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“I mean, yes. He definitely crossed the line. I don’t know. I just felt stupid because I only danced with the guy in the first place to try and make Mishka jealous.”
He is ridiculously hot—even if he looks like a felon.
“Just because he has tattoos does not make him a felon.”
Nice people don’t look like they’re on the verge of committing murder twenty-four hours a day. He takes the term ‘brooding’ to a whole new level.
She’s not wrong. Mishka embodies the word intimidating without even lifting a finger. Watching him manhandle that guy last night was nothing short of terrifying. Even in my inebriated state, it scared me to see that he’s just as capable of violence as his physique would imply. Which makes my attraction to him all the more irrational.
Alina?
“Hmm?”
You still haven’t answered my question.
“Well, nothing really happened after you got dropped off last night. I mean, I passed out and don’t even remember how I got up to my brother’s apartment.” I’ll have to ask him when I see him next. I suspect Mishka must have carried me because I doubt my brother could—or would. “But that’s where I woke up this morning, with a raging headache and a brother who’s probably never going to let me live my behavior down.”
That’s rather anticlimactic. I thought you might tell me they went back out and brought the guy to you as a human sacrifice or something.
“Don’t even joke about that,” I scold.
It’s no secret that my family has been tied to several prominent men’s disappearances in the past. But I still try not to think about it because I don’t like the idea of them enacting violence. Even if some drunk guy grabbed my ass at Plastique.
Alright, alright, Katie says, backing off quickly. How’d things end up with your parents?
“I just got home a little bit ago. I think I’m in the clear. I haven’t seen either of them yet, which means they probably didn’t notice I never came home.”
“Well, that’s good?—”
“Alina?”
The sharp rap on my door is my only warning before my mom bursts into the room and my heart leaps from my chest. Did she overhear our conversation? Wouldn’t that just be my luck to get away with staying out all night, only to rat myself out?
“Mamma.” Sitting bolt upright and startling Boris from his spot beside me, I turn to face the door. “Um, Katie, can I call you later?” I ask.
Oh, boy. Good luck! she singsongs before the call ends.
“What’s up?” I ask tentatively, hoping my mom’s apparent agitation has nothing to do with last night.
“You’re supposed to be getting dressed. Remember? Alek Petryov’s engagement party is tonight.”
One of my father’s captains. It completely slipped my mind. Probably since my brain isn’t functioning at full capacity right now. Still, relief floods me as I realize she clearly must not have overheard my phone call. “Right, sorry. When are we leaving?”
She glances down at her watch. “An hour and a half. The venue is a bit out of town. Formal wear, honey.”
“On it,” I agree.
As soon as she leaves the room, I flop back onto my bed with a groan. I would much rather spend the day in bed, sleeping off the hangover that pounds against my temples. But that’s a sure way to raise my parents’ suspicion, and I would rather not have to listen to a lecture when my brain already feels like it’s pressing against my skull.
“Well, Boris, those snuggles are just going to have to wait,” I say, showering him with some extra affection by way of apology.
Settling into the chair in front of my vanity, I get to work on my makeup and hair. Then I head to my closet to pick out a dress. Unlike the club, for which I owned absolutely nothing suitable to wear there, my walk-in is teaming with beautiful cocktail dresses. As the daughter of Sergio Sakharov, I’m expected to appear at all the high-society events, charity balls, and fancy dinners that people of our standing are obligated to attend.
My eyes land on a navy-blue velvet bodycon dress with a Queen Anne neckline and capped sleeves. The diagonal-cut skirt reaches midthigh on one leg before tapering down past the other knee. A perfect balance of sophistication and fun.
I finish the look off with a pair of nude patent leather heels, then head from my room with fifteen minutes to spare.
“Julie will feed you tonight, my sweet,” I promise Boris, who follows with a drooping tail as he looks devastatingly betrayed and abandoned once again. Stopping at the top of the stairs, I sit on them to give him a few extra minutes of my time. “If it were up to me, I would be spending the evening with you,” I whisper conspiratorially in his ear.
