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I don’t have to turn around to know who it belongs to. I can feel his broad chest whispering against my back. Carefully, I slide away from the table without touching him.
“Don’t cause a scene, Viktoria,” Kirill warns in a low voice that I feel more than I hear.
“Me?! I’m not causing the scene—she is!” She yanks her arm away from his grasp and turns to me. “You aresofired. You’ll never work in this town again.”
“Will I get to be like you then? I’d love to live off of my daddy’s money instead of working for a paycheck,” I bite back.
She inhales sharply. I’m sure no one has ever spoken to her like this. And it’s a first for me, too; I barely recognize the feisty voice coming out of my own mouth.
But this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess. An extremely tired camel that has been carrying the baggage accumulated from a lifetime of bullying and harassment and disappointment and one bad stroke of luck after another.
A lifetime of being teased because I didn’t have the right clothes and my mom cut my hair.
A lifetime of watching people—even my own sisters—judge me for choosing not to go to college and get an MRS degree. Like my life will never amount to anything unless I marry a rich asshole like they both did.
Mom was one of the only people who didn’t doubt me at every turn, and now, she’s gone. Who the hell is there left to impress now?
No one. No one I care about, at least.
Viktoria is still simmering. “You fucked with the wrong woman.”
"She and I have that in common,” Kirill growls before I can formulate an answer.
Her attention snaps to him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means the sex isn’t good enough to put up with this much drama," he sighs. "Sit down, shut up, and leave the serving girl alone. It was wine, not pig's blood."
Viktoria lunges over his shoulder to try and spit at me. Distantly, I hear people in the crowd gasp and whisper. If there was any chance Irving hadn’t noticed the chaos before, that chance is long gone now.
I’m screwed.
Kirill grabs Viktoria’s shoulders hard and shoves her away. “Not here. If you have to fight, I’ll arrange a mud pit and some bikinis. Until then, keep it civil.”
Viktoria’s face flames. I can’t be sure if it’s with rage or embarrassment. But whichever the case, she backs down.
He glances over at me with a harsh gleam in his eyes. It’s a look that says,I’ve handled this. Now, scurry back to where you belong, little girl.
But people have been telling me that for a long, long time. I’ve always listened. I went where I was told and swallowed down my bitterness.
Not anymore.
Tonight is where I make my stand. Againstallof them.
I curl my upper lip. "Insult your eye candy on your own time, asshole. I can fight my own battles.”
Then, before I can have the satisfaction of seeing the shock on his face, I turn around and stomp back to the kitchen. I'm hoping for a reprieve back here, but half the kitchen staff is on me the moment I walk through the swinging doors.
Miranda gets to me first. “What did you do?” she blurts. “I was out there and heard the scream. Irving told me not to be a rubberneck, but—"
One of the cooks, Oscar, waves her away. “She spilled wine. Everyone saw that. But what did hesay?”
I wince. Now that the adrenaline is fading, regret is creeping in. “Are you sure everyone saw?” I ask, my fire dwindling rapidly.
They both look back at me like I’m as brain-dead as Viktoria accused me of being.
“Viktoria Kozlov screamed in the middle of dinner and Kirill Zaitsev stopped her from slapping you.” Miranda raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, sweetheart, I think it’s safe to say that everyone saw.”
“Shit.” My cheeks are burning now. “Maybe I shouldn’t have insulted her.”
