AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why shouldn’t I feel like they’re my family? Why don’t I get to decide how I feel about the people I ended up with? It’s not as if my real family wanted me.
This is an ongoing argument with my therapist. I feel fundamental that I should get to choose how I feel about my situation and how I cope, and my therapist thinks I’m being gaslit into feeling safe here.
But I do.
Sighing, I walk into the bathroom to do my makeup after slipping my feet into the strappy, gorgeous heels. Whatever I should or shouldn’t feel, there’s a party being thrown for me tonight.
And with any luck, Max will be there.
7
SASHA
The party, as it turns out, is at a fancy Spanish tapas bar in downtown Manhattan—which Caterina rented out for us for the night.
“This is too much,” I whisper to her as the driver pulls up to the curb. “The dress, the shoes, the party—this is way too much. You didn’t need to go to this much trouble—”
“It’s no trouble,” Caterina insists. She looks exquisitely gorgeous tonight, too—probably the first time she’s had a chance to get dressed up since the babies came. Her dark hair is loose and curled around her face, and she’s wearing a dress in a similar cut to mine, but a dark blue with a slit up one side, and longer. “Twenty is an important birthday. You should get to celebrate in style.”
“I thought twenty-one was the important one,” I say with a laugh as we slip out of the car, and Caterina smirks.
“When you’re young, all your birthdays are important.”
“You’re not that much older than I am!” I exclaim, and she laughs ruefully.
“Maybe not, but I feel as if I’m approaching thirty.”
I can understand that. Caterina has been through a lot, too, and I definitely don’t feel as if I’m only twenty. I feel at least five years older most days, as if what I’ve been through has aged me considerably, and it’s hard to reconcile that with how everyone else seems to think I should act. But tonight, at least, in my new dress and shoes and jewelry, I feel young and lovely, and I try to let myself feel it, not to think about anything other than the party that Caterina was kind enough to throw for me.
As expected, the guests are all people I know through Caterina and Viktor. Sofia and Luca are there, with Sofia looking equally happy to have a night out, and an array of other women and their husbands I’ve met in the past. It feels more like a dinner party for the Andreyevs than anything else, but it’s not as if there was anyone else to invite. If I’d made a list, it would have been very short.
In fact, other than Caterina, Viktor, Sofia, and Luca, there would have only been one other person on it.
One who I see now, standing at the bar.
With my heart in my throat, I get up the nerve to walk towards him, feeling butterflies take flight in my stomach. He looks extraordinarily handsome, his hair artfully mussy with some kind of product, wearing his usual black slacks and black button-down, but with the top two buttons undone to show just a hint of dark hair and the thin gold chain with the saint’s medal hanging there.
“Thanks for coming to my party.” I lean against the bar as I look at him, taking in his handsome, chiseled face with the hint of dark stubble, black hair and long nose, his hazel eyes, and leanly muscled body before he can see me checking him out. “It seems like more of a mafia-slash-Bratva mixer, but I guess that’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“How so?” Max turns towards me, and although I might have imagined it, I could swear I saw a slight hitch in his breathing as he takes in the sight of me—short dress, long bare legs, and high heels, my hair and makeup done in a way it never normally is. “And I wouldn’t have missed it, Sasha, of course. It’s not every day you turn twenty.”
“I never knew anyone cared so much about twentieth birthday parties. And it’s my fault because I don’t really have any friends my own age to invite. So Caterina did her best with what she had.”
Max looks at me keenly, reaching for the drink the bartender passes him. “Everyone cares about you, Sasha. And that’s hardly your fault.”
“So my therapist keeps telling me.” I lean towards the bar, glancing at the drink menu sitting in front of me, printed on heavy linen card stock with flowing script describing drinks I’ve never even thought to try. I’m not exactly legal to drink, but seeing as how Viktor bought the place out for the night, I’m guessing I’m free to do so. And it’s not as if anyone would argue with him. “What should I try?”
Max leans towards the menu, and his shoulder brushes against mine. For a moment, I get a full breath of his scent—his lemon and salt cologne, like a Mediterranean beach, mixed with the warm musk of his skin and the piney scent of his shampoo. It makes me feel dizzy for a moment, heat sweeping through me and turning my blood molten. I’m glad I’m leaning up against the bar because, for a moment, my knees feel as if they’ve gone weak. “Well, what do you normally like?”
“I’ve only ever had wine,” I confess. “And a frozen margarita or two, hanging out with Caterina and Sofia. I wouldn’t mind trying something new, though.”
“Well, there’s sangria—” Max taps the menu, where I see the description of a wine-based drink filled with fruit.
“Something other than wine. Since I’ve had that before.” I frown. “I do like sweeter drinks, though. What are you drinking?” I nod to his glass, and Max smirks.
“An old-fashioned. I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“Let me try.” I hold out my hand, grinning, and Max laughs before handing it to me.
