They’d been together so long. Their engagement had been so highly publicized, so happily received by both their families. The gossip and criticism would be unbearable. All their friends would think she was crazy.
And she’d be completely alone.
And yet...
She felt such an odd sense of relief in considering it.
Had she ever really believed that she and Maxim would be married? Had she ever actually been able to picture them finding a house that suited them both, settling in, growing old together?
Or had she just enjoyed the ring sparkling on her finger, and all the attention it brought her?
Well, she couldn’t think about it now. She was lost in some distant corner of the Markov mansion, a place she shouldn’t even have stepped foot inside.
The name “Markov” had always given her a boogeyman shiver of fear.
The Markovs and Lebedevs were like the Hatfields and the McCoys, to take an American example. They were opposites in every way: the Lebedevs aristocratic, educated, refined, and the Markovs brutal, ruthless, and grasping—at least to hear her grandparents tell it.
All Nadia knew for certain was that the family had business dealings in the distant past that had gone horribly sour The Lebedevs had the advantage then, in wealth and status, but over the years, their fortunes had reversed.
Now Nadia was the last Lebedev, the patriarch of the family a wasted shell, with his mansion rotting around him. Meanwhile, she could see the evidence of the Markov’s success all around her. They had built this palace of glass and steel, a direct rebuttal to the crumbling stone of their enemy’s estate. And they’d filled it with modern treasures.
Zavier Markov obviously liked fine art. He had several dedicated galleries for sculptures and installations, as well as countless paintings hung on the walls. Nadia saw he had a particular love of portraits, including a self-portrait of Frida Kahlo, and several by Egon Schiele.
Since almost nothing he owned was in the classical style, Nadia stopped short at the sight of a Faberge egg under glass, in the farthest gallery.
Having always loved her mother’s eggs, she hurried over at once to take a closer look at it.
She wasn’t surprised that Markov had made an exception for this piece. Almost nothing epitomized the grand period of Imperial Russia more than these eggs. Rare in number, and each one unique, they also spoke to the pure love of precious metals and gemstones that even the most refined Bratva could not resist.
We’re like dragons in a cave, when it comes down to it,Nadia thought.
The egg that Markov owned was splendid indeed.
Deep, dark red, as rich and liquid as blood, with a complicated mechanical clock set into its face. Beneath the glass case, Nadia saw with wonder that the spindle-thin dials of the clock were actually in motion.
It still worked, after all this time.
She brought her ear as close to the glass as possible, to see if she could hear its steady ticking.
“They call that one the Crimson Heart,” a voice said, close behind her.
Nadia jumped, straightening up and stepping back from the egg.
“You scared me,” she said, turning around to see who had spoken.
She saw a man—tall, dark-haired, and extremely handsome. He had blue eyes with his dark hair, a combination you did not see much in Russia.
Actually, he was rather beautiful, a word Nadia had never thought to apply to a man before, especially not one as overtly masculine as this. But still, it was true—there were such perfect proportions to his features, to the chiseled lines of his face, and then the unexpected fullness of his mouth in that broad, square jaw.
With his dark hair a little longer than usual, he looked almost angelic. And yet there was a wickedness to his expression, to the way his eyes ran over her body in the tight white dress.
Nadia found herself blushing. She crossed her arms over her breasts, as if that would help her feel less exposed.
“Why do they call it that?” she said. “Is there a heart inside, as the surprise?”
The man raised one eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected her to know anything about Faberge.
“Actually no,” he said “The surprise is a chest. I suppose they named it that because the clock ticks like a heartbeat.”
