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I grin, and despite burning off a few taste buds in the process, I do as she asks, moaning in appreciation as the flavors explode on my tongue. She smiles wider and claps her hands. I place my free hand over my heart and thank her, knowing she’ll understand the gesture if not the words. She leaves me to eat, which I do happily, emptying the bowl and devouring the bread.
I wash my bowl, ignoring her protests when she returns. Instead, I kiss her cheek, take an apple from the fruit bowl, and walk back up to my room. Sure enough, when I arrive, I find a garment bag on the bed and a shoebox on the floor. I stare at them for a moment before glancing at the clock. I’m not sure what time we’re supposed to leave, but it’s already five o’clock. I’d rather be ready and wait than make us both late.
Decision made. I take a shower, making sure not to get my hair wet, and style my hair with the straightener that magically showed up in my room on my second day here, along with enough clothes to last me a year. Next, I do my makeup, going for dark to match my mood with smoky eyes and glossy red lips for a hint of sultry. Once I’ve finished my face, I use the concealer to cover the fading bruises on my arms before I unzip the garment bag and reveal the dress.
I swallow. It’s perfect. Exactly the kind of dress I would have chosen for myself. It’s just another chip in my wall, made by a man who seems to notice things about me that others seem to miss even after years of knowing me. The shade of red is almost a perfect match to my lips. It’s long and strapless, and like the previous dress, it shows nothing yet is effortlessly sexy, perhaps because it leaves something to the imagination. I stare at the dress and know none of the underwear I have will work, so for the second time, I’ll be going naked underneath.
I lay the dress on the bed and open the shoebox, finding a pair of heels that look like they’re made from glass. Though stunning to look at, I have to wonder if I’m going to end up with shredded feet by the end of the night. I sit on the edge of the bed and slip them on, turning my foot to admire the way they sparkle in the light. Standing up, I’m shocked by how comfortable they are.
Lifting the dress, I step into it, shimmying and tugging it up my body, the skin-tight material hugging me in all the right places. Turning to look in the mirror, I widen my eyes at my reflection. I look like a cross between Cinderella and the Evil Queen. A little bit of sex and innocence all wrapped up in what pretty much amounts to a big, red bow. I place my hand over my stomach when I feel butterflies swarm, confused by the feeling, until I realize I was thinking about Maxim and what his reaction to my dress will be.
“Shit.” I’m in really dangerous territory here. Even if there were no Calix or Rémy, there could still be nothing between Maxim and me. I’d never survive in his world, and he would struggle to find a place in mine. Besides, you don’t just walk away from the Bratva. It’s a permanent position that only ends with death. It’s a blood-in-blood-out kind of thing. It’s a world ruled by men, where women are nothing but shiny trinkets that make the men look good. Their opinions hold no weight, their choices are few, and their lives are lived by someone else’s orders.
Been there, done that, got the blood-stained hands to prove it. I worked too damn hard to carve out a life for myself to give it up for a man because he has a nice smile and a big dick. I deserve better, but then, so does he. I would be the worst choice for the Russian pakhan.
I laugh, then. I can’t help it. It seems that in the midst of everything, I realize I have a type.Unattainable. Each of the men I’ve come to feel something for couldn’t be worse for me than if I straight-up started dating a serial killer. Hell, at least one of the three might as well be one, given Rémy’s body count. The universe must be laughing at me right now. Like dangling a carrot and teasing me with all I can have before ripping it away. It’s cruel, and yet it’s the story of my life.
I stare at my face and see the strain in my features as I try to slip on the mask of indifference. It’s becoming harder every day to pretend that I feel nothing when I feel everything, and at the center is an acute loneliness that threatens to drown me with each breath. I don’t know what to do about it. I’m living a life that feels like a speeding train running off the tracks.
I shake it off for now, pushing the feelings back down, and I do what I always do: promise myself I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I have to concentrate on tonight. I stand up tall, pull my shoulders back, and remind myself that bad days don’t make a bad life. For every tear I’ve cried, I’ve also laughed until my stomach cramped. I might not be okay right now, but I will be.
Heading for the door, I pause with my hand on the knob and take a final deep breath before opening it. I spot Maxim at the bottom of the staircase, dressed and ready, staring at something on his phone. I take a second to enjoy the view before I start toward him.
He must hear me walking down the stairs because he speaks without looking up. “I was just coming to tell you we need to leave in five minutes. Are you ready?”
“Yes. I’m ready.” My voice comes out soft, and I wince at the melancholy in it.
Maxim hears it too, and lifts his head, his eyes landing on mine. They widen a fraction as he takes me in, moving over my body like an erotic caress.
“Fuck me,” he hisses as I make it to him. “Forgive me,” he grunts out, and I frown.
“Forgive you for what?”
“For this.” He yanks me to him and slams his mouth down over mine.
My body comes to life on contact, like a match being lit. I grab his arms, intending to push him away. But that stabbing loneliness swirls inside me, making me grip him tighter and lean into him.
When he pulls free, the fire dies almost immediately, and a little bit of self-loathing seeps in. I look up at him and don’t mask how I feel. He winces at the expression on my face. Reaching out, he cups my jaw, trying to read me.
“Sugar?”
“It has to be you,” I whisper.
“What?”
“It has to be you. You have to be the one to pull back,” I tell him, feeling a tear slip free and slide down my cheek.
His expression darkens as he follows its path.
“I’m not strong enough to walk away. It has to be you.”
“I can’t.” His voice is guttural, laced with frustration and regret. “Not even if it makes you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Maxim. But I’m finding it really hard to like myself right now.”
He blows out a breath and rests his forehead against mine. “Okay,” he says softly, and I relax a fraction at his agreement, even though I feel like bawling my eyes out.
“Okay,” I repeat as his hand slides into mine.
