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I claw the thought from my mind before it even has the chance to percolate. I sink into a chair and the stylist goes to work on me. My fingers wrap tight around the hem of Luka’s T-shirt, unwilling to let it go for the entire time I’m primped.
An hour later, I am dressed, painted, and sprayed to the point where I look shellacked.
The stylist helps me put on the least offensive dress of the bunch. I slip my feet into a pair of heels and take one final look in the mirror once the stylist leaves.
The deep red gown I grudgingly slipped on clings to my every curve. Crimson lips pop against my bronze skin, my long hair laying in soft curls that cascade over my left shoulder, gathered by a large rhinestone comb.
A pretty shell.
And an empty one at that.
I open the jewelry box again and grab the ring, glaring at it before I close my fingers tight around it. I stomp out of the suite, holding the train of my gown as I descend the large spiral staircase.
I look around at the place, not having given it a really good survey the night before. It’s showy and ornate with lots of expensive-looking art and décor adorning the rooms and walls. All for an audience. And after seeing Dima in action, it makes perfect sense that he’d live in a place like this.
He’s playing a role, too.
Hell, we all are.
Except I don’t like the part I was assigned. I want a different one, with a different male lead.
Argh, not again, Natasha. Get over it. He kicked you out of his life. Pick up the pieces and throw them the fuck away.
I finally make it down the stairs, and Dima waits for me in the expansive foyer, tapping his fingers on the polished wood railing with impatience. He gives me the once-over, nodding his approval. But he says nothing.
I want to hurl my fist at his eye and give him a scar that matches his brother’s, courtesy of this gaudy monstrosity of a ring. I want to make him feel something, to make him scream or yelp...anything that will at least assure me that I won’t be living with a fucking block of ice for the foreseeable future.
“The car is waiting outside.”
“Is that my cue to leave? Or should I wait for you, Master?” I spew sarcastically.
“I’ll be out soon. Ilya will help you into the car.”
I flounce past him in a huff, squeezing my fist so hard, the tips of my nails dig into my flesh.
Tears sting my eyes once I get outside. My heels click along the pavers that line the circular driveway as I head toward the waiting, blacked-out SUV. One of the skinny stilettos catches in a groove and I jerk sideways to avoid face-planting on the ground. A sharp wheeze catches in my throat when an arm snakes around my waist and wrenches me away from what would be a very painful landing. A familiar scent enters my lungs as he pulls me against him.
Luka.
Heat coils in my belly when our eyes meet. His gaze is heavy, heated, and dark...a mess of emotions flickering in the troubled pools of blue. All the emotions Dima lacks.
“What are you doing here?” I want to hurl myself into his arms, but he let me go. He ordered me out of his life. I shouldn’t care why he’s here. I should pummel the shit out of him for breaking my heart.
But the torment that seeps into his drawn face stops me from saying all of the things on the tip of my tongue…because he’s here. And I’ve missed him.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You could have seen for yourself at the wedding.”
He runs the tops of his fingers down my arm. “I couldn’t wait.”
I yank my arm away from his devious hands. “So I’m just supposed to let you touch me again after you kicked me out of your house yesterday?”
“Yes.” He takes a step backward to drink in my appearance. A delicious shiver slithers over my prickled skin as his eyes complete their tour. “You look good.”
I raise my chin, trying like hell to look indifferent to his lust-filled expression. But dammit, my resolve is fading as fast as my anger.
“Where is the ring?” His jaw twitches, the lust suddenly eclipsed by our reality.
I slowly open my fist. The diamond glimmers in the sunlight.
“Are you going to put it on?”
“I don’t want to.”
He gives a stiff nod, backing away. “Do it. It’s the only way you can save yourself.”
“That’s the ironic thing, Luka.” I swallow past the golf ball-sized lump swelling in my throat. “I’m already beyond saving.”
