Chapter Eleven

Nita’s suite was huge, a sprawling collection of rooms that eclipsed Maricela’s in their grandeur. The royal palace, after all, hadn’t been expanded since the days of the Prophet. Gideon thought the mansion was too big as it was, and Maricela couldn’t argue. She had a wing to herself, more than sufficient space, and that was enough.

Estela Reyes, on the other hand, had things to prove. It wasn’t a practical need for space that drove her to build a house grander than the royal palace, but it was practicality all the same. Her majestic home was a statement of prosperity.

And her heir’s massive suite? Well, that was a promise--a promise that anyone lucky enough to marry Nita would share in these riches.

Laurel ducked out of a closet, shaking her head, and narrowly avoided a collision with two servants pushing a rack of gowns. “My entire fucking apartment could fit in your closet.”

“Which one?” Grace asked around the pins clenched between her teeth.

Bewildered, Laurel tilted her head. “Which apartment?”

“No, which closet.”

“She has more than one?” Laurel stalked away, presumably to take full inventory of Nita’s storage space.

Nita rolled her eyes skyward before zipping up the back of Ana’s slinky, glittering dress. The fabric looked like the midnight sky with a dreamy scattering of stars across it--but the slit in the front was high enough to flash the knives strapped to Ana’s thigh. “Wait until she finds the bathroom.”

“You should just give her the grand tour, Nita.” Kora paused in applying Maricela’s mascara to wink at her. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. You’ll barely be late for the ball.”

“Yeah, yeah. My rooms are ridiculous.” She finished with Ana’s dress and jabbed a finger at the Rider. “Don’t go anywhere. Jewelry next.”

Ana turned and held up both hands. “No, no way. I don’t want to spend ten years paying you back if I lose an earring in a fight.”

“Wait until you see it,” Nita countered before raising her voice. “Inga, can you get the set from my debut, please?”

One of the maids who’d been arranging snacks on a wide table nodded and hurried off in the direction Laurel had gone.

Kora slipped the wand back into the mascara pot and rearranged the protective smock covering Maricela’s dress. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Have I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Maricela sorted through the various blush palettes, taking her time to choose one. She couldn’t tell her sister that she was still reeling from the events of the previous day--or that she’d woken up in Ivan’s arms.

She especially couldn’t say that last part with Ivan and Ashwin standing only a few feet away.

She deflected with a half-truth instead. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you look tonight. Pregnancy agrees with you, and so does that dress.”

Kora smoothed her skirt over her stomach. The ice-blue fabric showed no change in her shape, but her skin glowed with health and happiness. “Thank you. But you’re avoiding something.”

“Miss Nita!” The maid was back, staggering under the weight of a massive jewelry box. Ivan jumped to take it from her, hoisting it onto the table next to the pre-party snacks.

“Thank you, both.” Nita flipped up the lid and unfolded the trays that swiveled out from each side. “Maricela, did you pack your own jewelry? I can have Inga bring out the rest of it.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. Isabela--” She paused as Grace reached past her for a sewing kit with a murmured apology. “Isabela came fully prepared. She brought our mother’s wedding jewels for me to wear.”

“Oh, that’s subtle.” Nita lifted a velvet tray out of the box and turned it to reveal a necklace and matching earrings made of wrought silver flowers accented with pearls and diamonds. “This will look perfect with that dress, Ana.”

Ana stroked the delicate petal of one silver flower. “Are you sure? If something happens...”

Nita waved a hand. “If a fight breaks out in the middle of my mother’s carefully planned ball, she won’t be fretting over jewelry. Trust me.” As if that settled the matter, Nita set the tray on the table and pointed to a chair. “Now let Maura fix your hair and makeup. And where the hell did Laurel go? She needs to get dressed. Laurel!”

Nita stalked toward the far side of the room, and Ana obediently dropped into the chair next to Maricela with a laugh. “This is more intense than gearing up for a fight. And she might be bossier than Deacon.”

“You have no idea.” Grace glanced up from the dress draped across her lap, though her fingers never stopped flying as she tacked up the seam with a row of stitches. “She spent the last few days subtly offering me gowns from her closet. She was sure I wouldn’t be able to finish mine.”

Maricela had no idea how she had. Grace’s dress was simple, certainly--a wrapped bodice with twisted spaghetti straps that fit her tightly through the waist before draping loosely for the rest of its length. But the wrap created a dramatic, extremely flattering plunge halfway to her navel, and the fitted parts clung to her like a second skin.

“It looks good.” Laurel emerged from another door, a length of black fabric draped over her arm. “Maybe we should trade, or something.” Before Grace could answer, she dropped her dress over the back of a chair and started unbuttoning her vest as she kicked off her shoes.

In moments, she had stripped to the waist, and Ivan cleared his throat and turned his back on them. Ashwin’s brow furrowed, but Ivan made a quick gesture, and Ashwin obediently turned.

