“Associate,” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air. I shake her hand, gripping her fingers tighter than I need to. “How nice. I’m Zoya. His fiancée.”
Celeste pushes her eyebrows up. “Fiancée? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh?” I look up at Alexei and keep my fake smile in place. “You didn’t mention me to your close associate, darling?”
Alexei digs his fingers into my waist to deliver a silent warning. “We’ve worked on a few projects together. Celeste handles information.”
“Three projects,” Celeste says, turning her gaze to him. “We make a good team.”
I tilt my head. “How lovely. And do you two spend a lot of time together outside of these ‘projects’?”
Celeste opens her mouth. “Well, we’ve had a few—”
“It’s professional outings only,” Alexei cuts in to shut it down, his tone full of authority. “That's all.”
I pivot back to Celeste and stretch my mouth into a cunning smile. “Perfect. Just making sure. We wouldn't want any confusion about whose hands get to touch my future husband.”
Celeste’s smile breaks for a fraction of a second. “Of course not.”
I grab Alexei’s tie and give it a quick tug to pull him down closer to me. “Come on, hubby. You owe me that drink.”
I start steering him away by the silk material. Once we gain a few steps of distance from Celeste, I yank him down hard until his face is inches from mine.
“Don't play stupid games with me, Alexei,” I warn him, my tone losing its playfulness. “You won't like the stupid prizes.”
A dark smirk takes over his face. “Whatever do you mean, wifey?”
“Buy me the damn drink first,” I snap. “Then I’ll show you what I mean.”
He orders my drink without dropping my gaze, keeping his hand anchored to my waist. The bartender sets the glass on the counter. Alexei leans back against the marble, studying me.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m listening. What would my wife like to know?”
“Your relationship with Celeste,” I say, grabbing my drink. “Personal or professional.”
“Professional,” he answers. “Always has been.”
“And you never—”
“No.” He stops me before the words leave my mouth, his voice flat and resolute. “Never.”
I take a drink and look out at the crowd. He gestures to the bartender, and two shot glasses slide onto the counter. He pushes one in my direction. I look down at the glass, meet his gaze, and pick it up. We throw the shots back together.
He puts his glass down and holds my stare. "Is there anyone else you want to know about?"
"Is there anyone I should know about?"
"No," he answers without hesitation. "There isn't."
I twist the empty glass between my fingers, keeping my mouth shut.
"Are you going to ask me what you want to ask me?" he says.
"I don't know what you mean." He just stares at me.
I drop the glass onto the bar. "Is there anyone else I should know about? Anyone who looks at you the way she does?"
The silence stretches out just long enough to pull my eyes back to his face.