“Don’t worry,” Nikolai assured her. “You already met my father. I...have his blessing.”
The words felt deceitful and poisonous in his mouth. He could feel his face twisting with guilt even as he spoke, and he saw Nadia catch his expression, her own face becoming confused and frightened once more.
She knew he was lying.
She knew something was wrong.
God, if only he’d explained it all sooner.
He couldn’t wait until after the wedding. That would be wrong—it would be tricking her into it. He had to come clean beforehand. If she didn’t want to marry him anymore, it was a risk he’d have to take.
But when to tell her?
They were already drawing near the theater. He couldn’t do it now. But he could speak to her after the party. Or the next day, at the latest.
He’d explain everything to her. Surely Nadia would understand. She’d see that he loved her truly and completely now, whatever his ill intent might have been to begin with.
He just had to get through the damned gala first.
He pulled up to the valet station, which was already choked with Maseratis and Ferraris and Tesla Roadsters, all the bright and flashy sports cars favored by the oligarchy. He threw his keys to the uniformed valet and took Nadia’s arm to escort her up the steps to the theater.
The Bolshoi Theater looked like an Athenian temple, brightly illuminated and already crowded with partygoers. The first part of the evening would involve drinks and canapés in the grand lobby, after which they would move into the concert hall to watch a performance of Swan Lake.
The Bolshoi Gala was an annual event, both exclusive and prestigious. Getting your name on the guest list was considered a sure sign of having “made it” in Moscow. The Markovs had been attending for some thirty years now, but Nikolai supposed that the Lebedevs had been invited for a hundred. Perhaps since the theater had been founded in 1776.
He was sure Stanislav Ledebev had still received the coveted gold-embossed envelope in the mail, despite the fact that he hadn’t left his house in a decade.
Nikolai was sure to recognize most everyone present. And despite his father’s ulterior motives for the event, Nikolai was genuinely looking forward to showing off his fiancée to everyone present. Having Nadia on his arm, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. And he wanted everyone to know it.
However, the first face he recognized was unlikely to share in his happiness. Directly to the right on the entryway stood Maxim Oleksei, along with his aunt and his cousin Grigory. Every one of them were glaring at Nikolai with all their might, seething with fury at the loss of their alliance with the Turgenevs, and the humiliation of having Maxim’s ring returned only weeks before it was replaced by Nikolai’s.
Nadia hadn’t noticed them, so Nikolai quickly steered her in the opposite direction so she wouldn’t have to deal with their rage. He saw several other Bratva bosses he recognized, as well as countless politicians and businessmen. He picked the closest friendly face, a hotelier named Bykov, and introduced him to Nadia.
While Nadia was chatting pleasantly with Bykov, Nikolai scanned the room to see if his father had arrived. He could see the Minister Popov over by the bar, trying to flirt with a young blonde waitress who was indulging him with a pained smile painted on her face.
“Oh!” Nadia whispered to him. “That’s Svetlana Vishneva! I saw her perform in Paris. She’s incredible!”
“Do you want to meet her?” Nikolai asked.
“You know her?” Nadia asked, eyes wide.
“I know everybody in Moscow,” Nikolai said.
It really wasn’t an exaggeration—at least when it came to the Moscow elite.
Nikolai steered Nadia toward the tall, slender dancer in her tight black dress, her hair pulled high atop her head, behind a sparkling band that was something like a tiara.
“Svetlana,” Nikolai said, “can I introduce you to my fiancée Nadia Turgenev?”
“Charmed,” the ballerina said, kissing Nadia on both cheeks.
“I saw you dance the lead in Revelations!” Nadia said. “It was the best I’ve seen!”
“Thank you,” Svetlana said, inclining her head graciously. Then she said, laughing, “You’re famous in Moscow too, Nadia. The girl who captured Nikolai Markov! There are hearts breaking all over the country tonight.”
“Oh please,” Nikolai scoffed. “Don’t make me list all the hearts you’ve broken in this very room, Svetlana. Starting with the Minister of Culture standing right behind you.”
“Is he really?” Svetlana spun around, looking alarmed. When she saw that Nikolai was only joking, she smacked him on the shoulder. “You idiot!” she said. And then to Nadia, “Be careful with this one. There’s a devil behind that handsome smile.”