Laurel laughed like it was the cutest thing ever, then dropped her jeans, swept up the dress, and pulled it over her head. It fell to mid-thigh, the stretchy fabric skimming her curves.

Maricela covered a smile. “I don’t think you need anything tailored, Laurel. Our hearts might not take it.”

“Flatterer.” Laurel pushed her hair back out of her eyes and squinted at Ashwin and Ivan’s backs--or maybe their asses. “Nothing like a well-made tux, though.”

Ivan’s shoulders stiffened, as if he felt her gaze.

Ana laughed. “I thought about wearing one, but I couldn’t resist a slinky dress. Plus, no way was I going to the fittings. Zeke was being so dramatic about having to dress up.”

Ivan couldn’t have been thrilled about it, either, but he hadn’t complained. Maricela folded the smock covering her dress, careful not to smudge the white satin, and set it aside. She rose and circled the table to stand in front of him.

His bow tie was slightly crooked, and she reached out to straighten it. “Laurel’s dressed now.”

“Thank God,” he murmured. He lifted his hand to the tie. “Did I do it wrong?”

“Not at all. You look...” The only words that came to mind were far too revealing. She couldn’t say them to Ivan, much less in the company of so many others, so she bit her tongue. “You look fine.”

He tugged lightly on the bow tie, knocking it askew again. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You’ll be dressed exactly like dozens of other people tonight. Trust me, you’ll blend in.” A lie, but only a tiny one. Gideon had mandated formalwear for the Riders in lieu of their official dress uniforms in hopes that they would do exactly that--blend in with Estela’s guests.

But Ivan could never be mistaken for one of them. It wasn’t just that he was uneasy in the tuxedo. He exhibited a leashed strength that the fine fabric couldn’t hide, and a prowling energy it couldn’t contain. He might look like one of them, but he wasn’t. He was a warrior, and a fancy party didn’t change that one bit.

Right now, all that energy was focused on her. The clink of dishes and the chatter of the other women felt distant. Even the sound of Nita trying to drape Laurel in more of her diamond-studded jewelry faded away.

It took a hundred years for Ivan’s hand to close the distance between them, and his fingertips lingered on her bare shoulder as he brushed back a lock of her hair. For a moment--an eternity--they were alone in the world.

The illusion ended with a low cough at her elbow. It was one of Nita’s chamber servants, holding a calling card that bore Alexei’s name. “Ma’am.”

Maricela stared at the cream-colored paper, unable to make sense of it. “He wants to see me? Now?”

“He asked if you had a few moments.”

Nita appeared and glanced over Maricela’s shoulder. “Well, he’s one of the only nice ones here. Take the library, if you want.”

He could only want one thing--to press his suit before the ball began and others started proposing to her, as well. She could deny him now, but she couldn’t outrun this all night. “Yes, of course. Please show him to the library and tell him I’ll be along in a minute.” That task complete, she turned to Ivan. “I need to speak with him alone.”

Ivan studied her face, as if trying to judge how serious she was. “I’ll stay outside the library,” he said finally. “But the door stays open.”

She could hardly bear the thought of hearing all these proposals herself. The idea of Ivan listening to them as well was intolerable. But she couldn’t argue with him about it, not here. “Very well.”

Alexei was waiting by the fireplace--which was laid with a fire that was not only unnecessary in summer but downright stifling. His tuxedo was elegant and perfectly tailored, accentuating his lean frame and strong arms. He smiled self-consciously, his gaze skipping over her shoulder to the open door--and to Ivan, hovering a few feet beyond it. “Don’t worry. I won’t make this miserable.”

She didn’t see how he could make it anything else. “You don’t want to marry me, Alexei.”

“No,” he admitted readily. “No more than you want to marry me. You deserve to be happy, and so do I. But we are who we are. We can fight it with everything in us, but in the end, we’ll both give in.” He shrugged. “And I’m the best person you could ever choose to grudgingly marry.”

Her chest tightened until just drawing a breath ached. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing.” His cheerful expression faded, and she got her first glimpse of the bleakness in his eyes. His voice lowered until there was no chance it would reach Ivan’s ears. “I didn’t get to bring my star-crossed love. Hugo is a genius. People say he was blessed by your mother. He could make a garden grow in dead, salted earth. He just has one flaw.”

“You can’t marry the gardener.” There was no advancement in that for his family, no way it would help them climb the social ladder or generate new business contacts.

“Maybe if I already had an appropriate spouse or two.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “There are four great families. The best chance we have of becoming the fifth is if I marry you.”

“And what about Hugo?”

“My only hope is to marry a man or woman who understands. Who might even come to appreciate a surly genius who seems brooding and rough at first, but underneath is just a teddy bear.” Alexei’s gaze held hers. Serious. Intent. “And if you appreciate men like that, I would be understanding, too.”

