The Innocent Behind The Scandal - Abby Green Page 0,28

Maks, thinking about all those other women she’d seen him with in photographs. Looking far more comfortable than she felt right now.

‘Zoe?’

‘Hmm?’ She kept looking resolutely out of her window, as if the architecture of the city was keeping her utterly enthralled.

‘Zoe, look at me.’

She bit her lip, wishing for a second that she had some glasses that would turn Maks blurry, so she wouldn’t have to take in his sheer gorgeousness. She turned around and steeled herself, but nothing could help. The fact that he was close enough to touch...smell... Zoe gritted her jaw.

He reached out and pushed back her hair a little. ‘You don’t have to hide, you know. You’re a beautiful woman.’

She thought of how she’d insisted the hair stylist leave her hair down and immediately felt defensive. ‘I’m not hiding.’

Maks took his hand away and she felt contrite. She wasn’t used to compliments, even though she knew this was probably just part of Maks’s repertoire. Nothing special.

‘I don’t mean to sound short. The truth is that I’ve never worn an evening gown before. I’ve never had occasion to. This is all just...new to me.’

‘You didn’t have a school prom? Or whatever they have in Ireland?’

Zoe shook her head. ‘It’s called the Debs—and, no... I left Dublin after my final exams...before the Debs.’

She’d been eager to leave behind sad memories and forge her own life, to follow in her father’s footsteps to London and beyond. Put some distance between herself and the ever-present grief. Even though it had been a wrench to leave Dublin, it had felt like the right thing to do.

‘You look stunning, Zoe. Really.’

She felt ridiculously shy. ‘Thank you. So do you.’

Maks reached for her hand and held it. He brought it towards his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Everything in her clenched in reaction.

He looked over her shoulder. ‘We’re here.’

The car had stopped and she hadn’t even noticed. There was a red carpet and lots of beautiful people walking into an impressive nineteenth-century building—one of Russia’s foremost classical theatres.

Maks got out and helped her out of the car, keeping hold of her hand as he led her towards the entrance. Photographers lined each side of the red carpet, yelling in Russian. She recognised Maks’s name being called.

He ignored them, walking past all the other people posing and preening. Zoe didn’t mind. She was only too eager to escape the flashes of light. It was very intimidating.

But not as intimidating as the interior of the building. It was breathtaking. As if they’d stepped back in time. Vast spaces and high ceilings. Elaborate plasterwork and chandeliers. Zoe felt dwarfed—especially beside Maks.

Maks was very aware of Zoe’s hand in his. It felt small. Delicate. But strong at the same time. A little voice asked him what he was playing at. He never usually indulged in PDAs, or went to these elaborate lengths to seduce a woman. A virgin!

Normally he shied well away from any woman who didn’t understand how things worked. His lovers had a good time and moved on. No promises, no demands. No games.

That was how Maks had managed to keep such a low profile in comparison to his brothers. And a low profile suited him fine. He didn’t have Nikos’s need to scandalise the public—albeit he was doing it less now—or Sharif’s desire to make everyone bend to his will. He was happy to take a more laid-back role, cultivating and managing the Marchetti brand and its fashion wing, restoring vital respect after the damage inflicted by their father, who had died in the arms of his latest lover. A sordid detail they’d managed to keep from the press at the time.

So any connection with a woman beyond the purely superficial was anathema to Maks. He had a close relationship with his sister and that was all he needed. She got it—she understood—because she’d also witnessed the bitter chaos of their parents’ marriage and divorce. Neither of them wanted a replay of that drama in their lives.

And yet here he was...holding Zoe’s hand and feeling protective. It was her first time in an evening gown.

Maks had been having doubts earlier, wondering if he’d done the right thing, inviting her to St Petersburg—but then she’d appeared in that dress and he’d forgotten every whisper of doubt.

The fact that she’d chosen yellow had punched him in the gut, because he’d known immediately that she’d done it purely to surprise him and was probably feeling self-conscious.

He looked down at her now. The dress