The server inhales sharply, standing frozen in shock. “Y-you can’t do that.”
A cruel laugh escapes Ekaterina. “I can do whatever I want. Do you know who I am?”
The server looks down at the ground. “Yes.”
“Then clean up this mess.” She drops the bottle to the floor. “Now.” She smiles, but it’s a chilling expression that doesn’t reach her eyes. “If you keep wasting my time, I’ll insist you lick the floor clean, so you better hurry instead of standing there like a statue.”
The server scurries away, tears streaking her cheeks.
A beat passes, and I hope those around the table feel even a fraction of the shame I’m experiencing from being associated with this madness.
But that’s too much to hope for.
Beside me, Frida forces a laugh. “What an idiot.”
The rest of the women mutter their agreement.
Ekaterina’s gaze lands back on me, a challenge glinting in her eyes.This is who I am, her eyes say.Do you dare question me?
My palms are sweaty. Acid creeps up my throat.
There’s nothing I can do. Even though I want to fling my plate at her head, I have to sit here and pretend like what just happened is totally normal.
These people are twisted and cruel. And am I any better? After all, the reason I can’t say anything is because I can’t let Ekaterina think I’m the kind of woman who’d talk her husband out of betraying his side.
I have to pretend I don’t have any morals.
The longer I stay in this world, the less I recognize myself.
And that’s why I need to get out.
CHAPTER 21
BLAKE
Back at Frostbite Tavern, there’s a sign on the wall that says, “Lord, give me coffee to change the things I can, and wine to accept the things I can’t.”
Wise words.
When I hear Nero come through the front door about an hour after me, I’m on the living room sofa nursing a glass of red wine and trying to find just a little bit of that acceptance.
The soft satin robe I wrapped around myself feels rough against my raw skin.
I spent a good thirty minutes scrubbing myself in the shower, and yet I still feel dirty.
The image of that server keeps flashing in front of my eyes. That could’ve been me in my old life. That could have been me they were humiliating.
Those women are sick, plain and simple. And for the duration of that dinner, I had to pretend to be no different from them.
My stomach churns, and I feel disgusting.
Nero steps into the room. There’s an uneasy air about him and a storm brewing inside those hazel eyes.
“How did it go?”
“Fine.” He loosens his necktie with a sharp tug and undoes the top button of his shirt.
“You don’t look fine.”
