Chapter 271
{TYLER}
Four Days Later
There is nothing I enjoy looking at more than an Italian man in a suit, unless that man is specifically my husband and the suit is specifically Armani. As much as I tease him about it, Sasha really was put on this earth to wear Giorgio’s creations. A match made in heaven—or maybe hell.
Either way, Sasha in black-tie Armani makes my knees weak.
“You like it?” he asks, looking himself over in the mirror. The tux is brand new; we picked it up after alterations just this morning.
I come up behind him and look at his reflection. It gives me the advantage of being able to check him out from both back and front. “Baby, if we didn’t have somewhere to be, I’d insist that we fuck immediately p>
“You like it,” he confirms with a smirk. “Alright. As long as you think I’ll pass muster with Magda as well p>
Tonight we are attending the opening night of the season at Teatro La Fenice, the Venetian opera house, where Sasha is hoping to make first contact with Magda. She’s a great patron of the arts, and Sasha hopes that showing himself in a similar light might pique her interest.
I watch Sasha straighten his bow tie for the fifth time and then reach around him to do it myself. The thing about Sasha these days is that he’s not just good-looking. Of course he’s gorgeous, but he’s been that his whole life. These days, those surface-level, devastatingly-handsome features are buoyed by his self-confidence, his self-control, his self-belief. They’re all qualities that make him completely irresistible to me. I want him more these days than I ever did at the start, and I would have cut off a limb for him at the start.
These days I’d crush empires, raze worlds, unmake universes. And I think he knows it now, after the catacombs incident.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks my reflection, amused.
I’m staring all dewy-eyed at him.
But why shouldn’t I? He’s my husband and I love him and I’m proud of him. “I’m thinking that Magda will be falling over herself to do business with you p>
“Ah, baby, I’m afraid you might be biased.” He whirls around from the mirror to sweep me into his arms.
“Biased or not, I’m sure you’ll break more than one heart tonight p>
“Venice is making you romantic,” he says, and then kisses me gently. “I like it. But I’m still very sure I won’t be able to pass in high society, so I’ll be relying on you to supply the charm and the manners, as always p>
“I got you covered,” I assure him, although the truth is, I’m not sure if I’ll pass in Venetian society circles. I’m hoping our status will give us some leeway.
Fingers crossed on one hand, I let Sasha take me by the other and lead me down to our waiting speedboat taxi at our private dock on the canal.
We’re guided by one of the theater valets to a private box, and I lean forward over the balcony to take in the plush red velvet seats and curtains, and the warm glow of the lamps.
Sasha tugs me back from the edge. “Don’t give them a clear shot, baby bird p>
“What?” I turn to him, startled. “Do you think p>
“I think there are always people looking to do us harm. No point making it easier for them p>
I settle back into my chair, chastened. “Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in a theater,” I say after a moment.
Sasha sighs and looks at his program. “Let’s change the topic. Have you seen this one before p>
“Antony and Cleopatra? Not the opera. I’ve seen The Magic Flute three times, and not by choice. You p>
“I’ve never been to the opera before p>
Sometimes I forget that Sasha and I had very different upbringings. “Well, The Magic Flute sure would be a better introduction for someone who hasn’t seen an opera before p>
Sasha doesn’t reply. When I glance over at him, his eyes are scanning the stalls and boxes, moving fast until they backtrack and stop. I look where he’s looking. “Always business with you, honey, isn’t it p>
“Not always. But tonight, yes p>
Opposite us, on a lower level, is a woman who would be hard to miss. It must be Magda. Seated in the the Royal Box, even from a distance she looks lovely and vital, laughing in the middle of her group of tuxedoed men, and when I bring my opera glasses up to my face, her face matches the close-up cropped photograph that Sasha has been carrying around these last few days as we organized everything for tonight.
But I notice something else about her companions, too. “Either she has a harem of dudes, or those are her bodyguards,” I mutter to Sasha.
“Well done,” he says approvingly. “Yes. Those are bodyguards, trying hard not to look like bodyguards. How did you recognize them p>
I study them again, trying to figure out my own thought processes. “She’s a very beautiful and charming woman, and she seems like she’s having a very interesting conversation, but none of them are looking at her. Except the one in the middle p>
“Yes,” Sasha muses. “What do you think of him p>
The one in the middle is a sylph-like creature with full lips and bedroom eyes. His gleaming black hair curls in ringlets around his neck, and the deep burgundy suit he wears is closely tailored to his slim body. Around his neck is a ruff, an actual ruff, giving him a Renaissance air. No plain tux for this guy.
“He’s either a vampire or a pampered cat in human form.” Sasha gives a soft laugh. “He reminds me a little of you.” “What? I look nothing like him p>
“No,” Sasha agrees, as though that settles the conversation. “And Magda p>
I go back to studying the woman. She is startlingly vivacious, the black of her silk gown set off by the diamonds at her throat, ears and wrists, her large dark eyes expressive even from a distance, and captivating when I raise my opera glasses again to get a closer look. She’s just real damn nice to look at, like a work of art.
But the more I stare, the more I wonder. There’s a weariness underlying that vivacity, a watchfulness to her. She’s surrounded by bodyguards—all of them packing heat, from what I can tell—but every so often she turns her head suddenly to look out across the room herself, as though she doesn’t trust even her presumably highly-paid and highly-trained guards to spot every sign of trouble.
In fact, she looks straight at me while I’m looking at her, her velvet eyes narrowing, and I immediately look away, turning my spyglass to the next box along.
“For someone in prime position, she doesn’t seem to want to be looked at,” I murmur.
“She carries many cares with her p>
Sasha’s odd response is enough to make me wonder exactly what cares and worries he carries with him day to day.
“You think she made us?” I ask, concerned now that I might have been staring a little too long. I drop the glasses and pretend to read my own program.
“I think she’s aware of us p>
That doesn’t sound promising. But before I can say anything, the house lights dim three times, then go dark. The chattering crowd falls silent, and the curtain on stage begins to rise. The stage lights come up, but I can’t help glancing back toward the Royal Box.
Even over the distance I can see that Magda is still looking straight back at me.