Jess leans forward, eyes bright with interest. “Are you still dancing?”
My heart stutters in my chest. “No,” I lie. “I gave that up a while ago.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Jess continues, oblivious to mydiscomfort. “Alex mentioned you were really talented.”
I glance at Alex, wondering what exactly he’s told her about me, but his face gives nothing away.
“Speaking of talents,” Yuri says, smoothly changing the subject, “Alexander and Jessica make quite the power couple. Top of their classes, involved in all the right activities.” He looks directly at me as he continues. “A perfect match, wouldn’t you agree, Vincent?”
“They seem very well-suited,” I manage, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“Jessica’s father and I have been friends for years,” Yuri continues. “Our families have similar values. Similar goals.”
I force myself to take a bite of food, though it might as well be cardboard for all I can taste it. Across the table, Jess beams at Yuri’s words, leaning into Alex’s side. He allows it, but his eyes remain fixed on me.
“Do you have someone special in your life, Vincent?” Yuri asks.
I open my mouth to say no, but something reckless takes over. “Yes, actually. I do.”
My mother’s head whips around, surprise and delight lighting her features. “Vincent! You didn’t tell me! Who is she?”
“Her name is…” I hesitate, mind racing. “Rina. We’ve been together about six months.”
I’m not even sure why I blurt out this lie. It’s not to protect myself. I don’t give two fucks about what they think of me. But I have a sudden urge to say this to protect Alex, which doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like there’s anything going on between us. That kiss in the alleyway was just Alex messing with my head, in true Orlov fashion.
Across the table, Alex’s expression darkens. He knows I’mlying. Of course he does.
“How wonderful,” my mother says, squeezing my arm. “You must bring her next time. I’d love to meet her.”
Next time. As if there will be a next time. As if I’m planning to make a habit of these torturous family dinners.
“Of course,” I say, the lie coming easily. “She’d like that.”
“And what does Rina do?” Natalie asks, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
“She’s in marketing.” I take another sip of water. “We met through mutual friends.”
Yuri studies me for a long moment, and I feel like he can see right through me, like he knows every secret I’m keeping. Then his attention shifts back to Alex and Jess. “And when are you two making it official?”
My fork clatters against my plate, the sound loud in the sudden silence. All eyes turn to me, and I mumble an apology, feeling heat climb up my neck.
Jess laughs, her hand sliding onto Alex’s thigh under the table. “Well, we’re taking things slow, but I’ve always wanted a spring wedding. The gardens here would be perfect for a ceremony, don’t you think?”
My stomach lurches. Wedding? The image of Alex in a tuxedo, waiting at an altar for this girl with her too-bright smile—it makes me want to throw up.
“Spring weddings are nice,” Alex says, his voice noncommittal. “But we’re both focused on finishing school first.”
“Of course, of course,” Yuri agrees, though I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Education comes first. But afterward… the right alliances strengthen a family’s position.”
I stare down at my plate, pushing food around without eating it. The conversation continues around me, but I can’tfocus on the words. All I can think about is Alex’s mouth on mine outside my apartment, his hands gripping my wrists, his voice growling that I belong to him.
Was that just another way to fuck with my head?
Something bumps against my foot under the table. I jerk back, startled, but then it happens again—an intentional pressure, Alex’s foot sliding against mine. I look up, meeting his gaze across the table. His expression gives nothing away, but his foot remains pressed against mine, a point of contact hidden from everyone else.
I should pull away, but I don’t. I let my foot stay there, pressed against his, this tiny rebellion that no one can see.
“Vincent was always so talented with languages,” my mother says, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “Do you still speak Russian, sweetheart?”
