“I can’t go back out there.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of facing Roman again. Before Everly had interrupted us, I’d been two seconds from dragging him onto the elevator and up to his room for a sex fest. And where would that leave us?
“Nonsense. You can be my date.” She smiled and reapplied gloss to her pink mouth.
“Where’s Nicky?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I bit my lower lip. Everly’s expression chilled.
“He had to leave—a business engagement.” When I swallowed and opened my mouth, she lifted a warning finger. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“You really believe him?”
Her lips pressed together in a stubborn line. “I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt. People can change, Rourke, whether you want to believe it or not.”
“A leopard doesn’t change his spots. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust Nicky out of my sight.” My anger with Roman bubbled up and spilled out, venting on Everly.
“Oh, great. Here we go again. You’re the pot calling the kettle black. At least Nicky doesn’t finance international warfare.” Her verbal blow caught me squarely in the gut. I winced. She lifted her chin and backed away. “I can’t deal with your judgmental bullshit tonight. I’ve got five hundred guests to think of.”
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving.” Through a blur of tears, I rustled in my clutch for my phone and texted Lance for the car. “Just don’t come crying to me when he fucks you over. Oh, wait. He’s already fucking you over, and you don’t even realize it.”
Inside the limo, I fought back tears of anger and frustration. I’d lost control of my relationships, career and future. If something didn’t change, I was going to lose my mind too.
Chapter 5
Rourke
An hour later, I climbed into my giant bed—alone. My anger had burned down to ash, leaving me cold and ashamed. With a shiver, I tugged the blankets up to my chin. My iPhone rested on the nightstand beside me. I stared at it, willing Roman to call or text, but it remained conspicuously silent. What a fine mess. My husband was sleeping in a strange bed. My best friend hated me. Come to think of it, I kind of hated myself, too.
I picked up the phone and typed out a quick text to Everly: I’m sorry. She didn’t reply, and I didn’t blame her. Before I could message Roman, I dropped the phone in the drawer and closed it. My lips burned from his kiss. The space between my legs throbbed and pulsed with need. Maybe I should have gone back to his room with him. Sex had never been one of our problems and wouldn’t solve our relationship issues, but it might have taken the edge off the constant ache of desire. Instead, I’d been too stubborn to concede. At this rate, we’d never come to any kind of truce. My pride wouldn’t let me back down. He was in the wrong, not me. He should be the one to apologize.
When the sun came up, I dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. The chef, startled by my early appearance, hastily prepared a light breakfast of eggs and toast. If Ivan had been here, he would have known what to do, but he was gone—murdered by an assassin’s bullet meant for my husband. Worry tied the muscles of my neck and shoulders into knots. Roman had seemed unraveled last night, and I needed to make sure he was safe.
Mother Nature, however, had other plans. Halfway through breakfast, I bolted to the bathroom and heaved up the contents of my stomach.
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror. I was naturally fair, but my skin was deathly white. My stomach bucked as a second wave of nausea rolled through me. When the threat of more upheaval passed, I brushed my teeth, rinsed my mouth, and found the calendar app on my phone. My last period had been six weeks ago. I counted the days again. Until our separation, Roman and I had been fucking like love-starved maniacs. Although I’d never missed a birth control pill, they weren’t 100% effective. It was possible.
After the shock died down, I swore one of the staff members to secrecy and sent her out for a pregnancy test. To pass the time while waiting for her return, I showered and dressed. When she knocked on the bedroom door and handed the drugstore bag to me, I ran to the bathroom, peed on the stick, and stared at the tiny display window. Two minutes later, the timer on my phone buzzed. A blue plus sign faded into view. She’d purchased two; I took the second test. Definitely a plus sign. Definitely pregnant.
I pressed a hand to my somewhat-flat belly, closed the lid on the toilet, and sat down to assess my feelings. Pictures of Roman holding a little boy with his dark, wavy hair or a little girl with long blond curls flashed through my head. The scene flooded me with warmth. He was a wonderful father to Milada, even though she wasn’t his biological child. The warmth gave way to cold panic. His words from our first meeting at the Masquerade de Marquis fought their way through my memories. “My friends say I’m the devil.” He’d tried to warn me off that night, but I’d been swept away by his mystique and the glint of desire in his eyes. Look where it had landed me—squarely in hell.
When I was able to collect my composure, I called Everly. Even though she hadn’t replied to my text, she was my only family. Times like these called for girl power. I needed her level-headed sensibility to reel me back from the brink of panic.
She answered on the last ring before the call went to voice mail. “I can’t talk to you right now,” she said, in a thick, nasally voice.
“What’s wrong?” Alarm bells rang in my head. I clutched the phone tighter, fearing the worst. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She hiccupped.
“Are you sick? Want me to call the doctor?”
“No. I just—” Her words ended in a choked sob.
“I’m coming over, and I won’t take no for an answer. Hold tight, sweetie.” I dropped my phone into my purse and dashed downstairs to find Lance. The sight of his calm, unsmiling face soothed my nerves. “Can you get the car? I need to go to Ms. McElroy’s apartment. It’s urgent.”
