Page 21 of His Son's Brid
"Petrov's hosting. That art dealer, the one from last night? He's throwing some private thing at his estate. Wants to discuss a partnership." Viktor smirks. "Lots of expensive people, expensive art, expensive bullshit. Your favorite."
Petrov.
The name clicks. The gallery host. The one Aurora said was her father's associate.
She'll be there.
The thought hits me like a punch. She'll be there, at the same dinner, in the same room. Close enough to touch but surrounded by people who'll notice if I do.
I should skip it. Send Viktor in my place. Stay here and work, get my head straight, stop thinking about her.
Instead, I hear myself say, "What time?"
Petrov's estate is the kind of obscene wealth that makes even me uncomfortable. Marble columns. Gold fixtures. A fountain in the foyer that probably costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
The dinner's in the garden—long tables under strings of lights, waiters circulating with champagne and caviar, classical music playing from hidden speakers. Fifty guests, maybe sixty, all dressed like they're going to the opera.
I scan the crowd.
And there she is.
Aurora's wearing green tonight. Emerald silk that clings to every curve, the kind of dress that should be illegal in public. Her hair's down, dark waves over bare shoulders, and she's laughing at something the woman next to her said.
My mouth goes dry.
Fuck, she's beautiful.
I watch her from across the garden, and the hunger that's been eating at me since I left her hotel room intensifies. I want to cross this space, grab her, drag her somewhere private, and finish what I started.
But I can't.
Not here. Not with these many witnesses.
She turns, like she can feel me watching, and our eyes meet.
The smile drops from her face. Her lips part. Even from here, I can see her breathing change.
She feels it too.
Viktor appears at my elbow with two glasses of champagne. "Petrov wants to talk after dinner. Something about moving product through his galleries."
"Fine."
"You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"Then why are you staring at that girl like you're planning ten different ways to—" He stops. Follows my gaze. "Oh. Oh shit. That's her?"
I don't answer.
Viktor studies her for a moment. "She looks familiar. Can't place it though." He shrugs. "Probably just saw her at the gallery last night."
Or she's someone important.
The thought nags at me, but I push it away. Aurora said her father's associate was hosting. That could mean anything. Business partner. Client. Friend.
"Stay out of it," I tell Viktor.
