly together.” Sasha pouts playfully. “What’s the point of having a sister if we can’t play dress-up together?”

“Next option,” I tell her firmly, but I can already feel the pit of nerves starting to dissipate in my belly.

“Hmm.” She taps her lips with her fingertip, looking over the assortment tossed across the bed in my frustration. “What about this?”

The one she picks up is a deep blue dress with a simple silhouette–finger-wide straps, a v-neckline that’s sexy without being lewd, and a fitted bodice with outlined cups and a slightly fluted skirt split up to mid-thigh on one side. “This color would look gorgeous on you.”

“I’ll try it on.” I take it out of her hands, going into the bathroom to slip it on. When I come back out and look in the long mirror, I feel myself relax the tiniest bit more. Having the dress on makes me feel a little more like I can play the part again, and I see from the smile on Sasha’s face that she can tell.

“It looks perfect,” she says firmly. “Now, jewelry.”

I gesture towards the dresser. “Caterina keeps bringing me pieces to borrow. There should be something in there that will work.”

A half-hour later, with sapphire jewelry and my makeup done, we head downstairs to meet Caterina, Max, and Viktor. Caterina is in a gorgeous emerald-green dress with a bustier-style top, her hair done in an elegant updo, and the men look handsome in their suits. I feel that pang again as Max and Viktor walk with their wives, with me following behind, the loneliness spreading as we get into the car.

Could you even imagine Mikhail at something like this?

I could, though. He’d shown when he took me out on that five-star date that he’s a man capable of at least pretending to function in proper society. He was able to dress up and use the right fork and order expensive wine, and he’d worked closely with Viktor for a number of years, from what I know, traveling with him and Levin. He might not be one of the mob elite, but he knows how to fit in among them.

Why am I even thinking this?I ask myself as I slip into the car, chastising myself as I sit next to Sasha.What is the point? You think he’s ever going to be what you need?Youdon’t even know what you need.

I’m lost in thought all the way to the gala, which is being held at an art museum in the city. There’s a red carpet down the steps, photographers out to get photos of Caterina and Viktor so articles can be written tomorrow about the billionaire’s wife doing good in the city. I hang back a little, behind the others, so I can avoid the possibility of having my picture taken. The last thing I want right now is to appear in a newspaper.

Inside is a swirling bustle of light and activity. The main room is full of tables, with a dance floor and a stage for someone–probably Viktor or Caterina or both–to make a speech about the night’s events. Music is playing softly, and I feel whisked back in time to when I was still my father’s daughter, when I was a prima ballerina, a Bratva princess–to a time when I was an entirely different person than I am now.

I still feel as if I might have forgotten how to be her. But I resolve to do my best.

Dinner is delicious, catered by a Michelin-starred restaurant in the city. For once, I actually manage to eat without feeling as if I might throw up at any moment, which feels like a good omen for the evening. I can’t help giving Caterina’s wineglass a longing look–by far, one of the biggest downsides of pregnancy, so far as I can tell, is not being able to drink wine, especially when it’s been so long since I’ve gotten to enjoy anything really good outside of a few instances with Mikhail.

The plates from dinner are being whisked away, and the desserts are being brought around when a deep, Russian-accented voice suddenly says, very close to my ear, “Viktor, is there a seat for me?”

For one brief second, I nearly jump out of my skin, thinking that it’s Mikhail. But then the voice registers with me, and I know it’s not. It’s too smooth, too cultured, too sophisticated.

I know I shouldn’t feel a flash of disappointment at the realization that it’s not him, but I do.

“Of course.” Viktor sounds genuinely pleased. He moves closer to Caterina, allowing the other man to pull a chair up next to me. “Natalia, this is Erik Sorev. He’s been a business associate of mine for a little while now.”

“Natalia.” The man smiles at me, reaching to take my hand as he lifts it and brushes his lips across the back of my hand. “What a lovely name.”

“Natalia Obelensky,” I say without thinking, the habit of introducing myself in a place like this, a situation like this, coming back immediately. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Erik.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

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