Page 42 of Lethal Obsession

It’s always like this when I see her.

Ofelia is both the darkest part of my swamp and the only light gleaming in its depths. Difficult to navigate—and even harder to hide the truth from.

“Remember that field in Spain,” I say slowly, “where Darya and Roman got married?”

She gives the barest nod, her eyes not leaving mine.

“That’s what I thought of when you were playing. Everyone dancing and laughing in the afternoon sun.”

What the fuck?

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I don’t even know where the hell they came from. I cast around for some kind of lighthearted joke, but I know it’s too late. That bullshit is out there now, and there’s no taking it back.

Ofelia’s eyes flare with arctic fire, so swift and fierce it’s like a gut punch. “That’s how it feels when I play it.” Her eyes soften, their color deepening. “Like I’m dancing through a field, bathed in sunlight.”

Something extremely dangerous inside me begins to unravel and come to life.

“You’re wearing the necklace my father gave you.”

“He told you?” She touches the webbed silver, her lips parting in surprise. My entire body aches to kiss them.

“I was with him when he chose it.” My hand moves toward the necklace like it belongs to someone else. I trace the thin chains, acutely aware of the warm skin beneath the metal, her sharp intake of breath. “Did he tell you who it once belonged to?”

“Yes.” The one word is barely a breath, her eyes locked on mine.

“It suits you.” My hand still rests on the necklace, just above the soft swell of her breasts. Her skin is like silk, her scent is all around me, and just like that, I’m a second away from taking her mouth until neither of us can fucking breathe, and to hell with anyone who is watching us.

Her eyes widen, her body poised like a hummingbird suspended mid-flight.

What the fuck am I doing?

I drop my hand like I’ve been burned, the square box in my pocket a searing reminder of the depths of my self-delusion.

Whatever you’re thinking, stop fucking thinking it, asshole.

“Ofelia.” I step backward, wincing inwardly at the warning note in my voice.

But in place of the hurt I expect to see, a hard, brilliant shutter comes down over Ofelia’s eyes, taking every last hint of both fire and softness with it. It’s almost shocking, like watching a candlesnuffer descend over an open flame, leaving the room in sudden darkness.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the recital.” Her voice is calm and even. “You should enjoy Paris while you’re here.” Her smile is polite but dismissive as she turns back to her friends. “I know Masha is looking forward to spending time with you tomorrow.”

And just like that, she’s absorbed back into a circle of people who love her.

I stand outside that circle watching, every fiber of my being aching with something I can’t begin to fathom, let alone name.

7

Ofelia

“He’s watching you.” Lourdes’s eyes cut to Alexei then back to me as she puts her head close to mine.

“Understatement.” Benny puts his arm around me from the other side and leans in close. “He hasn’t taken his pirate eye off you all night.”

“Stop it, both of you.” I take the cocktail the barman hands me, trying to ignore the delicious thrill their words send down my spine.

We left the 404 Not Found bar an hour ago, and now we’re standing in the VIP section of L’Arc nightclub. Lars and Mickey are seated at a U-shaped booth, surrounded by several others of both genders whom I vaguely recognize as Lars’s friends. They’re all extremely beautiful, immaculately dressed, and openly admiring of both Lars and Mickey. Alexei sits opposite them, as grim and quiet as ever.

And I’m as mesmerized by him as I ever was.