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The one and only explanation that comes to mind is so insane that I shut it down as soon as it invades my thoughts. I refuse to even entertain that possibility. It’s true that in our world, men do these sorts of things when other men poach on their territory, be it business or women. But that’s ridiculous.
There’s no way Alexei thinks of me as his territory.
Still, my subconscious must’ve latched on to the idea because my other nightmares—the ones from which I wake up feeling strangely hot and uncomfortable—involve a black-eyed demon coming to claim me, his blood-stained hands embracing me and his wicked mouth smirking as he drags me down into his terrifying underworld.
* * *
I have onlythree days of my summer vacation left when Mama comes into my room. Her pretty face is unusually pale, her eyes red and swollen underneath her makeup. She must’ve had another major row with Papa.
“Alinochka, there’s something your father and I need to speak to you about,” she says, her voice scratchier than usual. “Get dressed and meet us in the library in a half hour, okay?”
I sit up straighter on the couch, my heart lurching into a faster beat. “Why? What’s going on?”
She attempts a smile. “Nothing. We’ll talk to you when you come down, okay? And do wear one of your nicer dresses, please. We have company.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her, and I stare at it blankly before springing to my feet. I have no idea what’s going on, but my stomach feels tight, my chest cold. This isn’t usual. My parents don’t do joint talks with me. If there’s something they want, Mama always talks to me on her own. It must be something big. But what? If she hadn’t mentioned company, I would’ve thought my parents were finally getting a divorce, but they wouldn’t want witnesses to that talk. Unless it’s lawyers? But why would they want me to look nice for that?
Moving on autopilot, I put on a dress. It’s not one of my fancy evening gowns—it’s only eleven in the morning—but it’s cute, something I might wear to a pool party with my friends. I also apply a little makeup, just so I don’t look so pale and scared. I used to hate makeup, but I’m beginning to understand its utility, to appreciate its ability to conceal signs of stress and sleepless nights.
There. I look decent. Now if only my hands weren’t so icy. Thankfully, I still have a few minutes before I need to be downstairs, so I go into my bathroom and warm them under a stream of hot water.
Finally, it’s time to head to the library. I put on a pair of platform heels that go with the dress and walk down the stairs. My heart is drumming in my ears, and my mind is spinning with all sorts of unpleasant possibilities.
What if they’re pulling me out of my boarding school to make me attend a local one?
Or—oh, God—what if something’s happened to someone in our family?
No. No way. Mama would just tell me. She wouldn’t make a big production out of it. When my grandmother—Dad’s mom—passed away from a heart attack five years ago, Mama told me right away. No, this is something else, something to do specifically with me.
I’m sick with nerves by the time I approach the library and knock on the door.
“Come in,” Papa calls.
I enter. Immediately, my eyes fall on the two guests, and my pulse leaps into the stratosphere.
Alexei Leonov and his father.
They’re sitting across the table from my parents, regarding me with nearly identical pairs of dark, cold eyes.
“Alinochka, please join us,” Mama says, a bit unsteadily. “We have some good news to discuss.”
I force my limbs to move. They feel odd, like they don’t belong to me. It’s as if I were wearing a suit of flesh and bones instead of inhabiting my body.
The suit obeys my instructions, though, and I sit next to Mama, my eyes glued to Alexei, who’s sitting directly across from me. He stares back at me with an unreadable expression, his big hands interlaced on the table in front of him.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to look away like a coward. Once again, his presence makes me feel alternately hot and cold. Has his face always been so hard and chiseled, or has he matured even more in the six months since I saw him last? I’ve been stalking him online, so I know he’s just turned twenty. By a bizarre coincidence, we share a birthday—July 24th—which makes him exactly five years older than I am. If my grandmother were alive, she’d say this means that our fates are intertwined, the threads of our lives woven together since birth, but that’s silly. I don’t believe in any of those village superstitions.
Papa clears his throat, and I redirect my attention to him, grateful for an excuse to look away from Alexei’s darkly magnetic stare.
“Alina,” Papa says gravely. “You’ve met Boris Sergeyevich Leonov and his son, Alexei.”
Years of politeness training propel my response. “Yes, of course. Hello again. It’s nice to see you both.”
The elder Leonov inclines his head with a thin-lipped smile that makes my skin crawl, but Alexei’s expression doesn’t shift in any way. Nor does he say anything back. He just watches me with that indecipherable look in his onyx eyes.
“As you know, our families have a history that goes way back,” Papa says. “And a relationship that, at times, has been… contentious.” What he really means is it’s a miracle we’re all sitting here together without bloodshed.
Some kind of response seems warranted, so I nod, pressing my hands together under the table. I still have no clue what this is all about, but my fingers feel icy again.
