The Innocent Behind The Scandal - Abby Green Page 0,43

outside, preening for them.’

‘What about Sharif?’ Zoe was glad to see him relax, even as she didn’t welcome how much it meant to her.

‘Sharif has a similar attitude to the paps as me. When our father kidnapped him—’

Zoe gasped. ‘Kidnapped him?’

Maks nodded. ‘His mother took him back to her Arabian home when she realised our father had only married her for her dowry. Sharif lived there with her for nine years, until our father went after him because he was coming of age. As the mysterious eldest son of Domenico Marchetti, half-Arab, half-Italian, Sharif was subjected to an intense scrutiny that has never let up.’

Zoe absorbed that. But before she could ask Maks any more, they were approached by a waiter carrying glasses of champagne.

Maks took two and handed her one. ‘Na zdorovie.’

Zoe tried to wrap her tongue around that. ‘Nostrovia...?’

Maks smiled. ‘Good enough.’

He clinked his glass on hers and they each took a sip. Zoe felt warm under his gaze, and it was an effort to break eye contact and look around.

It was a huge old warehouse—very industrial chic. Catwalks were set up all through the room, with models walking up and down. People in elegant finery milled around, looking at the models, consulting brochures. Zoe spotted her dress designer in the distance, standing near a catwalk and presumably showcasing her designs. Zoe recognised the whimsical romantic nature of her dresses.

A couple of people approached Maks, and that started a constant stream of people over the next couple of hours. Zoe was happy to hang back, but he always drew her forward, introducing her even though his conversations were invariably in Russian or another European language so she couldn’t really participate.

Hanging out with Maks made her feel very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t gone to university. But you could have, pointed out a small inner voice. Zoe knew it was irrational, and probably very stupid, but she’d always felt that if Ben, her brother, hadn’t had a chance to go to university and fulfil his potential, then what right had she?

‘Okay?’

Jolted out of her momentary introspection, Zoe looked up at Maks. He was alone, his legion of fans and sycophants having melted away. She nodded, and pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘Fine.’

He took her hand. ‘Liar. One day you’ll tell me what you’re thinking of when you disappear like that.’

The fact that he’d noticed made her feel alternately warm inside and fearful. Maks saw everything. And she did have secrets. Secrets that she worked hard at ignoring.

Zoe said brightly, ‘I hate to disappoint, but I wasn’t thinking of much at all.’

Maks made a sound to indicate how much he believed that, and said, ‘Ready to go?’

‘Can we?’

Maks smiled. ‘I’m an expert at showing my face, talking to the right people and then leaving.’ His gaze swept her up and down. He suddenly looked hungry. ‘Anyway, I’ve been fantasising about snapping those far too flimsy straps so that you’re naked and on my bed in the shortest time possible.’

Heat curled inside Zoe’s lower body, flames licking at her core. Breathlessly she said, ‘You’ll do no such thing. I promised Oksana I’d take care of her dress.’

Maks arched a brow. ‘Oksana?’

‘One of the designers you’re showcasing and supporting?’

Maks rolled his eyes. ‘Fine—I won’t damage the dress.’

Zoe felt like giggling. She wasn’t used to feeling this...light. Bubbly. Emotion gripped her and she pushed it back down. It had no place here. This was just physical. Not emotional.

Maks tugged her towards the entrance. ‘Come on—it’s our last night in St Petersburg. I want to take you to my favourite late-night café.’

Zoe let Maks bundle her into the back of his chauffeur-driven car and they were whisked across the sparkling city. Soon they pulled up outside a tall, ornate building. Huge oak doors were opened by a man in a dark suit wearing an earpiece. He nodded at Maks, clearly recognising him.

Inside it was dark and mysterious. Zoe saw alcoves with velvet banquette seats. Candles flickered over faces, half-hidden. Low music played. A sleek blonde woman met them and showed them to one of the booths.

Zoe had never felt more transported in her life. They could have stepped back in time to the playground of the decadent Tsars. And that feeling was only compounded when a selection of food was brought to the table. Small baked puff pastries filled with cheese. Blinis rolled and filled with caviar. And desserts: layered honey cake and balls of dark chocolate. All washed down