Page 113 of Boardroom Ties
The rain keeps coming. The bench under us is a slab of ice, but Matvei is a furnace next to me. I can feel his heat through the wet wool of his suit.
He bends his head and presses his mouth against my temple. He stays there for a long time. “Dikarka,” he murmurs into my hair, “I have been so stupid about you. I thoughtIwas savingyou.”
“Youdidsave me,” I insist. “Youkeepsaving me. This weekend, you’re going to save me again.”
“That’s the thing.” He lifts his head. His eyes, when he looks at me, are blue enough to hurt. “I’m not saving you. You’ve been saving yourself for five years. I’m just the bullet in your chamber.”
I can’t speak. I press my forehead against his jaw and close my eyes. The organ has begun to toll from within the church.
“It ends this weekend,” he vows. “I swear to you,dikarka,on my father’s grave, that on Sunday morning, when you wake up, that man is going to be in the ground, and you are going to be free. We both are.”
I lean into his shoulder. “Promise me again.”
He says it again.
Free.
You are going to be free.
We both are.
35
CASS
The Plaza ballroom is doing its best impression of a Disney movie tonight.
I, meanwhile, am doing my best impression of a woman whose husband is not slated to die before dessert.
Senator Josiah DeMaris has spared no expense for his daughter Tabitha’s wedding. The ceiling is festooned with crystal chandeliers, and below them, ten thousand white roses have been wrestled into the shapes of arches, columns, and a chuppah-adjacent canopy thing under which the bride and groom are currently slow-dancing to a cover ofAt Lastperformed by a singer who I think might actually be Etta James. Like,theEtta James, exhumed for the occasion.
A jazz band waits in the wings for when the bride’s father gets sufficiently liquored up to abolish Etta and demand Sinatra instead. The cocktail menu is themed: aDeMaris Daiquiri, aTabitha Twist,aSenator Spritz.I’m sipping on a flute of sparkling cider, cradling it close to my chest so no one asks me if I’m avoiding alcohol and, if so, why.
My dress is a column of midnight-blue silk with long sleeves, a high neck, and an open back that exposes me from nape to coccyx. It’s meant to be elegant, but in actuality, it’s freezing my tucchus off. Goosebumps have been crawling up and down my spine for the better part of an hour. I keep telling myself it’s the air conditioning.
It is—partly.
It’s also the fear of imminent death.
Raymond seems clueless, so that’s good, I guess. His hand has stayed glued to my bare spine. He’s been guzzling bourbon since the cocktail hour kicked off and is sliding rapidly down the very slippery slope fromcharmingtoless than.
“Snyder!” booms a voice from across the parquet. “There’s my favorite goddamn lawyer!”
Senator DeMaris himself is barreling toward us with both arms out, bowtie already cock-eyed, the bottom buttons of his tuxedo shirt straining over his commitment to the Capitol Hill Brunch Lifestyle.
He’s about Raymond’s height with a face the precise pink of poached salmon, and he is, unmistakably, the man of the hour, the true star of the show.
The bride? Pfffft, never heard of her.
It’s thesenatorthat everyone gives a damn about.
“Josiah!” Raymond booms back as they clasp hands. “Tabitha looks stunning. You must be so proud.”
“Proud and broker than hell!” the senator hollers. “You see those flowers? You see this goddamn ballroom? Fuck me, I should’vehad a son.”He turns to me and, I shit you not,licks his lips. “Cassandra! Don’t you look—mm. Don’t you look justlovely.”
I feel sick. I’ve met this man maybe twice at some of Raymond’s functions. I donotlike that he remembers my name. It speaks to a certain kind of attention I’d really like to avoid. Especially given the current circumstances.
“Senator DeMaris,” I say smoothly. “Congratulations. Your daughter is breathtaking.”
