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“Notthat it’s any of your business, but he was talking about how he messed up one of our upcoming assignments, you presumptuous ass. And he wasn’t drooling over me. If anyone, he’d be drooling overyou,” I add pointedly.
Pyotr doesn’t even bat an eye. “I don’t give a fuck who makes him drool. No one touches you.”
“Why do you even care?” I demand, my voice escalating as my cheeks warm. “It’s not likeyouwant to touch me. You’ve made that perfectly clear.” The blatant hurt in my tone only makes me angrier. I don’t want to show weakness to this jerk, but I’ve always been an open book.
“That’s not the point,” he states darkly, his deep voice vibrating through me.
He didn’t deny it, which drives the knife in further. “I don’t get it. If I’m so unappealing to you, why don’t you just find another bride? Seems like you and your family are going to a lot of trouble over something you don’t even want.”
“Look, I don’t have the time or patience to walk you through the whole point of this arrangement. If you need a baby-step explanation, go ask your father,” he snaps.
“Maybe I will. And while I’m at it, I’ll tell him you and your family can go shove it.” I stab a finger into his ridiculously toned chest as I say it.
He sneers. “As if you have a say in the matter. I’m no happier about our betrothal than you are, but as long as you’re mine, I better not see you talking to another guy again. Got it?”
He looks pointedly at Travis, who’s still cowering on the ground, to make sure his message is clear. Travis nods quickly and scrambles to his feet before fleeing inside the arts building. I watch him go, my heart sinking as I realize that’s probably the end of our friendship. The terror on Travis’s face said it all.
“You are unbelievable,” I hiss, turning a scintillating glare on my betrothed.
But Pyotr’s already starting to leave. Now that he’s staked his claim, he wants nothing more to do with me.
“I hate you!” I shout at his retreating back, tears welling in my eyes.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance over his shoulder.
Feeling both confused and isolated, I wipe my eyes fiercely to get my emotions under control. Then I turn toward the arts building for my first class of the day. Things seem to go from bad to worse with the Veles family and my impending nuptials. I can’t believe I have to marry Pyotr. To be with him for the rest of my life, trapped in New York. All alone.
Now that I’ve seen his true colors, I don’t know how to go through with this.
The room is strangely hushed as I enter the open, communal space. Normally, a healthy buzz of creative conversation fills the art room since the round eight-seater tables have a kind of collaborative feel. But today, the people who speak do so in whispers, and no one quite wants to meet my eye.
When I reach the table where Emily is sitting, she collects her things and finds a new place to sit. A knot tightens my stomach, making it hard to swallow or breathe. The students that find their seats last join me with trepidation.
It seems, with one blow, Pyotr has turned me into a pariah.
I keep to myself, trying to hold my chin high as Professor Whitty wheels in our cart of materials, seeming oblivious to the stifling atmosphere. He doesn’t say much until everyone’s collected the tools they need.
His lecture begins as we all get to work, practicing the sculpting technique he wants us to practice for the day. I pour my energy into the clay before me, trying to focus on Professor Whitty’s instruction rather than Pyotr. But that proves nearly impossible.
By the end of the hour, my sculpture looks nothing like what we’re supposed to be making. It’s an ugly, deformed thing that mirrors my mood more than the tree I intended it to be. And I’m no closer to getting past what happened.
I try to approach Travis after class, to apologize for what happened. He came in late with a wet paper towel covering his swollen lip. But when I called out to my friend, he literally ducked away from me and ran.
Definitely not going to be able to make amends if he refuses to even look at me.
Struggling emotionally and desperately wishing I had someone to talk to, I turn my thoughts to Nico. He’s the one I always call when I need a shoulder to cry on or a listening ear. But before I even pull my phone from my bag, I think twice.
Nico’s reactionary. And already dead set against the Veles and my marriage to Pyotr. He might do something drastic that could cause a conflict. Not that I would blame him. But since my father won’t back out of this arrangement, I don’t see a benefit in riling Nico up. It will only make matters worse.
Still, the tears linger at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill if I don’t do something to relieve the pressure building in my chest. My brother Cassio comes to mind. He and Lucca have always been less inclined to violence and manage to find humor in any situation.
Cassio helps me find the lighter side of things. I could appreciate some of that right about now. Unlocking my phone as I walk to my next class, I dial Lucca’s twin.
“Hey, Sil,” Cass says, answering on the second ring. “Everything alright?”
The simple question tips me over the edge, and I sniffle as I give him a teary “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone immediately shifting to concern.
