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“Excuse me,” he said shortly. He walked past her, leaving her alone on the dance floor.
Mouth agape, Bree turned and stared after him in amazement. Her cheeks went hot as she noticed exquisitely dressed Russians and other wealthy, beautiful people staring at her with open curiosity. Embarrassed, she walked off the dance floor.
She’d never felt so alone. Or so stupid.
She lifted her hand to the necklace, to the heavy weight of the peridot against her bare skin.
He cares for me, she repeated to herself silently. He cares.
But even that beautiful jewel seemed small consolation, considering that she’d just confessed her love for him, and he’d left her without a word.
Maybe he was called away on urgent business. At midnight. On New Year’s Eve. She clawed back tendrils of her long blond hair. Why had she told him she loved him, and worse, asked if he could ever love her back? She knew he couldn’t! He’d told her that straight-out, from the start!
Oh, God. She covered her face with her hands. She was an idiot.
Maybe when he came back, she could give a hearty laugh, as if it had all been a joke. She could tell him she’d been pretending to have Stockholm syndrome or something. She could be persuasive with her lies, as she’d been long ago. She could turn off her soul and disconnect from her heart. She knew how.
But…
She pulled her hand away. She didn’t want to. She was tired of bluffing. She didn’t want to be that con artist anymore. Ever again.
And sometimes telling the truth, showing her cards, would mean she lost the game.
She gave a ragged laugh. She’d never expected the cost to be this high. Snatching a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, she tried to sip it nonchalantly, as if it was quite enjoyable to be standing on the edge of the dance floor in a blue Cinderella gown, alone in a crowd of strangers. But as minutes passed, she suddenly wondered if Vladimir was even coming back. For all she knew, he’d already jumped into the limo and was heading for the airport.
Why not? He’d abandoned her before. Without a single word.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Please don’t leave.
A prickle went up her spine as she felt someone come up behind her. Vladimir, at last! In a rush of relief, she turned.
But it wasn’t Vladimir. A different man stood before her, slightly younger, slightly thinner, but with the same hard blue eyes—only filled with cold, malevolent ruthlessness.
“Kasimir?” Bree whispered. “Kasimir Xendzov?”
“Having a good time?” he replied coldly. Before she could answer, he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the crowd, into a private alcove. She stared at him. She’d met him only once before, in Alaska, the Christmas night he’d burst in upon them, desperate to tell his brother the truth about Bree’s con. He’d been twenty-three then, barely more than a boy. Now…
Bree shivered. Now he was a man—the type of man you would never want to meet in a dark alley. She yanked her arm away from his grasp. “What do you want? If you’ve come to find your brother—”
“I haven’t come to see my brother.” Kasimir gave her a cold smile. “I came for you.”
“Me?” she breathed.
“It’s about…your sister.”
“Josie?” An icy chill went down her spine. “What about her?”
He came closer, invading her personal space. She instinctively backed away. He straightened, and his eyes glittered. “I’ve married her.”
“What?” Bree gasped.
He gave her a cold, ruthless smile. “Your little sister has become my dear, dear wife.”
“I don’t believe you!”
For answer, he pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her on his palm. Josie’s cell phone. Bree snatched it up. There could be no doubt. She saw the colorful rhinestones that her sister had glued to the back in the shape of a rainbow.
“I asked her to marry me some time ago,” Kasimir said, “and she refused. Until you disappeared. Then she came back. She offered to do anything, anything, if I would o
