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What I couldn’t admit to Ruby is where the rest of my misgivings are coming from–the fact that deep down, Iwantto go on the date. I want to go out to a fine restaurant again, to eat expensive food, to spend time with a man who seems to be from the world I once inhabited, or at least adjacent to it. I want to see what boundaries he might offer to pay me to cross–and I might want to agree.
I know I shouldn’t want that. And now, as all the fears come rushing back, I try to think of what Ruby might say to me if she were here right now, if I weren’t afraid to let her come over for fear that she might be seen and targeted by someone, too.
She’d tell me that he’s had other girls like this, girls that he kept and spoiled, and that he probably has a type, so that’s why he knows my dress size. Maybe he even has an assistant he showed a picture to, a woman who would be more likely to be able to guess correctly. And as for the shoes–
How can that be explained away? I feel my toes curl instinctively, that dread creeping through me.Maybe he has a foot fetish. Maybe he’s just very good at noticing those kinds of things. Maybe that’s his quirk, being able to guess shoe sizes. Are you really complaining about a free pair of thousand-dollar shoes?
If the date goes bad, and I don’t see him again, I can sell them. The dress and earrings, too. That, on top of what I make for the date tonight and what I’ve already tucked away from my nights in the champagne room with him, will make a nice little dent in what I need to escape.
Just one night, Natalia. Get through this, and you’ll be well on your way to never having to worry about anything like this again.
I force myself up, quickly stripping out of my loose jeans and t-shirt, and going to the top drawer of my dresser. The dress is too sparse on the top to wear a bra–not that I really need one anyway–and with the way the fabric will cling, I need something that won’t show lines beneath it. I find a thin, silky thong in my drawer. I have a sudden thought of Mikhail’s hand between my thighs, his fingers finding the slight bit of fabric, and the way his eyes might heat at the realization.
A quick jolt of heat bursts through me at the thought of his fingers hooking around the thin string, pulling it aside, brushing against–
You’re not going to make it through tonight if you can’t stop thinking like that. Get a grip,I tell myself firmly, slipping the panties on quickly over my hips and reaching for the dress.Tonight is about getting what you need to escape this place, nothing else.
The dress fits perfectly, exactly as I thought it would. It slides over me and clings in all the right places, the slits stopping at the tops of my thighs, the fabric swishing between my legs in a way that reminds me of every beautiful dress I chose for myself in my past life. Something in my chest aches, looking at myself in the mirror. If I ignore the black hair, and the sparse, ugly apartmentin the background, I can almost imagine that I’m back in my old room, dressing for a night out. Once I slip the shoes on, it’s even easier to picture.
I almost feel like myself again.
I skip the heavier makeup that I do for the club. I curl my hair into soft pinup-style waves, pinning it back at the front, and settle for a simple wash of champagne eyeshadow and mascara, with the thinnest strip of eyeliner and no fake lashes. Instead of my usual bold red lip, I dig out an old tube of rose-colored lipstick, just enough to give my mouth a slight flush. When I’m finished, I look so much more like the person I remember being before that I have to blink back tears.
Get ahold of yourself,I warn myself again, swallowing hard as I force the emotions down.You need to be on your game tonight, or he’ll take advantage. He’s not doing this for you. He doesn’t even know who you are, thank god, and he has no idea what it means to you to be dressed like this, going to a place like this again. Don’t let it go to your head.
Walking down my street to where I’m supposed to meet Mikhail is more than a little nerve-wracking. It’s early evening, so there are a few people out and about, and dressed like this, I stick out. I keep my eyes ahead, ignoring anyone who looks at me, and I try not to think about what it looks like as I stand at the corner waiting for him.
In a matter of moments, I see a sleek car pulling up, different from the one he’d been driving the first night I’d ridden with him. This one is a black Aston Martin, and as it idles there, I peer inside, wanting to make sure that it’s Mikhail.
I don’t have to look for long. His door swings open as he steps out, dressed immaculately in tailored black pants and a charcoal button-down, complete with a silvery grey tie. He circles around to where I’m standing, opening the passenger door as he smiles at me. “I was afraid you might not be here. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”
“We made a deal.” I give him a small smile as he gets back into the car. “I had to hold up my end of it.”
“I’m grateful you did.” He nods at the center console. “In there is the money. Feel free to take it, count it, whatever you like.”
I glance at him, opening the console to find an envelope clearly filled with cash. “Usually, this is given at the end of a date, from what I hear,” I tell him lightly, forcing a teasing note into my tone.
“We agreed on the beginning.” He smiles. “I hold up my end of the deal as well. And anyway, I would have wanted to get that out of the way no matter what, so I can pretend I’m getting arealdate with you. You can’t blame a man for wanting to fantasize a little, can you?”
“I’m glad you’re a man of your word.” I tuck the envelope into my clutch, feeling a little better with that out of the way. Not because I want to pretend it’s a real date–I don’t, I remind myself forcefully–but because now I don’t have to worry all night that he’ll try to weasel his way out of it at the very end. Ruby had told me not to be concerned with that, but I couldn’t help it.
“You know,” he says conversationally as he drives out of my neighborhood, “I should know your name, if we’re going out on a date. You know mine, after all. It’s only fair, I think. If there’s a price–”
“Ekaterina.” I smile at him, giving the first name that comes to mind and hoping that he accepts it without pressing further. “Does that make you happy? Knowing my name?”
“Very.” He flashes me a full grin, and I feel something loosen in my chest, the fear that he wouldn’t believe me slipping away. “It’s a beautiful name. I knew someone who went by it, once.”
“Oh?” I affect a little playful jealousy, glancing over at him. “Was she very important to you? Very beautiful? Should I be jealous?”
He laughs. “I only knew her for a few nights, so no. No need for you to be jealous. No one could be as beautiful as you, and we’ve already spent more nights in each other’s company than I ever did with her. In fact, looking at you, I’m forgetting her already.”
I know this is a game. It’s a game I’ve played before, but I can feel myself relaxing and settling into it. It feels good to banter, to be teased and flattered, and I can feel myself forgetting how angry he makes me at times. This feelsgood, normal, to be in a luxury car on my way to a luxury dinner, dressed in designer silk and jewels, sitting next to a handsome, wealthy man. I keep my hands folded in my lap, giving him no reason to touch me, but I find myself wishing he would try as we drive, that he might reach out and run his hand up the smooth bare skin of my thigh.
He pulls up to the valet as we reach the restaurant, coming around to open my door again before the valet can. He hands the young-looking man the keys and pauses, looking at me. “I know we said no touching,” Mikhail says smoothly. “But I’d like to be able to touch you, just a little.” His hand hovers over the small of my back. “Here, perhaps, if you’d let me. Will you?”
Leaning a little closer, I feel his warm breath against my ear, brushing over the shell of it–but his lips still don’t touch my skin. “We can negotiate for it here, if you like–or later.”
I feel heat ripple over me, my breath catching in my throat at the nearness of his hand. “You may,” I manage, the words coming out with a little difficulty. “We can–talk about it later.”
