Page 110 of The Payback

I’m wearing a red dress that dips low on my chest, hugs my hips, and falls gracefully to the floor with a slit up my thigh. I feel badass.

I snapped a picture earlier as soon as I put it on and sent it to Olivia, who replied with two eggplant emojis, one of those sweating faces, and a bunch of water droplets.

A girl could hope.

Nik lets out a low, appreciative whistle, and his eyes trace down my body and back up again. “Damn, Ellie, you clean up good.”

“I could say the same about you,” I reply.

“Must we go to this?” Dimitri grumbles from behind me, his hand still linked with mine.

“It’s not like we have much choice,” I say. “Oksana demanded we attend. There’s no other choice when she does so much of the gala work. It felt like the least I could do to keep her happy and off my back. I have a role to play, remember?”

“Fine, let’s watch people sing unintelligible words and pretend we understand what the hell they’re saying.”

His reaction surprises me. Dimitri always seems like the cultured type who cares about things like opera and politics. And, basically, anything you see on CNN.

Nik must interpret the look on my face because he laughs and says, “Don’t let this asshole fool you. He’s worse than a ten-year-old. All he wants to do is read books about some old war that doesn’t matter anymore, sit in front of the TV with his hand down his trousers, and watch The Great British Bake Off.”

I snort a laugh. “I can’t picture it.”

Nik leans close and whispers loudly, “That’s because he’s been hiding who he is from you. Stick with him long enough, and you’ll see his true colours.” Dimitri’s fist comes flying from behind, and he punches Nik in the shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dimitri grumbles, still holding my hand. He drags me down the stairs. “Let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back here, and I can flop in front of the TV and put my hand on my dick.”

Nik just laughs as he leisurely follows us. “You are aware that there’s already a start and ending time to this, and our arrival won’t influence that.”

We take the lift down, Dimitri scowling the whole way, and Igor is waiting at the kerb with the town car.

Once we’re on our way, Dimitri turns to me. “So, remember...?” he says.

“Yes, yes,” I say. “We’re happily married. I’m at your beck and call. However, sometimes it frustrates you when I make little power moves. But all it does is wrap you further around my finger.”

We had a team meeting this afternoon and determined that pretending to take both Sergei’s and Oksana’s advice would be good. That way, the stories will line up when they compare notes after the opera about what a good little wife I’ve been.

This is a work trip, but I might as well try to enjoy it. As I said, the theatre isn’t my cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the hard work the singers, actors, stagehands, and directors have all put into the production.

We spend the rest of the ride reviewing things to look out for tonight and how to play things off should anything arise. And all the while, each one keeps a hand on my thigh, pinning me between them, making me feel surrounded, supported, and safe. It doesn’t take long until we’re pulling up to the theatre, and Igor is rushing around the car to open the door.

I gape as I look out the window. There’s a red carpet, and bulbs flash as photographers get photos of the arrivals.

Before I can ask, Dimitri slides out and offers a hand, helping me out gracefully. Standing, I tilt my head and murmur, “What the hell is this? Why is there press here?” My husband laughs, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow and leading me forward. “Smile, dear wife. It’s opening night, after all.”

If I knew this was waiting, I might have taken up Dimitri’s earlier offer and stayed home.

Dimitri does his best to rush us through the press line, stopping us to pose for a few pictures and then rushing off again. It could be worse, and he does his best to get us past the line quickly. Nik follows behind us, holding up a hand and insisting that we’re done with photos.

It’s easy to forget that Dimitri is a big deal in this city. According to the papers, he’s the CEO of a conglomerate, which is profitable in its own right. Still, laundering money for illegal activities rivals their legitimate income, padding the accounts and making him a big deal.

Dimitri shows the doorman the tickets Oksana couriered over, and we’re admitted inside, where it’s not much better. There’s a crowd milling in the lobby, everyone with a glass of something and canapes on little plates as they chat, their voices rising and blending until it’s all white noise.

“There you are!” Sergei damn near bellows from a few feet away.

He crosses the distance with a broad grin and a resplendent Oksana beside him. She’s in a conservative dress, but that doesn’t mean it’s not exactly suited to her. The gown is simple, with a high neck and long sleeves, but the fabric is a pearl white that shimmers with every step. She looks like Helen Mirren if she were a faerie queen.

“Pakhan, Elsa, Nik,” she greets demurely. “So nice to see you. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

This is not the same woman I had tea with and have spent hours planning this gala with.Thisis the woman she is when she’s with her husband, not leading a bunch of wives in how to be more than just wives—who they expect her to be.

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