I clung to him like a lifeline as we moved through the crowd in silence. At first, I thought I was being delusional when heads began turning toward us. But then I noticed it was indeed happening, and I wasn’t seeing things.
“Is it just me, or are people looking at us?” I leaned, lowering my voice to a low whisper.
“They are,” he replied with the same tone, his head held up high.
“Why? I don’t like being in the spotlight.”
“Tough luck,” he answered. “Get used to it.”
I straightened my spine, fixed the expression on my face, and continued walking by his side. Some stared in admiration, others in a mix of shock and surprise. Why, though? Had they never seen Artur with a woman before?
Then there were those who stared with jealousy in their eyes. They were women, of course, maybe those he’d used and dumped. Or those who’d tried to get his attention and failed. Either way, they envied me.
Those girls had no idea how quickly I’d trade places with them if I ever got the chance. What they saw, what they were jealous about, was what Artur and I showed them. A strong couple worth looking up to.
They had no idea how false this image was—it was just a fuckin’ mirage. But they didn’t know that. No one did. So it was easy to conclude that we were happy.
Happy.
How laughable.
“Artur….”
A masculine voice snapped me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention toward the speaker.
It was a Russian man, no taller than I was. Brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a white tux that looked good on him.
He approached us with open arms and an authentic smile. “My brother from another mother!” He laughed, his voice thick with the accent.
“Anatoli,” Artur replied, embracing him for a fleeting moment.
The small man pulled his head back a bit. “This is what I hate about being around you. You make me look shorter than I am.”
I couldn’t help the light chuckle that burst from my mouth.
“See what I’m talking about?” He casually gestured toward me. “Now she’s laughing at me.”
I shook my head. “No, no, I’m not.”
He chuckled. “No need to get all defensive. I’m just joking.” He adjusted his bowtie, then paused as if he noticed something. “Wait a minute. You’re holding hands.” His eyebrows raised. “That’s a sight I never thought I’d see in my lifetime.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Artur said calmly.
Anatoli ignored him and faced him. “I have never seen this bastard in gatherings like this with a woman before. Never. Not even once. And I’ve known him for like, what, 20 years?” He shifted his gaze back to his friend. “Yet here he is, holding hands with a beautiful lady.”
My lips curled into a radiant smile at his remark. At least someone noticed and threw me a compliment.
“You must be very important to him,” Anatoli said to me, beaming.
I tightened my grip around his elbow and forced out a plastic grin. “Yeah, I am. Aren’t I?” My head tilted upward to meet his gaze.
“The name is Anatoli Petrov,” he introduced himself to me.
“Celine,” I answered with a soft and kind expression. “Celine Hart.”
“Pleasure meeting you, Celine Hart.” He faced Artur again, and the two spoke in Russian for a while.
When they were done, Anatoli walked away, mingling with other guests and making silly jokes. I thought all Mafia men were broody and allergic to happiness, like this ruthless man beside me. But Anatoli was different.