“Certainly.” He swept an arm toward the elevator. On the way, he texted my driver. Once the elevator doors had closed and the car began its descent, he studied me. His eyes filled with compassion. “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
“No.” Tears burned the backs of my eyelids. I blinked them away and straightened my shoulders. A breakdown was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
The elevator doors opened. We rode down to the ground floor in silence. Through the tall glass windows of the building entrance, the rising sun glistened on the chrome trim of my car as it pulled to the curb. Quiet enveloped the inside of the Maybach. I ran a hand over the luxurious fawn-colored leather. Fancy cars had never been my thing, but Roman had insisted on the gift. When I’d protested, he’d waved a hand through the air. “I replace all my cars every year, Rourke. It’s procedure. Not everything is about you.” The twinkle in his eye had suggested otherwise.
I wrapped my arms around my waist. Even when I was furious with him, I yearned for his embrace, to smell his spicy cologne, and to hear his deep voice.
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived at Everly’s apartment. She opened the door, gaze downcast. Right away, I noticed her puffy eyes. Lance waited in the hallway while I went inside. She’d only lived there a few weeks, but the place already bore the marks of her good taste. White walls, comfortable, overstuffed furniture, and pale-blue accents provided a calming effect. I pulled her into a tight hug. My drama with Roman would have to wait. “Talk to me.”
She sniffed, hiding behind her tissue. “It’s so stupid. I didn’t want to say anything, because you told me so.”
“Nicky?” Her head bobbed up and down. My heart squeezed for her. “What did he do? I swear I’m going to kill him.” Fierce feelings of protectiveness welled inside me. She was my tribe. No one had the right to hurt her, especially a bastard like Nicky.
“He—he—he said he had last-minute business. And then I saw this.” After swiping away the moisture on her cheeks, she flashed her phone screen in front of me. Photos of Nicky at the opening of a new Soho nightclub with a young, glamorous starlet, time stamped for last night.
“I thought maybe it was a mix-up or a publicity stunt, but one of my friends said she saw them there. They were definitely a couple.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m such an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You’re kind and beautiful and smart and way too good for him.” I swept her hair away from her face. “Any man who doesn’t recognize how fabulous you are doesn’t deserve you.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night.” Her hand found mine and squeezed. “I realized this morning I’m that girl—the kind I used to complain about—the one who always picks the wrong guy then cries about it.”
“Have you asked him to explain?” Although my head insisted the photograph reflected the truth, my heart wanted to believe otherwise, for Everly’s sake.
She nodded. “I went to his apartment this morning, and she was there. He didn’t try to deny it or anything. He just shrugged, like he didn’t care. I was so humiliated.” I drew her into another hug, fighting back the sting of empathetic tears. “You know what burns my ass the most? The whole time he was with her last night, he was texting me, pretending like I’m special when I’m really not.”
“Oh, Everly. I’m so, so sorry.” I stroked her hair, wishing I could absorb the pain for her. “At least you’re not pregnant by a Russian warlord.”
The morning sunlight reflected in her tears as her eyes went wide. “Are you joking?”
“No. I’m serious. I’ve got a bun in the oven.”
“Did you pee on a stick?”
“Twice.” Tears welled in her eyes again, and we both began to cry. No wonder I’d been so emotional lately. My hormones were all over the place.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful. And I’m a little bit jelly, because that big, hot man stud of yours knocked you up. It is Roman’s, isn’t it?” She held me at arm’s length and cocked an eyebrow.
I shoved her shoulder playfully. “Of course.”
“Just asking. I know how you like to get freaky at the club.” Her lips smiled, but her eyes remained glassy. She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a tissue.
“Stop. You know it’s his.” We laughed; something I hadn’t done in weeks.
“I’m going to be crazy Auntie Everly. I’ll teach her or him how to curse and spit and smoke cigarettes—”
“You don’t smoke or spit.” I rolled my eyes at her but smiled. She personified the epitome of etiquette and good taste.
“Kidding. I swear.” She lifted two fingers in an approximation of a scout pledge and placed her other hand over her heart. “Seriously, you’re going to be a fantastic mom.”
Mom. I was pregnant with Roman Menshikov’s baby. A slow, secretive smile stretched my mouth, followed by the warmth of pride. If only my mother, who’d believed in fairytales, could see her daughter now. The excitement faded as reality returned. I sank down on the couch, overcome by the exhaustion of the past month, and shook my head. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”
“It seems like the perfect time to me.” Worry drew her eyebrows together. “You’re—you’re going to have it, right?”
The option to terminate the pregnancy had never occurred to me. I placed a defensive hand on my stomach. Fierce feelings of loyalty and protection burned in my veins. “Absolutely. This baby means the world to me.”
“It’s clearly a sign from God that you need to get your ass over to your man and make up.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Taking my arm, she drew me to the sofa and onto the plush cushions. “It’s only as complicated as you make it. If you want to be with him, make it happen. Have you thought about seeing a counselor?”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Can you imagine? ‘My husband and I are having difficulty adjusting to our new life as a married couple. And, did I mention that he’s a war lord?’”
“Okay. Maybe not.”
