The Secret Beneath the Veil

“Good. I’m Clair, by the way.” She offered her free hand to shake while her other hand stayed against her chest, the straps of her halter-style bodice dangling over her slender fingers.

“Viveka. Call me Vivi.” Eyeing the straps, she guessed, “Wardrobe malfunction?”

“The worst! Is there any chance you have a pin?”

“I don’t. Can you tie them?” She circled her finger in the air. “Turn around. Let’s see what happened to the catch.”

They quickly determined the catch was long gone and they were too short to tie.

“I bet a tiepin would hold it. Give me a minute. I’ll ask Mikolas for his,” Viveka offered.

“Good idea, but ask my husband,” Clair said. “Then I won’t have to worry about returning it.”

Viveka chuckled. “Let me guess. Your husband is the man in the suit?” She thumbed toward the ballroom filled with a hundred men wearing ties and jackets.

Clair grinned. “Mine’s easy to spot. He’s the one with a scar here.” She touched her cheek, drawing a vertical line. “Also, he’s holding my purse. I needed two hands to keep myself together long enough to get in here or I would have texted him to come help me.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

* * *

Mikolas stood with the back of his hand pressed to a scotch on the rocks. So much for behaving mainstream and law-abiding, he thought dourly.

He was watching for Viveka, still worried about her. When she had apologized, he’d been floored, already kicking himself for bringing her downstairs at all. He could be at home making love to her, none of this having happened. Instead, he’d let her be terrorized.

There she was. He tried to catch her eye, but she scanned the room, then made for a small group in the far corner from the band.

Mikolas swore under his breath as she approached his target: Aleksy Dmitriev. The Russian magnate had logistics interests that crossed paths with his own from the Aegean through to the Black Sea. Dmitriev had never once returned Mikolas’s calls and it grated. He hated being the petitioner and resented the other man for relegating him to that role.

Mikolas knew why Dmitriev was avoiding him. He was scrupulous about his reputation. He wouldn’t risk sullying it by attaching himself to the Petrides name.

While Mikolas knew working with Dmitriev would be another seal of legitimacy for his own organization. That’s why he wanted to partner with him.

Dmitriev stared at Viveka like she was from Mars, then handed her his drink. He removed his tiepin, handed it to her, then took back his glass. When she asked him something else, he nodded at a window ledge where a pocketbook sat. Viveka scooped it up and headed back to the ladies’ room.

What the hell?

* * *

Viveka was thankful for the small drama that Clair had provided, but flashed right back to seesaw emotions when she returned to Mikolas’s side. He stood out without trying. He wore that look of disinterest that alpha wolves wore with their packs, confident in his superiority so with nothing to prove.

A handful of men in sharp suits had clustered around him. They all wore bored-looking women on their arms.

Mikolas interrupted the conversation when she arrived. He took her hand and made a point of introducing her.

She smiled, but the man who’d been speaking was quick to dismiss her and continue what he was saying. He struck her as the toady type who sucked up to powerful men in hopes of catching scraps. The way the women were held like dogs on a leash was very telling, too.

Viveka let her gaze stray to the other groups, seeing the dynamic was very different in Clair’s circle, where she was nodding at whoever was speaking, smiling and fully engaged in the conversation. Her husband was looking their way and she pressed a brief smile onto her mouth.

Nothing.

Mikolas had been right about invisible barriers.

“This must be your new bride if the merger has gone through,” one of the other men broke in to say, frowning with confusion as he jumped his gaze between her and Mikolas.

I have a name, Viveka wanted to remind the man, but apparently on this side of the room, she was a “this.”

“No,” Mikolas replied, offering no further explanation.

Viveka wanted to roll her eyes. It was basic playground etiquette to act friendly if you wanted to be included in the games. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Was this what he had meant when he had said it was her task to change how he was viewed?