Chapter 11: Seduction: Chapter 11

It’s been a long, uneventful few weeks at the clinic. Her father has barely been in touch.

Vera and her team start their day at seven in the morning, scarcely taking breaks for meals. I swear Vera would survive solely on coffee and Diet Coke if I didn’t occasionally force some real food into her diet. I can usually persuade her if the food involves grilled cheese, her favorite comfort food.

We’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm, almost like a married couple. We start with an early morning run together at dawn, followed by coffee and breakfast. This has become my favorite part of the day. She comes alive during these moments, speaking animatedly with her hands as she shares her passions, hopes, and dreams, with a fervor that is utterly contagious. She tries to get me to talk too, but I prefer to listen.

She lives for this. It’s like watching a master artist at work. I stay on the periphery, unless the American douchebag is nearby. I’ll have to have another talk with him soon.

Tonight, we have dinner with her father. He’s kept to himself. At first, I thought maybe he wouldn’t want to see us, and I’d have to pull some strings. I’ve relied heavily on surveillance and convinced myself it was more important to earn her trust for now.

I briefly considered my options. It’s a perfect opportunity to do what I came for, but it’s too soon. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off without making it obvious who the perpetrator was.

No. Ivanov will live another day.

His arrival complicates things, though. The chances of me being exposed as an imposter increase with every interaction with Ivanov. But I’ve been assured that the only person who knows me is Ivanov’s mistress, and I’m equally assured there’s no way he would bring his mistress around Vera.

Still, I tread on a razor-thin line. I remind myself of why I’m here. What my ultimate purpose will be. This is only one more step closer to what has to happen.

“Markov, I don’t want to see my father tonight.” Vera frowns down at the turkey sandwich in her hand. I’ve forced her away from today’s biological threat simulation to get some food. She’s already been working for ten hours straight.

“I know. I don’t either. But we have to play the game, Vera.”

And I absolutely have to be in the presence of her father. Combined with video surveillance from my brothers, my personal observations will be telling.

What are his habits? Does he have a daily pattern he follows? Vulnerabilities I could exploit? I need to observe his psychological profile as well. What is his emotional state? Stress levels? How does he respond under pressure? Is he plugged in with any biometric tracking devices? What’s his physical condition?

“Ugh. Do we really, though?” she asks in a little voice that almost makes her seem childlike. I half expect her to pout.

“I know you’d rather get back into that hazmat suit and lead your team to find the pathogen so you can set up your mock decontamination stations,” I say with a grimace. “But remember, there are no real infected civilians here and you were so successful with the last threat simulation, your professors were practically tripping over themselves to congratulate you.”

Her eyes shine at me. “Markov. You’ve been paying attention.”

I shrug. “It’s what I do best.”

Not the only thing I do best, but it’s an important skill to cultivate.

“Anyway,” I tell her as I reach for a bag of chips and open them up before I hand them to her. “We don’t have to stay long. You have an early morning session with your personal trainer before another long day at your clinical.” I wink at her.

“And my father doesn’t have to know you’re my personal trainer?” she asks, taking the chips from me. “I’m glad they’re bringing in some American foods for us.”

“A lot is being asked of you,” I say as I reach for a sandwich for myself. “The last thing you need to do is try choking down foods that are foreign to your palette after a hard day’s work. How’s the American asshat today?”

She groans and rolls her eyes. “He’s such a goody goody, it makes me sick. When Morozov asked me to explain why I’d chosen a certain protocol, Jake droned on and on about the stupid research he did about decontamination procedures and his experience with the Harvard team. He spent extra hours memorizing protocols. And when Morozov asked me to select the team members based on strengths and weaknesses, Jake made some snide comment about my lack of upper body strength as a woman and how he or Maxim would be better suited for anything requiring physical exertion.”

She snorts, but I’m not the slightest bit amused.

“Did he, now?” I ask curiously. I empty my water bottle and crush it in my fist, wishing it was the American’s scrawny little suck-up neck.

“Markov,” she says, sobering. “You cannot intervene. It could put everything at risk.”

Not everything.

“Please,” she pleads. She stifles a groan. “God, why did I tell you anything?”

“Because it’s my job to protect you, and I asked.” I lean over and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’m your husband.”

