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“Don't just stand there. Get in,” I direct.
She looks over at Eva snuggled up next to me, leaving the seat across from us open. Vasilisa doesn't comment. She simply rolls her eyes and gets into the car, exposing the back of the dress, which is equally hideous.
An oversized bow seems determined to swallow her entire upper body. It's an over-the-top display of excess that adds nothing but confusion to the overall disaster of a dress. The bow's flimsy satin fabric threatens to come undone at any moment, as if it, too, is desperately seeking an escape from this fashion atrocity. The skirt billows out from the waist in a frenzy of tulle and layers, each one more cringe-worthy than the last. She will be the center of attention tonight, for sure.
As we ride to La Petite Château, an upscale French restaurant that has a ridiculous waitlist to get reservations, I focus my attention on Eva. I hang onto her every word as she goes on and on about Fashion Week in Paris. She's an international model and has graced the covers of several well-known magazines. I sneak little glances at Vasilisa, whose focus is glued to the window. She won't be able to ignore us for long.
The limo stops, and seconds later, our driver opens the door for us. I step out first so I can assist Eva out of the car. I attempt to assist Vasilisa out as well, but she refuses my hand. Instead, she struggles to get control of her dress to get out on her own. Once we're both in front of the entry, she stares Eva down from head to toe. Yes, the stark difference isn't even fair. Eva's gown is a masterpiece of design, a harmonious blend of sophistication and allure. Its sleek silhouette embraces her petite figure, hugging her in all the right places. The plunging neckline adds a touch of sensuality, while the backless design exudes confidence and elegance.My arm laces through Eva's as Vasilisa walks next to us.
“If this is supposed to be my punishment for what I said in the pool, I don't care,” she says nonchalantly as we walk up to the podium to be seated.
“Only we haven't even started,” I assure her.
As expected, every eye is on her as we are escorted to our table. She stares straight ahead, attempting to ignore the whispers and some laughter. Some people don't even wait for us to pass before they huddle together to make comments about the ridiculousness of her dress. We are seated with Vasilisa directly across from me and Eva at my side.
When the server arrives, I order for the table. I order a salad for Vasilisa and a four-course meal for Eva and me.
“So are you planning to starve me now? Your antics are getting a bit old. You're wasting your time with all of this,” Vasilisa comments.
I smile at her, amused by her defiance. She has no idea of all the ways I have to break her. My efforts thus far have been child’s play. “I have no intention of starving you. I have too many other ways to bend you to my will. But that's more of a show rather than tell kind of thing.”
Vasilisa rolls her eyes. It’s kind of her go-to when she’s pissed. “I’m sure you do. And what's planned for tonight? Because I'm not getting it.”
“That you will learn to respect and obey me,” I reply firmly. “We’ve already discussed this.”
She scoffs. “Never gonna happen. We already discussed that too. You’ve already tried to fuck the submission out of me.” I’m guessing that last bit of detail was more for Eva than for me, but Eva knows the score and couldn’t care less.
I lean forward, my voice low and menacing. “Oh, it will happen. One way or another.”
The rest of the meal courses continue in this tense atmosphere, with Vasilisa refusing to eat her salad and Eva making small talk. She’s fully aware that Vasilisa is betrothed to me, and she isn’t fazed. As long as she gets to have a taste of my cock, she doesn't involve herself in my affairs. It's been a few months since our last fling, so she is eager for us to get back to my place. She’s only in town for the night.
I can feel Vasilisa's eyes on us at all times, like she's trying to read what I could possibly have planned for her while simultaneously pretending she isn’t jealous. I make a mental note to change up myantics,as she puts it— to keep her on her toes. She has been all but begging for me to step things up a notch, and I shall oblige.
I signal the server to bring us a bottle of wine and pour some into Eva's glass. As I do so, I lean in close to her and whisper in her ear, albeit loud enough for Vasilisa to hear, asking if she’s hungry for my cock. She nods, a wicked grin spreading across her face. The tension in Vasilisa’s face confirms her jealousy, yet she insists I fuck someone else and leave her alone.
The final course arrives, and we begin to indulge. Eva and I savor each taste of our crème brûlée while Vasilisa continues to pick at her salad with disdain. But as our night begins to wrap up, something shifts. Vasilisa grows more agitated, her eyes darting around the restaurant as if searching for something.
“What's wrong?” I ask, feigning concern.
“Nothing,” she mutters, but her tone is strained.
I don't have to wait long to get my answer.
A tall, strikingly handsome man with sharp features approaches our table. His piercing blue eyes stare down at Vasilisa, and a confident smile plays on his lips. He appears to be alone.
“What a surprise to run into you here, Val. What on earth are you wearing?”
Vasilisa freezes for a moment, her face turning a shade of crimson. A mixture of surprise and embarrassment dances across her features. She looks away, avoiding direct eye contact with the rude newcomer who has failed to introduce himself to the table. I could intervene, but Vasilisa’s obvious discomfort is more than I’ve been able to inspire thus far so I allow the interaction to continue. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her napkin as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It's evident that she recognizes him, but the reason behind her embarrassment remains a mystery. The atmosphere becomes charged with tension.
“Oh, do excuse my manners,” the guy says as if suddenly realizing Vasilisa is not at the table alone. “I’m Viktor Sokolov. Vasilisa and I go way back.”
“Nice to meet you, Viktor. I’m Kai, and this is my date, Eva. We’re all just having a nice evening out. Nice of you to stop by, though,” I say, hinting for him to move along.
He takes the hint, but the quirk of his brow gives away his confusion. Vasilisa has yet to answer him. “We’ll catch up later, Val. Please don’t ever wear that dress again. You look ridiculous, but I’m sure your friends here have already told you that.” He laughs as he disappears into a private section of the restaurant.
Vasilisa releases an exhale. Tears well in her eyes, but she wipes them with the back of her hands before they fall. This guy still has a serious effect on her, which is completely fucking ludicrous. Is she still pining over him after his rejection? I could have told him who I was to her or even invited him to join us to further enjoy her discomfort, but I want to punish her on my own terms—not with the assistance of some fucker who had plans to harm Persephone. Good to know he has shown his face back here in the States. It’s better that he doesn't know who I am. It will make things much easier to end him. Since the attempt on her life, Persephone’s father has beefed up her security and moved her back home, for now, to continue her studies online. She is safe, so I have other priorities first, but Viktor won't escape my wrath for even thinking he could harm her.
I clear my throat, effectively drawing Vasilisa's attention back to me. “I think it's time to go.”
