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God forbid that his flesh and blood live under his roof for any longer than needed.
I have so many questions. I want to know what Pavel does for a living. Where will we be living? I most certainly am not moving to Russia. I want to know something—anything—about the man I’m expected to marry, but I can’t bring myself to speak up. The mood at the table is thick, heavy, and dangerous in feeling. I feel like Bryant is on the verge of snapping, and I don’t want to be the one that causes the final break. So, even though I want to know so much, I feel it’s going to have to wait until another day, or another night, or just another time. I have zero appetite and have only nibbled on my food. If I drink another sip of wine, I’m worried I’ll have the glassy-eyed, I-don’t-have-a-care-in-the-world, void look that Sarah has.
Pavel is back to texting. He’s a stupid, stupid man. What could possibly be so important to risk pissing off Bryant Morelli? Who is the recipient of the texts? Who outranks my father in Pavel’s mind?
I take this opportunity where he won’t catch me staring at him to scrutinize the stupid stupid man I’m expected to wed. I can’t imagine sharing a house with him, let alone a bed. There is no way that our marriage can be one with sex or even a kiss. My lips aren’t touching this man in any way. I hope to God that Pavel feels the same way. Just a union based on business, right? I do have some hope that he’s not looking for a good fuck by the mere fact that he hasn’t looked at me for more than two seconds all night. At least he isn’t undressing me with his eyes and seeing this deal as an easy lay. Or maybe he does and I’m just trying to fool myself which is what I’ve been trying to do since the moment I was kidnapped in Italy. I’ve always tried to make the best out of awful situations, but this may be taking optimism too far.
Without warning, Bryant stands from the table. “I think we can call it a night. Call my secretary to set up a meeting at my soonest availability so we can discuss the final arrangements.” He looks across the table at Sarah. “Ready?”
Without another word, Bryant and Sarah leave me, Sidorov, and Pavel sitting alone at the table. Neither one of them said good night to me, or more importantly invited me to leave with them. I was just left with the riffraff. What the fuck.
I clear my throat and try to summon my best Bryant Morelli persona possible and also stand from the table. “It’s been a long trip from Italy. I really should get some rest.” I look at Pavel and give a weak smile. “It was nice meeting you. Good night.”
Without waiting for a response or even looking to see what their reaction is, I leave. I march up the stairs to my room—the guest room—as quickly as I possibly can in fear that I’ll be calledback down and expected to entertain the guests. I’ve never liked dinner parties because I never know what fork to use, scared that my lack of formal etiquette training is obvious. But tonight… this takes the cake of the most awkward dinner of my life. But the realization that this is going to be the rest of my life sits heavy in the pit of my stomach. I look over my shoulder and down the stairs toward the front door.
Should I leave?
Should I make a run for it?
Maybe living out of my car, scraping pennies, and not knowing what comes next isn’t a bad thing after all, in comparison to what lies in store for me.
Feeling too tired to contemplate life for another moment, I enter my room with the hopes of shutting out all the dark and allowing nothing but numbing sleep to occur.
But as I walk in the door, I quickly realize I’m not alone.
Chapter Seven
Lyriope
Ionly hadtwo glasses of wine with dinner. I’m not intoxicated, I’m wide awake and can’t be dreaming, and yet…
“Nick?” I whisper as I quietly close the door behind me, not sure if he’s simply a figment of my imagination sitting beside my bed in a chair.
He’s on his phone texting with a devilish grin on his face. His posture in the chair, the way his ankle is resting on his knee, his aura of confidence and menace remind me of the first night I met him at the Morelli party. History has come full circle, and I’m once again the bastard Morelli, feeling unwelcome in the mansion, staring at a man who screams authority, dominance, and wicked curiosity.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. “If anyone saw you—”
“I’m a ghost. No one can see me,” he replies in a low voice, so deep, so mysterious. He puts away his phone and gives me one of his smiles that I can feel deeply in my soul.
I lock my bedroom door, and then walk closer to him, not sure what to say or do.
He lifts his eyes and connects with mine. “I’m buried six feet under, and I never want to be alive again. You killed me the minute you walked away from me in Italy. I’m dead because of you.”
His words stab me. They slice my heart into a million pieces. I never wanted to hurt him. I never wanted him to be involved inany of this mess. If I could turn back time, I’d never fall down the rabbit hole that led me to Nick to begin with.
“I had to leave. You know that.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How did you get in here?” I ask the question, but I also know Nick. If he wants to do anything, he can. He’ll always find a way to make it happen.
He hasn’t moved an inch. His eyes are the only thing that shifts position as he scans my body in the ridiculous red dress that is two sizes too small. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know he doesn’t approve.
I run my hands over my hips. “I didn’t pick it out.”
“I’m sure the Sidorov asshole loved it.”
This isn’t a conversation I want to have with Nick. The last thing I want to do is discuss my future—nightmare—with the man who could offer me a dream life if only we were truly living in a Wonderland without my demons pulling me into the darkness, refusing to ever let me free. The sooner I accept the inevitable, the better. Pavel Sidorov is my future regardless of how I feel about that.
