SUMMER’S POINT OF VIEW.
“Kiirll….what are you doing?” I whisper-yelled, but he didn’t answer. All he did was clutch onto me tighter, his strides resembling a man on a mission as he pushed through the throng of people till we stopped at the stage meant for the orchestra.
Suddenly, my husband got onto it with me behind him, unable to hide the way I wanted because his grip on me was tight, but not crushing or painful.
“Kirill…wait,” I whispered, pulling him aside with a nervous smile to the band still playing away, but this time with their attention on us. “What is this?”
“I'm going to make all those women eat their words, right in front of their husbands’ investors and business associates.” He said, as if that wouldn’t be colossal.
I rubbed my face, exasperated, and tried to pull him
