Page 25 of His to Ruin
Piotr’s cold blue eyes narrow. “Show me.”
“It’s really not worth seeing.”
“Yet you seem flustered by it.”
The man is far too perceptive. His eyes bore into me. “I’m not. Really.”
I turn to Alessia, hoping she reads my pointed stare correctly. She does. Getting up, she hurries off toward the house, where I know she’ll dispose of the offending photo for me.
Piotr grabs my arm and pulls me to him. “I don’t like my wife keeping secrets from me.”
“I’m not.”
“Go say your goodbyes. We’ll discuss this further on the plane.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Oh, but my dear, sweet wife, I think there is.”
Pulling free from his grip, I hurry off to tell my mother we’re leaving. A shudder runs down my spine, and I look back to see Piotr staring at me. It’s hard to read him, but the tightness in his jaw tells me he’s angry. I guess the Mr. Nice Guy act is well and truly over.
CHAPTER 9
Piotr
From the moment we left her family’s mansion in Connecticut, Olivia has been delightfully on edge. As we drove to the helipad, she fidgeted with her necklace, the one I gave her. Seeing the silver heart resting at the base of her throat fills me with more pride than I imagined possible. The treasured pendant my grandmother wore so often is perfect with the V neckline of Olivia’s dress. I’m pleased she didn’t have time to change her clothes before we left. I really want to strip her out of the virginal white gown myself.
We didn’t talk on the helicopter ride to the airport. Olivia was too distracted by whatever thoughts were racing through her head and I wanted to draw out the silence, to unsettle her further. I don’t appreciate being lied to, and my pretty new bride has been less than honest with me more than once. She needs to suffer, wondering what’s going to happen to her.
It was impossible to miss the way she tensed when she opened the envelope the waitress delivered to her. I was across the roomand I saw her shoulders stiffen. When I asked her what was in the envelope, she blatantly lied, writing it off as some practical joke. If that’s all it was, she’d have shown me. Instead, she passed whatever it was to her cousin and had her scurry off to dispose of the evidence. The little brat was obviously counting on me not wanting to cause a major incident by detaining Alessia. If my wife thinks she’ll get away with playing games, she’s in for a shock.
As we walk up the steps to my Dessault Falcon jet, Olivia trips on the hem of her dress. She pitches forward, but I catch her before she falls. Grabbing her around the waist, I haul her back against me.
“Careful,” I warn her. “You don’t want to get hurt.”
A tremor runs through her, and she shrugs me off. Lifting her skirts higher, she hurries up the remaining steps. At the entrance to the plane, Polina, one of my regular flight attendants, greets her. Olivia chats to her for almost a minute, warmly inquiring about her life. While other women might view the six-foot blonde bombshell as a threat, my bride speaks to her as if they’re old friends. Her apparent lack of concern at the presence of a beauty like Polina among my staff surprises me. I’d have thought Olivia would be jealous. If she doesn’t suffer from that affliction, I’m glad. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. It turns people into fools.
My wife will never have reason to feel insecure around other women. Fidelity matters to me. A psychologist would no doubt say it’s a reaction to my feckless parents, who showed no loyalty to anyone, least of all each other. It would be a fair assessment. I will never allow myself to be weak like them. Now that I’ve made a commitment to Olivia, my attention won’t be divertedelsewhere, and she’d damned well better not give any other man the time of day. I don’t like to share.
Finally, Olivia moves on, giving me room to ascend the last couple of steps. Polina greets me with a smile that’s friendly rather than flirtatious. She’s never tried to blur the lines of our professional relationship, though she has fucked some of the men who’ve traveled with me. She prefers the more openly passionate type. Until recently, she warmed the bed of Damiano Volante. I suspect the earrings she’s wearing were a payoff from him when his attention drifted elsewhere. She didn’t land herself a wealthy husband, but she got some nice jewelry as a consolation prize.
“Everything is set up for your comfort, Mr. Reznov.” Polina must be referring to the bedroom I asked her to ensure was ready for us. We’ll be arriving in Paris in the early hours of the morning, so sleep will be necessary, not that I intend to get much. There’s the consummation of my marriage to deal with, the one part of the day I’ve genuinely looked forward to.
“Thank you, Polina. Please serve the champagne immediately.”
“Of course, sir.”
While Polina hurries off to the small galley kitchen that sits between the main cabin and the bedroom, I join Olivia. She’s standing in the aisle, looking lost.
“Sit wherever you like,” I tell her. “I have no preference.”
Olivia nods and scans the space around us. There are two sofas at the rear of the cabin, and four pairs of individual seats that face each other and have a small table between them. She goes to the front of the plane and chooses a seat on the left.
“I prefer to face forward when traveling,” she explains as I sit opposite her, my back to the cockpit. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s all the same to me,malyskha.”
I look up as Polina approaches with two glasses of champagne on a silver tray. She offers it to me first. I take both glasses and hand one to Olivia.