“He’s in some kind of trouble.” I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care. Divulging unnecessary details might put her in harm’s way, something I couldn’t risk. Until I knew more about Roman’s situation, caution was imperative. Instead, I gave her the broad points of the story. “Someone is threatening him, I think.” Speaking the words aloud gave our predicament gravity. “I’m scared, Everly.”
We stared at each other. Her clear-blue eyes sharpened. “Roman’s a smart man. I’m sure he has everything under control.” She patted my hand. “Mom said you’re coming to dinner tonight. You can ask Daddy. He knows everyone’s secrets.” Her eyes narrowed. “What about you? You seem to have plenty of secrets yourself.”
“No—well, maybe. You remember the time I called off work when we were in Paris a few years ago? I wasn’t sick. I went to the hotel bar the night before, hooked up with a guy, and had a horrible hangover the next morning.” I grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
“You told me you had food poisoning. I’m impressed.” Her smile brightened. “As long as we’re confessing, I might have borrowed your favorite blue sweater in high school and never returned it.”
“Are you kidding me? You know how hard I hunted for it, and you never said a word.” The humor of the moment faded. I sobered and the smile fell from my lips. “No more secrets. You’re the only person I’ve got, Everly. I need you.”
“Absolutely.” She extended her little finger, the same way she had when we were seven years old. “Pinky swear.”
Memories of hopscotch, dollhouses, and Malibu Barbie burned in my heart at the gesture. I curled my finger around hers. “You’re the best.” Through the deaths of my parents and her divorce, we’d managed to remain close. I wouldn’t let Nicky Tarnovsky come between us. She was my best friend, and I’d protect her to my dying breath.
Chapter 6
Rourke
With Lance at my side, I left Everly’s building and headed toward the car. During my visit, heavy clouds had moved across the city, obscuring the sun and casting the tall buildings into shadow. Numbness descended over my emotions while my mind raced with endless questions about Roman, his secret life, and our impending parenthood. Having a child bound us together for eternity. There was no escaping him now—if I wanted to escape.
Two paces from the car, Lance stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his. Startled out of my reverie, I glanced up. A middle-aged, balding man in a tan suit approached with rapid footsteps. As he walked toward me, his right hand disappeared inside his jacket. Lance shoved me into the open car, slamming the door behind me.
I toppled onto the cool leather seat and let out a startled, “Oof!”
The man withdrew a badge and ID from his inside suit pocket and held it up to the car window, his voice muffled through the glass. “Mrs. Menshikov, I’m Federal Agent Timothy Frankel. I need to speak with you about your husband.”
Lance placed a hand on the man’s chest and shoved him back a pace. “Go, go,” Lance urged the driver.
“No. Wait.” I held up a hand and weighed the merits of speaking to him. Although I didn’t want to incriminate Roman, this man might provide important clues to my husband’s secrets. I rolled down the window. “It’s okay, Lance.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk—alone?” Frankel returned his ID to his pocket but not before throwing an irritated glare in Lance’s direction. “How about your place?”
“No,” Lance said, his brow furrowing. “Absolutely not.”
I pushed the car door open. “If you want to speak with me, get in. Lance, you sit back here with us.”
“Alright.” Frankel slid into the vacant seat across from me.
Lance followed him into the car. “For the record, Mrs. Menshikov, I don’t like this.”
“It’s okay, Lance,” I said.
“Give me your gun.” He extended a hand toward the agent. After a moment’s hesitation, the man removed his pistol from the holster inside his suit coat and handed it, butt first, to Lance. He placed the weapon on the seat beside him and turned to the driver. “Take us around the park. Make sure we aren’t followed. If this guy does anyt
hing out of line, you know what to do.”
The ominous note of warning in his command made my hands tremble. I clasped them together, not wanting the agent to see my fear.
The driver nodded, lifted the partition, and merged into traffic.
“What can I do for you?” I forced my features into a neutral expression. Panic sharpened my senses. The details of his appearance washed over me. A tiny scar on his forehead. Pock marks on his cheeks. Bushy, dark eyebrows. He smelled of cheap cologne, but the lines of his expensive suit had been tailored to fit his trim build, suggesting a taste for the finer things in life. The thin sole of his left shoe showed when he rested an ankle on his knee. Maybe his lifestyle outpaced his bank account.
“I’m investigating the death of Lavender Cunningham,” he said, leveling his flat gaze on mine. “Can you tell me about the last time you saw her?”
“We had a meeting to discuss arrangements for one of Roman’s social events.” Had it really only been a month? It seemed like a lifetime ago. In the blur of recent events, I’d completely forgotten about Lavender and the Masquerade de Marquis. “That was the only time we’d ever met in person.”
“Were you aware she’d had a longstanding relationship with your husband?”
“Yes.” With forcible effort, I unclenched my fingers and drew in a breath, getting a mouthful of Aqua Velva. I exhaled through my nose, fighting back a rising tide of nausea. “They have a business affiliation.”
“Really? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Did he also tell you about his monthly deposits into her checking account, the Upper East Side apartment he had purchased for her, the cars, the vacations? I can go on, if you’d like. There’s a lot more.”
The War King Page 4