Eventually, he reaches out, and his hand curls into mine. I watch as his breathing evens out, and then, I fall asleep too.
Chapter 18 - Agafon
Lilibeth adjusts her bracelets and smooths her dress before we enter the party hall. When she looks up at me, all nervous as she does every time we have to attend a party, I lean in and whisper: “You look beautiful.”
Instantly, her face lights up. I don’t lie. She does look beautiful.
The doorman swings open the door, and we enter. For a moment, we stand there, taking in the scene before us. The alliance party is in full swing, and now, with my marriage to Lilibeth, my family, the Lebedevs, are part of the Orlov-Zolotov alliance. As a result, we were invited by the families connected to the Orlovs and Zolotovs.
I really didn’t want to come since I hardly know the hosts. But not showing up would undermine the alliance I’ve built for myself, so I had to show up.
The truth is, I’m not keen on seeing the Orlovs tonight. We’ve been having meetings to discuss joint ventures, and each meeting has grated on my nerves. Every time we try to talk work, they make a snide comment here, a sarcastic comment there, seizing every opportunity to remind me that their sister could have done better. That I’m not good enough for Lilibeth.
Something tells me tonight won’t be any different.
“Should we get a drink?” Lilibeth suggests.
“Sure,” I shrug. We walk away from the entrance, but our path to the bar is interrupted when I hear squeals of delight. Lilibeth’s cousins—Sofia, Natalia, Lara, and Anoushka—rush right past me as though I’m invisible and pull her into hugs.
Great. No surprise here that they don’t like me either. Is every Orlov out there intent on hating me with every fibre in their being?
Lilibeth is now busy catching up with the girls as they giggle and gossip about the latest developments within their circle. I’m about to leave her here with the company to make my rounds when I turn and see the men reaching up to us: Nikolai, Dima, Fedor, Artyom, Vladimir, Denis, and Abram Zolotov. Abram Zolotov shakes my hand before he and his brothers join the women. The Orlovs size me up.
I nod in their direction, and Nikolai and Artyom nod back before walking over to meet Lilibeth. I notice how her cousins form a protective circle around her, as if guarding her from me.
I turn back to Dima and Fedor. “Gentlemen,” I say curtly.
“Letvin,” Dima says, my name sounding rotten on his lips. “I see your invitation wasn't lost in the mail after all.”
I choose to ignore that statement. No good ever comes from taking the bait with the Orlovs.
Fedor steps forward, his eyes flicking behind me to Lilibeth. “Couldn’t even get your wife a drink?”
“We only just arrived,” I frown. “I assure you, Lilibeth is well taken care of. Perhaps once she’s done catching up with her family, I’ll make sure to get her one.”
“You do that,” Dima says through gritted teeth. I try not to roll my eyes. Of all the arguments they can choose to pick, they go with the fact that she doesn’t have a glass in her hand? I know, without a doubt, that nothing I ever do would ever be good enough for their sister.
“We heard you were ambushed.” Fedor crosses his arms in front of his chest as he glowers at me, as though being ambushed was somehow my fault.
“The warehouse was,” I nod. Just then, I smell Lilibeth’s perfume, feel her presence move toward us.
“We hope your home is secure,” Dima growls.
“It is,” I reply evenly, though my muscles tense at the implication. Did they think I wasn’t capable enough to protect what’s mine? The arrogance of it all makes my jaw clench as I stare him down.
“Lilibeth deserves to feel safe,” Fedor says. “If anything happens to her—”
Before Fedor can say another word, Lilibeth steps in rightbetweenus. To my surprise, she glowers at her brothers before turning to me with a sweet smile, and the next thing I know, she’s reaching for my hand. “Agafon, come with me! I have some friends I see near the bar. They’ve been dying to talk to you.”
I look down at her, struck by how effortlessly she diffuses tension between us. Her hands are warm and comforting in mine, and despite the glares from the Orlov brothers, I allow her to lead me away.
“Sorry about them,” she says once we're out of earshot. “They're protective.”
“I hadn't noticed,” I reply dryly.
She shakes her head in protest, as though calling me out on my childish approach to this conversation.
“How are your ribs by the way?” she asks, turning her head back as she continues to lead me.
