Chapter Eight

 

Kelly stared at her father. “He—what?”

“Ivan has asked if you would be kind enough to accompany him to Porter’s this evening,” her father repeated, as if he was asking her what she wanted him to pick up for her at the store and not telling her something completely insane and out of the blue.

“Ivan Sokolov. Is asking me out on a date.”

“Yes.”

Kelly spluttered. “But—seriously? Did you not see him at lunch? He hates my guts, he can’t fucking stand it that a woman’s actually standing up to him and not falling for his ‘I’m so charming, I’m a big strong Russian’ routine.”

“You sound rather invested in this,” her father noted placidly.

Kelly pointed a finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not making this into a thing. There is no thing.”

“I’m merely noting that you two seem to have a bit of a spark.”

“A spark?” Kelly wanted to laugh hysterically. “You call him second-guessing everything I say and talking to me condescendingly a spark? Are you out of your mind?”

“Now, love,” her father said, adopting a soothing tone of voice. It was the same tone he’d use on Mother when she was in the middle of one of her tirades.

Supposedly, according to her parents, Kelly’d gotten temper from both of them and thus had twice the short fuse.

“Don’t you placate me,” she snapped. “I’m not going out on a date with someone who doesn’t respect me.”

“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t respect you. I think it’s that you challenge him and he’s unused to that. He clearly appreciates it, if he’s asking you out. And you can’t deny that he’s a good-looking sort of man.”

He was more than just ‘good looking’, but Kelly wasn’t going to admit that, and certainly not to her father of all people. “I can do better.”

She’d long ago accepted that her marriage would probably be for politics and not for love. Even though she had been passed over for heir, as the daughter of a boss she held political power. She could be used to seal alliances between families.

But if she was going to be practically selling herself for an alliance, then by god, she was going to sell herself to someone with more power and a hell of a lot more respect for her than Ivan Sokolov.

“It’s just one date,” her father reminded her. “One date does not a marriage make. This isn’t the age where we wait until the day of the wedding to introduce the bride and the groom to one another. Marriage might be political, but everyone wants it to be happy if possible. No one wants a repeat of those former years.”

By that he was probably referring to all of the divorces, mariticide, and domestic abuse that had gone on back when the political marriages were more, well, obviously political. The police couldn’t really get involved and so things had to be solved through the families, and it had just been a massive mess.

Kelly knew she’d been lucky to grow up in a household with two parents who loved each other and respected one another. Her father had married in Ireland and brought his wife over when his cousin had summoned him, so no politics had really been involved in that marriage.

When she’d been little, she’d dreamed of meeting someone, perhaps at one of those big parties that all the families threw at the end of the year, a holiday-themed competition of who had more sophistication and wealth. Or perhaps she’d run into the man at the opera, since every mob boss and their mother was stubbornly attending every week and probably the reason the Met was still able to pull off those elaborate sets every year.

Probably also the way Puccini continued to be so damn popular, for fuck’s sake.

But in any case, she had imagined it well, at the age of ten, of twelve, of fourteen. She’d run into a handsome, charming man, and they’d spend the evening flirting, and only at the end would they learn who the other one was—and she’d find to her surprise and pleasure that he was the heir to some powerful family or other. She’d get to have her cake and eat it to, and truly marry for love as well as for an alliance.

She’d grown up since then.

She knew that like-mindedness was probably the most she could hope for at the beginning, and from there possibly a genuine affection would grow. Compatibility was something that people truly cared about nowadays, as her father had pointed out, and there were people marrying for love—but you were only supposed to look for that love among certain circles.

So it wasn’t like she was looking for some fairy tale romance. She wasn’t asking for roses and chocolates. She just wanted someone who could help to elevate the family status and possibly provide protection, shelter if a storm came—and someone who she didn’t feel like strangling after ten minutes.

Ivan provided exactly none of those things.

“You don’t have to fall in love with him,” her father teased. “I’m not asking you to make any promises. But he’s a valuable asset. We need him on our good side. Just one date, that’s all. After that you can say that you’ve done your duty.”

Kelly sighed. What harm, really, could a first date possibly do? If he got to be too insufferable she’d just smile on the outside and grip her fork very tightly and imagine stabbing Ivan through the eye with it.

And, maybe, this could be a golden opportunity. If she played her cards right, she could chase Ivan away. Make him give up on this entire thing. With him out of the picture not only would her father have to relent and let her investigate but she wouldn’t have to deal with Ivan’s handsome smug face ever again.

“Fine.” She paused. “But somebody owes me big for this.”