She studied me, her intelligent, dark gaze digging into mine. “Is that true?”
“I never looked into it,” I said. “I was just glad to have him gone.”
She opened her mouth, her brows drawn together, and then she shut it. I could tell by the way she worked her jaw that she was annoyed. Her reaction stirred a little irritation in me. She was acting like she had the right to know personal information about my family.
We kept silent as the driver pulled up to the curb before the Bolshoi Theater and came around to open the doors for us. I stepped out, instinctively glancing over the street and pressing my arm to my side to feel the hard metal of my gun. There were only throngs of men and women dressed in finery moving into the theater, chatting and laughing as they went. It felt safe, definitely safer than the city did back home.
I helped my wife from the car, sliding my arm around her to keep her close to my body as we entered the building. An attendant took our coat and led us to our private box near the front on the right side.
As I had suspected, eyes followed her as she went. She’d taken my advice seriously and she floated at my side, her spine straight and her shoulders back. The double string of diamonds at her throat caught the light, drawing every eye to the firm swell of her breasts. Men looked and then looked again and women gazed at her with jealous admiration.
I slid my arm around her waist again, pressing the swell of her hip against my thigh. They could look with thinly veiled desire, but tonight when her dress and jewels came off, I would be the man buried between her thighs.
The boxes were separated by a wall and draped halfway in front with a curtain for privacy. Olivia was quiet, her eyes wide as she took in the opulent room, the ornate ceiling and the red velvet seats. As she took her seat at my side, I found myself glad for the curtain and the darkness of the room. I shouldn’t have let her wear that dress, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Even as the orchestra struck up, I still found my eyes drifting through the shadows to the curve of her bare throat and the outline of her breasts.
“What is this performance?” she whispered.
“It’s calledPrince Igor,” I said. “I thought you might like it because it has ballet sequences. Viktor recommended it as his favorite. Here’s the libretto.”
There was just enough light for her to read over the short synopsis of the opera. I forced myself to look ahead instead of watching her as she bent over the paper. When she was done, she folded it primly in her fingers and turned her attention to the stage.
The opera had been cut down to two acts, which was a relief because, according to Viktor, the unabridged version was four hours long. I didn’t have the patience to sit for that long with Olivia beside me in that dress. As much as I appreciated the artistic talent of the performers and the beauty of the music, I appreciated my wife’s tits a lot more. It took everything I had to keep my hands to myself so she could enjoy the show.
When the curtain rose for the intermission, Olivia sat back with a sigh, blinking in the sudden light.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’ve never been to an opera or a real ballet. It’s so…different from watching it on a screen. It’s beautiful and it feels so real.”
Her eyes glittered as she looked up at me and something warm and foreign welled in my chest. I bent quickly and kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth mingled with her lipstick. As my tongue swiped over hers, she gave a quick sigh, her shoulders drawing up.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, drawing back.
She shook her head. “Everything is just so different than it was a year ago, you know?”
I cocked my head and studied her until she looked down. “Are you happy?”
She nodded. “I think so. I would be more…never mind.”
I leaned on the seat, turning to face her better. She was blushing and for some reason my blood ran faster and my dick hardened at the sight.
“What were you going to say?”
She hesitated. “I—I was just going to say that things are perfect. It would just be better if we…if we weren’t arranged. If we were in love.”
I considered her for a long moment. What did she feel for me? Over the last week, I’d noticed she had softened toward me. I could see it in her eyes every night when she looked up at me as I fucked her and when I drew back from kissing her mouth. And I had softened to the point of this strange warmth rising in my chest, threatening to crack through the years of numbing apathy.
The lights flicked and I looked away.
“You should use the restroom if you need to,” I said, rising. “That’s ten minutes until the lights go down again.”
She frowned as I led her out into the hall. I wasn’t comfortable leaving her for long, but luckily the men’s restroom was just across the hall from the women’s. Even in Moscow, far from the outfit, I didn’t feel safe from Romano.
When she returned, I could tell she had freshened her makeup. As I led her back to our box, the faint scent of sweetness and flowers teased my nose and sent my mind spinning. The lights dimmed and the curtain drew up revealing a stage full of dancers who sprang to life as the orchestra started. Olivia leaned forward, enraptured at the sight, her fingers digging into the railing.
I brushed my lips over her ear. “When this dance is over, I want you on your knees,” I whispered.
She kept her gaze straight ahead, but her breathing hitched. The dancers swirled and vaulted, their white-clad bodies like spots of light across the darkened stage. The tension in my groin increased as I watched the tiny pulse in her throat. How tender, how delicate it would feel beneath my fingers. I would trace it while her mouth entertained my cock. Fuck, I needed relief and this goddamn ballet sequence felt like it was hours long.