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These gentle caresses are in stark relief against the backdrop of terror he inflicts.
He takes a strand of my hair between his knuckles, entwining it around his fingers. My eyes flutter closed, and I silently beg him to yank my head back and kiss me.
What I wouldn’t do to taste his lips once again.
“Miss Baker!”
My eyes fly open, and the teacher—who I secretly call Mrs. Marshmallow because I can’t pronounce her name—is standing at the front of the class with an impatient hand on her hip. I blink.
The other students snicker, and all eyes are turned on me. Alek’s hand is no longer at my back, and it makes me wonder if I imagined it.
Am I going insane?
“Yes?” I squeak.
“Do you know the answer to the question?”
“Um, could you repeat it for me?”
Mrs. Marshmallow’s gaze narrows, and if looks could kill, a dagger would be lodged in my chest right now. “Please see me after class, Miss Baker.”
I’m in trouble, and the other students let out a low, taunting sound.
“Miss Friedrich, please help Miss Baker with the answer.”
Johanna flips her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder, glancing back at me with a cruel smile. “Equity is the concept of fairness in an economy through taxation and welfare policies. Lack of equity creates inequality in the market, which can lead to political unrest and poverty.”
It sounds like she’s reciting straight from the textbook. And yet, the application of equity in Andarusia has completely gone over her pretty blonde head. None of these idiots have a clue what’s going on, even when people are screaming it from their doorstep.
After the lesson, I walk up to the teacher’s desk while everyone mingles before the next class. At least she has the decency to speak in a low voice so no one can hear her berate me.
“Miss Baker, I won’t mince words: you are failing. If you want to turn your grades around before exams, you’ll need intensive tutoring.”
I fold my arms and nod, but my gaze is glued to the floor. It’s not like I don’t know what’s going on—it’s that I don’t care anymore.
I’m tired. Tired of adults harping on me about things that don’t matter. Tired of being surrounded by ignorant rich kids who care more about Louis Vuitton than Ivan’s little boy, who won’t get the same privilege of a top education as them.
“Mr. Volkov. Come up here, please.”
Dmitry looks up from his textbook and approaches the desk. I glance up to give him a smile, but when I get a look at his face, I suck in a sharp breath. Bruises pepper his face, including a nasty black eye on his left side. The gash on his lip is healing, though the evidence of violence is still there.
Alek’s violence.
“Mr. Volkov, would you be interested in tutoring Miss Baker? She could use the help from a top student like you.”
Dmitry swallows, casting his gaze to the floor. “I am sorry, ma’am, but you should ask someone else.”
Mrs. Marshmallow quirks her brow. “I’m certain Miss Baker’s father would make it worth your while. If you are applying to American universities, a recommendation letter from a U.S. Ambassador will carry quite a bit of weight.”
I turn to Dmitry, expecting him to jump on the opportunity. But those brown eyes that used to be so kind are now hardened, and he doesn’t show any interest in the carrot dangling before him.
And those eyes refuse to meet mine.
“Please give the opportunity to another student. I cannot accept.” He turns around and heads for the door, as though he can’t leave the room fast enough.
Mrs. Marshmallow sighs. “Miss Baker, I can provide you with a list of recommendations for private, professional tutors.”
‘Kay. Thanks.”
