Page 73 of Barinov

Day 14 in Eden.

I sit at the vanity staring at the collar around my neck in the mirror wishing I could have access to a computer to get this shit off me.

“How the hell has Zeke not cracked this thing yet?” I ask Zeke’s red swan sitting on top of Izzy’s—well probably Raina’s now that I’m thinking about it—jewelry box. She doesn’t answer. The bitch never does.

I look up and start fastening a diamond stud onto my ear. Taking extra care to keep my eyes from peering down at the C scabbing over on my forearm.

Luca picked out a black strapless dress with a plunging neckline deep enough it’s almost to my belly button for me to wear to dinner. His idea of appropriate evening wear. Apparently it was one of my moms, along with everything else in that damn closet. Fancy cocktail dresses, ugly blue and gold Revenants dance costumes, and skimpy lingerie.

To be honest, the dress is actually beautiful. It would definitely have the guys foaming at the mouth if they saw it. However, if this man expects me to put some slutty bra and panties on that my mother wore when she used to fuck my dad, he’s got another thing coming.

“Gross.” I gag, my entire body shaking in disgust.

I fasten the last earring and glance down at the letter from Aunt Claire, still folded neatly in the drawer.

Play his game, but never let him win.

Lovely advice, Claire.

Except for the fact that I’m supposed to be some main character in an overly dramatic Lifetime movie of a love story I don’t understand, nor have any clue as to how to play along. How in the world am I supposed to pretend to be my mother when I never even got the chance to meet her?

“You can do this,” I say, locking eyes with my reflection. “Just think of it as a mission. Go downstairs, assess your surroundings, gather intel, and then get your ass back up here to start making a plan.”

Fuck me, I’ve got to be losing all sense of reality if I’ve resorted to giving myself a pep talk, mission brief style, in front of my mirror.

Not to mention my little talks with the red swan.

Out loud.

I stand up and head downstairs, black stilettos clicking with each step. When I get to the dining room, I instantly hate myself for the gasp that escapes my mouth.

It’s beautiful. Taper candles of red and white are everywhere. Their flames shimmering like gold in the dim light. They cover the table, the hutch in the corner, and even the chandelier.

Two place settings sit at the end of the mahogany table, silver domes covering whatever this creep expects us to eat tonight. Crystal wine glasses and a bottle of something red sits next to a small loaf of bread.

“You like it, my love?” Luca’s voice pierces my ears from behind.

Flinching, I turn quickly to face him. He’s standing in the entryway in a black suit, clutching a bouquet of what has to be thirty or so blood-red roses.

“Your favorite,” he says, smiling as he places them in my arms.

Not my favorite, asshole.

“They’re lovely,” I say, forcing a smile and trying my hardest not to hurl them back at his skull.

He pulls out my chair and I glide in, setting the monstrosity of roses on the table next to me.

“You look beautiful, Izzy,” Luca says as he takes his seat, emerald eyes roaming down the plunging neckline of this dress.

Eyes up here, dickface.

“Thank you. It is a beautiful dress,” I admit, pulling my hand up out of habit to where my mother’s locket should be. I need to add that to my growing list of things to do while in this house, find out where the hell he’s hiding it.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine,” I say, flinging my arms under the table so the C is out of eyesight. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not really. Just itches like hell.”

“Good.” He smiles while uncorking the bottle of wine. “Glad to hear that it’s healing.”