Liv
Pietty watches us with a combination of annoyance and confusion.
"Then I suppose congratulations are in order," he says, and it takes me a second to understand he's congratulatingme, like I've won something instead of just having watched a man write a number with my name attached to it that could probably buy a small country. "The formalities are simple. Transportation home will be arranged for you both this evening, Mr. Mostovoi, unless you'd prefer your own car."
"My own car," Volody says, easy, like we're discussing dinner reservations and not the fact that I'm apparently going somewhere with him tonight. "Liv, you'll ride with me."
The words land somewhere behind my ribs, cold and sudden. "Tonight?"
"That's how it works," Pietty says, not unkindly, just matter-of-fact, the way you'd explain a flight schedule. "The arrangement is finalized this evening. The lady accompanies the winning bidder home."
My pulse climbs into my throat. I knew, in some distant theoretical way, that tonight was going to end with me leaving this building belonging to a stranger. Knowing it and standing three feet from the reality of it turn out to be two very different things.
Volody must see it on my face, because he steps slightly between me and Pietty, a wall of warm wool and quiet certainty.
"Give us a minute," he says to Pietty, who nods and melts back into the crowd like he's done this a hundred times, which he probably has.
Volody turns to me fully then, and whatever charm was running the show on the terrace dials itself down into something steadier.
"I know what people say about my family," he says, low, just for me. "I'm not going to pretend the rumors come from nowhere. But I need you to hear me when I tell you this. You are safe with me. Safe like nobody touches you unless you want them to. Including me."
"You don't even know me," I say again, my vocabulary woefully inadequate in this situation apparently.
He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so careful it makes my breath catch. "We'll figure it out. Tonight you just have to trust that I meant every word I said. That's all I'm asking."
I nod, because I don't trust my voice not to crack if I try to use it. He gives me a small smile, the kind that doesn't ask for anything back, before stepping away to deal with whatever else needs his signature.
I use the moment alone to find my scarf and my clutch, hands still not quite steady, and that's when my phone buzzes against my palm.
Two texts from Cole.
Did you talk to any of the men? Tell me you caught someone’s eye.
My stomach drops before I've even processed the second one.
I told Pietty you'd be amenable. This could fix everything, Liv. Please don't screw this up.
I read it twice. Then a third time, because some small, desperate part of me is hoping the words will rearrange themselves into something less ugly if I just look hard enough.
They don't.
I already told Pietty you'd be amenable.Like I'm a clause in a contract he negotiated before bothering to mention it to the person the clause is actually about.
The room tilts. My ears do that ringing thing again, the one from the cloakroom, except this time there's no folder to blame it on, just six words from my own brother that have somehow managed to hurt worse than the night itself.
I gave up everything for him. Work. Relationships. My own life rearranged around making sure he had a future worth stepping into. And this is what he did with that future the second he got his hands on it. He shopped me around like inventory and felt confident enough in the deal to promise my compliance in advance.
I don't realize I've gone completely still until Volody's voice cuts through the noise in my head.
"Liv."
I look up. He's watching me with an expression that's gone sharp and focused, all the easy charm stripped away, replaced with something that looks almost like alarm.
"You've gone gray," he says. "What happened?"
I know the polite thing would be to say it's nothing, fix my face, get through the rest of tonight without handing this stranger another piece of the wreckage my brother keeps generating. But he's looking at me like the lie wouldn't survive contact withhim anyway, like he'd see right through it the same way he saw through everything else tonight.
I hand him my phone instead.
