I look him up and down, loving how hot he is in black dress pants and a black dress shirt that molds to his body in the most sinful way.
“My oh my, someone is looking sexy tonight.” I put my hands on his chest and straighten his shirt. “Where is your wheelchair?”
“No wheelchair tonight.”
My eyes widen at his words. This is big. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I squeak with delight and kiss him.
“I’m so happy for you, baby.” I remove a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “The guys are going to lose it when they see you!”
* * *
Olga sees Roman first and the expression on her face is priceless. She’s on the other end of the hallway in front of Ivan’s door when she hears us coming. Her eyes bulge, and the pile of pressed towels she’s carrying in her arms falls to the floor.
I stifle a smile, trying to keep my face casual, and follow Roman into the elevator. His walking has improved immensely since he switched to his new crutches. It’s almost normal. Maybe a bit slower than it was before the accident, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen what his knee looks like. It’s a miracle he’s come this far.
When we exit the elevator, Ivan and one of the security guys are coming from the direction of the kitchen. I guess they are going with us tonight. They see Roman and freeze in mid-step. Ivan gathers himself first and approaches us.
“Pakhan. Nina Petrova.” He nods and precedes to open the door.
With a side glance, I notice Valentina peeking around the corner on the other side of the hall; her mouth hanging open. There is no doubt that by the time we come back everyone will know the news.
* * *
The club is bigger than I expected, spanning the whole ground floor of a three-story glass building. It seems as if we arrived too early because there are only a few people waiting outside; however, when the bouncers open the double glass doors for us and we enter, I’m surprised to find a significant crowd inside. Most of the people are gathered around tall tables along the sides of the space. I expect us to stop at one ourselves, but we cross the huge room to another set of doors. Two men are standing on either side and they open them as soon as we get closer. We are greeted the same way we were at the entrance.
“Pakhan,” they say nodding to Roman and then me. “Mrs. Petrov.”
I’m slightly confused by their behavior, because I didn’t expect anyone to know about my existence.
This second space is smaller, but it is much more lavish. Instead of tall tables, five semi-circular booths are located around the room; two smaller ones on each side and a huge one, that could probably seat ten people, in the center of a small, raised platform. Ivan, who’s been walking in front of us the whole time, walks toward the big booth and stands on the right side, his hands clasped behind his back. For a second, I worry about Roman taking the two steps onto the platform, but he manages without a problem. He turns and offers me his hand, and I step up after him. The security guy joins us on the left side of the booth, assuming the same position as Ivan.
“I feel strange,” I whisper when I sit down next to Roman in the middle of the booth.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper again. “Why is everybody watching us?”
“Who cares,” he says, grabs my chin, and kisses me.
A man approaches Ivan and says something in his ear. He looks familiar, probably one of Pavel’s men. Ivan nods and looks at me, but when I shake my head, he sends him away. I’m not in a mood for business tonight, he can pass the message to Pavel.
Nina sits snuggled into my side, a wine glass in her hand, watching the crowd. She’s been talking nonstop since we came in, but she fell silent a few minutes ago. I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. She puzzles me, this strange little thing who has worked her way under my skin, bit by bit, since the moment I saw her for the first time in that hole of a restaurant. I wonder what’ll happen when these six months elapse, and she realizes I have no intention of letting her go. Ever.
I raise my hand to trace the line of her bare shoulder, and then let it slide down to her delicate wrist. She looks so fragile, my Nina, but looks can be deceiving.
“Dance with me,” I whisper in her ear.
Her head tilts up and those black eyes look straight at me, a question visible in them. She must wonder how the fuck she is going to dance with a man who can’t even walk properly, but she doesn’t ask, as I knew she wouldn’t.
“Okay.” She smiles.
“Give me your leg.”
Curving her eyebrow, she turns toward me, crosses her legs, and places her right foot in my hand. Slowly, I remove her heel and place it on the seat on the other side of me, then let go of her ankle.