The future he offered stretched out before her, all the more dismal and depressing because he was right. It was their best-case scenario--a practical marriage full of affection but devoid of passion, where they each were free to seek solace in the arms of others. He could have Hugo at least part of the time, and she could have--

Would Ivan agree to such an arrangement? Or would he consider it beneath the office of a Rider, to carry on with a married woman, even if everyone involved knew what was going on and why?

And could it ever be worth it?

She didn’t realize she’d asked the question aloud until Alexei looked away to stare into the fire. “I don’t know. I want to believe it could.”

Or they’d end up hating each other over it. “No. I like you too much for that. I know you had to ask, but now that you have, I’m going to forget it happened. Sound fair?”

He managed to look disappointed and relieved at the same time. “Absolutely. I’ll even make you a deal--you save me from overeager suitors, and I’ll do the same for you.”

People had probably already started to gather downstairs. “I’m afraid it’s much too late for that. I’d rather have a promise that you’ll step in and save my toes if they’re getting trampled on.”

“Consider it done.”

She accepted his arm and began walking him the back way toward the suite’s exit. “I know this ball is about courtship, so everyone is focused on marriage, but I also make a pretty good friend. If there’s anything I can do to help you--”

They turned the corner, and a brash voice rose in a tipsy slur. “There she is! Enough of this babbling about announcements.”

The maid guarding the door turned to give Maricela a pleading look. Javier Montero filled the doorway behind her in a rumpled tux, looking drunk and extremely affronted--and, for once, absolutely nothing like his brother. In all the years Maricela had known him, Gabe had never once worn that expression of angry entitlement.

“It’s all right, Lindsey.” Maricela put herself between him and the maid. “I’m afraid I have to finish getting ready now, Javier, but I’d be happy to save you a dance later.”

Javier’s gaze raked over Alexei in accusation. “You had time for him.”

Only years of practice kept the vague smile on her face. “A waltz, perhaps?”

Alexei stepped forward. “Javier--”

“Shut up.” Gabe’s brother swept his arm wide as he stepped into the suite, knocking Alexei back. He loomed over Maricela. “You know his family just wants to use you to claw their way to relevance. You should be spending your time with a better class of people.”

Her spine stiffened. “How ugly. If you insist on offering opinions like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to skip that dance.”

Javier’s breath stank of liquor, and something desperate stirred behind his eyes. Maricela didn’t know what family ultimatum had driven him here, but the bitterness in his expression made it perfectly clear how much he resented needing her. “I don’t want a dance,” he snapped as he clasped her upper arm with bruising strength. “I want to talk to you--”

“Hey!” Alexei reached for Javier in protest.

He didn’t get a chance to do anything, because Ivan burst into the foyer in an explosion of movement so fast Maricela barely had time to free herself from Javier’s grip. The man yelped in pain as Ivan grabbed him and bore him back, through the open doorway and across the hall. Ivan slammed him against the wood paneling with his forearm across his neck and lifted him until Javier’s toes only just scraped the floor. He clawed at Ivan’s arm, but no words could make it past the pressure on his throat.

Ivan stood there, an immobile statue carved of hard muscle and anger that seethed beneath every word he managed to bite out. “Don’t touch her.”

Javier’s red face was taking on a decidedly purple tinge. If Maricela didn’t intervene, Ivan might hold him there until he passed out--or worse. She stepped forward and touched the back of Ivan’s shoulder. “Put him down, please. You have to put him down now.”

He tensed but obeyed--a little. Javier’s shoes touched the floor as Ivan eased the pressure enough for him to gasp in a breath.

“Ivan, put him down.”

After another trembling moment, Ivan abruptly stepped away. Javier slid partway down the wall before locking his knees, embarrassment and rage battling on his face.

Rage won. He glared at Ivan as he straightened, tugging his tuxedo into place. “It figures you’d be feral. Just like your uncles.”

Ivan’s stony expression didn’t waver. “And I’ll kill anyone who lays a violent hand on a Rios. Just like my father.”

“Go ahead and bare your teeth like the rabid dog you are.” Javier stepped into Ivan’s space. “Someday you won’t heel when she tells you, and I’ll enjoy watching them put you down.” When Ivan stared at him without reacting, Javier turned to Maricela. “I hope you know I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“We don’t have a future.” Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them in her skirt. She didn’t care if she crushed the delicate satin. “I knew you could be petty, Javier, but I didn’t know you were cruel. Good night.”

“Maricela, be reasonable--”

“Enough.” Ivan grabbed Javier’s arm and turned him around roughly. “Maricela, go back to the others and finish getting ready.”

Maricela watched them retreat down the hallway and disappear around the corner. Tears threatened, and she kept her eyes open, wide and unblinking, until the burning subsided.

She didn’t have time to ruin her mascara.

A soft touch on her shoulder tore her attention away from the end of the hall, and she turned to find Avery eyeing her with concern. “Are you all right?”

The compassion in her friend’s voice was enough to shake her careful self-control. As it was, it ripped past every polite, automatic assurance, and the truth slipped out. “No. I want to go home.”