I know it’s only fake. I know we’re only pretending, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how it feels saying that. Vera’s two telltale signs—the flush of her cheeks and the way she bites her lip—tell me she’s no different. She likes it, too.

“Remember, I asked you to trust me, Vera.” I reach for her hand and bring it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. Ah. There’s that lip between her teeth again. My cock stirs.

“When do we have to leave to meet with my father? I have to finish this demonstration before we go.”

I check my phone and frown. “Dammit. He’s moved the time up. We have two hours.”

“Two hours!” She leaps from the table. “I can’t do that!”

Vera needs a little time to shift from one thing to the next, likely due to the intensity of her focus. I give her a look. She can and will do this, even if she doesn’t want to. “In your experience, is your father amenable to you saying you can’t meet his demands?” I ask, knowing the answer before she tells me.

With a groan, she shakes her head. “Point made. Fine, alright. I can get ready, but I have to finish up what I’m working on and tell them I need to leave.”

Two hours later, we’re getting ready to go and meeting the car her father has sent to pick us up. While she was getting ready, I brushed up on the facts I know about Markov, in case her father asks.

Vera looks like a nervous wreck. She’s biting her lip nonstop, fidgeting, tapping her foot. I even find her biting a nail, something she never does.

“Why so nervous?” I ask. I open the door to the car and confirm the directions to Zoloty Kupol, or “Golden Dome,” a renowned restaurant known for its golden accents and panoramic views of the city’s skyline, including the famous domes, in the heart of Moscow town. It’s a place only for the elite, and reservations are required months in advance.

“It’s my father,” she says simply. “Our relationship is complicated.”

I shut the door and make sure her seatbelt’s fastened. She doesn’t even protest as I check the locks. Good. She’s catching on.

“Yes. It’s your father. He’ll be self-serving and self-focused as always, only wants to hear what will make him look good, and is here more for show than to actually visit with either of us.” I tip my head to the side. “Yes?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “Did you look this place up? Have you been there before?”

I shake my head. “I looked at the specs and blueprints so I know where the exits are, but I haven’t been there, no.”

I also know the best place for cell reception and where we can sit where the lighting is dim, mitigating any possibility of anyone identifying me.

“It’s,” she makes air quotes, “‘unmatched in opulence and sophistication, and well-known for its unparalleled fusion of traditional and contemporary Russian cuisine, culinary techniques, and an outstanding wine menu that rivals the best in the world.” Rolling her eyes, she paraphrases. “In regular person speak, that means we’ll pay ten times what we’d pay a street vendor for something that’s half the size and healthier, so it won’t taste anywhere near as good.”

I know her a bit better by now, and I happen to know that while Vera loves good food, she is more focused on her books and studies than anything. She’d just as soon eat something from the school dining hall to get back to work. It isn’t the uppity food that’s concerning her.

“What’s really bothering you?”

Our driver picks up speed, heading into the city. She looks at him, then me, and jerks her chin at my phone. She doesn’t want to be overheard.

When she still doesn’t look convinced, I try again.

I look up in surprise to see her wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

Goddammit.

She’s spent a life being ignored by a man who came in and out of her life, drawing close to a woman her father betrayed and mistreated. Of course she doesn’t want to be in his presence any more than I do.

I’m having dinner with the man responsible for my younger brother Lev getting his ass beat and put in the hospital and almost causing the death of my sister-in-law. He’s an evil son of a bitch.

I put my phone down and reach for her hand.

“At least we have this one consolation. We don’t have to pay for the overpriced stroganina and wine.”

My phone buzzes with a text. I glance at it, and my blood runs cold.

And leave Vera alone with that son of a bitch? Not on your life.

I scowl at the phone, viscerally aware of Vera’s eyes on me. My mind is racing with the possibilities of what I need to do. There’s no fucking way that jerk is so self-focused he’d bring his mistress to meet his daughter, not when he’s still married to her goddamn mother.

My phone vibrates again.

I blow out a breath, almost as concerned for Vera having to meet the woman than my own identity being leached. Aleksandr’s texts continue.

“We’re here,” Vera says. Her hand is cold in mine when I take it. It’s the last time I’ll be able to touch her until this is all over. “Remember, we’re nothing to each other.”

There’s a hollow echo of sadness in her tone.

“Only for a time, Vera.” I see a familiar face out the window. “Let’s go. Your father’s arrived.”