“Yes. I want detailed background reports on every name I’ve flagged from the guest list. If anyone has questionable connections or unclear motives, I want to know before they set foot on the property.”
“Consider it done.”
After Valentin leaves, Sarah and I work in silence for another hour. She organizes data while I review contracts and correspondences, both of us pretending the tension in the room isn’t suffocating.
Around six o’clock, she begins gathering her materials. “I should head home. It will be a long day tomorrow.”
The carefully neutral way she refers to my engagement party makes my jaw clench. “Sarah?”
She pauses but doesn’t look at me. “Yes?”
“About what you said the other day?—”
“You don’t need to respond.” She finally meets my eyes, and I see walls there that weren’t present before. “I shouldn’t have said it. It was inappropriate given the circumstances.”
“That’s not?—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She heads for the door with same composed efficiency that’s probably faked. “Good luck with the party.”
She’s gone before I can find words to explain what I can’t even explain to myself. I love her. The knowledge is inescapable but admitting it out loud makes this already tricky situation that much worse.
If I tell her how I feel, everything changes. The engagement becomes impossible to justify, even as a business arrangement. The careful distance I’ve maintained between my personal desires and family obligations collapses completely.
I’m not sure it hasn’t collapsed already.
Later that evening,I walk the estate perimeter with Arseny and Pavel, two of my most trusted security personnel. The grounds look peaceful in the fading light, but tomorrow night they’ll be filled with potential threats disguised as wedding guests.
“I want you on the Volkov brothers.” I point toward the main terrace where cocktails will be served. “They’re arms dealers from Prague. They’re legitimate on paper, but they’ve been asking too many questions about our shipping routes.”
Arseny nods. “Discreet observation?”
“Mostly. They should feel welcome but watched to lessen any inclination to act poorly.”
We continue around the garden path toward the pool area. “Pavel, you’ll shadow Anton Kozlov. He’s supposedly a cultural attaché, but intelligence suggests he’s FSB.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Photography, detailed questions about security measures, or attempts to access restricted areas.” I stop near the pool house where Sarah and I first kissed, the memory making my chest ache. “Keep an eye on anyone who seems more interested in the estate than the engagement.”
We spend another hour reviewing coverage areas and communication protocols. By the time we finish, I’m confident we’ll catch anyone attempting intelligence gathering, but the larger question remains. Why am I going through with an engagement I don’t want to a woman I don’t love?
The answer should be simple. Family obligations, business stability, fulfilling my father’s old plan, and maintaining crucial alliances. They’re the same reasons my father would have given, applying the same logic that’s guided every major decision I’ve made since inheriting leadership of our organization.
Sarah has complicated that logic in ways I’m still trying to understand.
Back in my office, I find myself staring at the contract I’ve been avoiding for weeks. The marriage agreement with the Nikitins, formally binding two families in an alliance that makes strategic sense on every level except the personal one, sits like a brick of C4 on my desk with the way I handle it.
I’ve signed thousands of contracts over the years. This should be no different. The terms are favorable, the benefits clear, and the risks manageable.
As though she senses I’m looking at the contract, my phone buzzes with a text from Katya: “Looking forward to tomorrow night and finally signing the contract. I have a special surprise planned.”
I stare at the message, wondering what surprise Katya considers special and if I want to know. Everything about tomorrow feels like a trap, but I struggle to identify the specific threat or figure out how to avoid it.
Another text arrives, this one from Sarah:Nina confirmed the catering arrangement. They’ll be there at 4 p.m. to set up. I told her I’d pass along the message to save her the extra step of contacting Valentin to contact you.
The simple professionalism of her message irritates me more than Katya’s coy hints. Sarah is pulling away to protect herself from the inevitable pain of watching me get engaged to someone else. It’s the smart thing to do, and the rational response to an impossible situation. I should be happy she’s coping and making it easy on me.
I hate how smart and rational she’s being.
