Chapter 44

CHAPTER 44

VIVIAN

I slammed my fist against the elevator button. "Come on! Come on!"

Var's hand wrapped around my upper arm and swung me around to face him. "Explain."

The women still approached us, although now several of them had a look of concern on their faces.

I bit my lip. "I… I can't… there's no time. They're coming."

"Vivian, you're not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on."

Rising on my toes, I peeked over his shoulder.

Crap.

The women were almost at the entrance to the ballroom.

I snatched at his sleeve and dragged him further down the hall and into the empty billiard room. In a vain attempt to control my rising panic, I paced to the side of the ornate mahogany table as I ran nervous fingers along the green velvet.

Var crossed his arms over his chest. "Vivian…"

With my hands on my hips, I turned to confront him. "You didn't tell me that Samara was Samara Ivanova!"

He shrugged. "So?"

Stretching out my arm, I gestured wildly in the direction of the door. "So? It didn't occur to you that as an…" I lowered my voice to a stage whisper, "… art forger … I'd need to know if a famous artist was among your friend's wives?"

His head pivoted to look at the still open doorway as he turned wide eyes back to me. Marching over to the door, he slammed it shut. "Fuck."

"I know!"

He rubbed his eyes. "How bad?"

My fingers twisted into the fabric of my gown. "It's not that bad… but it's not great."

He leaned his hands on the end of the pool table. "Tell me."

"A few years ago, a gallery in Boston reached out to me. This billionaire Russian had just paid a stupid amount for a painting from an unknown artist. When the gallery tried to get ahold of the artist to buy more paintings, she had disappeared. So they wanted me to replicate the original work so they could sell it a few more times."

Var nodded slowly. "Let me guess, Samara's Little Girl Lost series?"

I twisted my new wedding rings around my finger. "Maaayyybbbeee…"

He groaned. "Viv."

"It's not my fault. How was I supposed to know that she'd become this huge artist or that one day we'd be practically sisters-in-law in some fucked-up pseudo-Russian cult?"

"Fair point." He sighed. "Is it possible she doesn't know?"

I shook my head. "Samara found out about the fakes a year ago and apparently her husband spent a small fortune tracking them down. I only know that because there was an investigative article about it on an art critic's page. Apparently, there was this big effort by a bunch of amateur art detectives to track the forger down."

"Christ, Vivian. Is there anyone you didn't piss off during your forgery career?"

"Says the man who kills people for a living."

"Technically, I don't do it for a living, more like a side job."

"Not funny. What are we going to do? The boys all told me how important it was that the girls like me." I groaned, knowing I sounded like I was on a freaking school playground.

He placed an arm around my waist and pulled me close. Putting a finger under my chin, he raised my gaze to his. "Don't you worry about that. No matter what, they won't be able to resist falling in love with you."

His dark sapphire eyes searched mine as the weight of his words created a thick, almost palpable tension in the room.

I licked my lips. "How do you know that? I've done some pretty annoying things."

The corner of his mouth lifted as he rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. "Maybe they have a soft spot for beautiful, filthy-mouthed women who are annoying as fuck and constantly challenge and excite them."

My fingertips played with the button on his tuxedo shirt as my cheeks heated. "They don't sound very smart. Women like that can get tiresome."

His chest vibrated with his low chuckle. "I highly doubt that. Come on. I've known Samara for a while now, and I promise you, she is not going to hold this against you."

He led me toward the door.

"Are you sure?"

His arm tightened around my waist. "I'm positive. Either way, I'll be right at your side."

The moment we entered the ballroom again, it was Samara who came running up to meet us. She clasped at both of my hands. "I have been dying to meet you!"

I raised a single eyebrow as guilt and shame caused a deep flush to creep over my neck and cheeks. "You have?"

"This is going to sound crazy and is a huge long shot, but… by any chance, were you the one who forged one of my paintings ages ago when I was just a starving artist?"

My stomach twisted as Var squeezed my hip.

I swallowed. "About that… you have to know that I'm really sorry if I hurt?—"

Samara jumped up and down before squealing with laughter as she lunged to hug me. She was so excited, she spun us both in a circle as her arms wrapped around my shoulders.

I stared at Var behind her, who just raised both of his palms and mouthed, I don't know!

Samara broke free and called out, "Gregor! Gregor! I was right! It was her!"

Her super scary and very tall and tatted husband sauntered over to us. What the hell did they feed these Russian men?

I looked between them. "I'm confused."

"You helped my career!"

Both of my eyebrows rose. "I did?"

"Yes! Everyone assumed I must be some amazing talent if the art forgers were already trying to pass off my works. It's absolutely twisted, but it's sort of a sign that you've made it into the upper echelons of artists if they start either imitating you, or straight up forging your work."

I'll be damned. She wasn't wrong.

I shrugged. "Well… you're welcome, I guess?"

Her husband Gregor turned a narrowed gaze on Var. "You owe me five hundred thousand, plus interest."

Before I could hear Var's response, Samara had grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bar. "Come, you have to meet the rest of the girls. I can't wait to introduce you as my very own art forger!"

I should have known better than to trust how sweet and nice she was being.