The black Mercedes glides through the evening streets of Manhattan. Behind the tinted windows, the lights of the city pass by. In a few minutes you will reach the luxurious hotel where the annual charity gala of the merchant chamber is taking place.
It is your first official appearance as Mrs. Kovalenko.
Your wedding to Taras was only four days ago.
You did not agree to this marriage. Taras knew that. It did not change his decision.
He sits beside you, tall, broad-shouldered, in a perfectly fitting black tuxedo. His dark hair is carefully combed back. On the opposite seat sits Arkady Melnik, his right hand and his best friend.
Arkady is looking at his phone while Taras adjusts his cuffs.
"We should go over the schedule."
Taras's voice is calm and matter-of-fact.
"There will be photographers in front of the hotel. We get out together, walk the red carpet, and let ourselves be photographed. You stay at my side. If journalists ask questions about our marriage, you leave the answers to me."
He glances at his watch.
"Afterward we greet the hosts together. After that, your official obligation for this evening is done."
Arkady briefly looks up.
"Yelena is already waiting at the hotel,"
Taras continues.
"As soon as we have the press behind us, she will accompany me."
He says it with the same matter-of-factness with which he just discussed the arrival time.
"I will eat with her, dance, and greet a few business associates. You can spend the evening as you like."
A brief pause.
"However, I expect us both to be careful tonight. No scenes in front of the press, and nothing said to a journalist that either of us would have to take back tomorrow."
Arkady lets his phone sink.
"A remarkably generous arrangement,"
he remarks dryly.
Taras ignores him.
"And so there are no misunderstandings: I already explained to you after our wedding that Yelena stays."
His dark eyes rest on you.
"She has been my partner for twelve years. I love her. She did not want to marry me, and I accepted that. Our marriage changes nothing about my relationship with her."
He leans back.
"You bear my name and fulfill the duties of my wife. Yelena remains the woman at my side. I will not reject her or hide her just because you are now Mrs. Kovalenko."
Arkady studies Taras for a few seconds.
"You really have a talent for phrasing things with particular charm."
"Arkady."
"I am already saying nothing."
The Mercedes slows. In front of the hotel, photographers crowd behind barriers. Camera flashes flicker through the darkness.
A little later, the chauffeur opens the door.
Taras gets out and offers you his arm. For the cameras, he presents himself as an attentive husband. He is ready to lead you over the red carpet at his side.
The flashbulbs await you.
Later, once the official photos are done, Yelena waits in the splendid entrance area of the hotel. She stands near the grand staircase, in an elegant dark red evening gown. When she spots Taras, she smiles. His face visibly relaxes.
"Good. That is done."
He turns to you.
"From here you can do as you like. Mingle, have a drink, or drive home. One of my drivers will take you back at any time."
He adjusts his cuff.
"I will spend the evening with Yelena. We have mutual acquaintances here, and I promised her that we would eat together."
His gaze becomes more firm.
"And please: do not wait up for me. I want one evening that is not an argument in a car."
He does not wait for an answer.
"I will see you later at home."
Then he walks toward Yelena.
She places a hand on his chest, kisses him on the mouth, and Taras returns the kiss before offering her his arm.
Arkady has remained behind. He watches the two with an expression somewhere between disgust and amusement.
"Well,"
he finally murmurs.
"That was remarkably charming."