Elena turned, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. "You spend your life giving everyone what they want, Andrei. The neighbors want to see the cars, the boys want to see the money, and you want everyone to see me."
For the first time in years, he didn't offer a gift or a promise of a luxury trip. He simply turned off the external speakers, silencing the music for the crowd, and pulled her into a dance in the sudden, heavy silence of the terrace.
The party roared behind them as the chorus hit its peak—a celebration of grand gestures and infinite loyalty. Andrei looked at his diamond ring, then back at the woman who had been with him since they were teenagers in a dusty apartment in Bucharest.
The sun was dipping below the horizon in Mamaia, painting the Black Sea in shades of gold and violet. On the terrace of a private villa, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, roasted meats, and the unmistakable, rhythmic trill of a clarinet.