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“Right. Yasha. He told me not to worry about it. But guess what? I’m worried! Where have you been?”
“I’ve been…” I imagine Ivan sitting in some dark room somewhere, headphones on and a monitor with my face splashed across it in front of him. “I’ve been with Ivan.”
There’s a long pause before Jorden speaks again. “Ivan…Pushkin? From the party last night?”
“Yeah. He came into the restaurant this morning.”
There’s another long pause. Then Jorden screams.
“What?” I gasp. “What is going—”
“You fucked Ivan Pushkin at the party last night and then he showed up to see you the morning after?!” Jorden squeals. “Holy shit! I can’t believe it! But…wait. Was the explosion this morning because of Ivan?”
“No. It was…” I try to quickly sort through what I can and can’t tell Jorden, but in the end, it’s easier to lie. “It was all a case of mistaken identity. A drive-by shooting, I think?”
“Shit. Really?” She blows out a long breath. “That’s a relief. I mean, it’s absolutely batshit, bananas, bonkers, totally off the rocker. But still a relief, I guess.”
“Yeah, it is. But I’m still kind of shaken up. I’ll probably take a few days off of work.”
“Usually, I’d be pissed because I cannot be covering all of your shifts, but the restaurant is closed for repairs, anyway. Come over. Or I can come to you?”
I wince. “I’d love to, but…I’m not at my apartment right now. I probably won’t be for a while.”
“Oh. Where are you?”
Yasha told me not to give away my exact location, but I’m assuming it’s safe to say… “I’m with Ivan.”
This time, when there is a long pause, I know to pull the phone away from my ear. Through the speaker, I hear a tinny shriek.
“No way!” Jorden squeals. “He invited you back to his house?”
Invited, abducted. To-may-to, to-mah-to.
“Yeah. That’s why he came to the restaurant this morning. He was there because I ran off last night without giving him my number.”
Jorden is making all kinds of giddy noises from the other end of the phone. I wouldn’t put it past her to be literally jumping for joy right now. Then she stops. “Wait! That whole party last night was for Ivan to find a wife, right?”
I chew on my lip. I hate lying to her. “Uh, yeah. Right.”
“And now, he wants your number?”
“Correct.”
A third silence stretches. I wince in preparation for what I know is coming in three, two, one…
“HOLY SHIT! IVAN PUSHKIN WANTS TO MARRY YOU?!”
I let Jorden calm down to a decibel safe for human ears before I put the phone back to my ear. “That seems to be correct.”
“Oh my God! I thought this kind of thing could only happen in fairy tales, but you’ve got yourself a real life prince.”
Sure. Prince of darkness, maybe.
“How did this happen?” Jorden badgers me. “I mean, obviously, he met you and was enamored with your beauty and wit and cleavage and other incredible qualities. But what happened last night?”
Now,thispart I can tell without any lies.
I run through the drunk man ripping my dress to shreds and Ivan walking in on me naked in his office. “I had no clue who he was at first,” I admit. “When I found out, I tried to leave—but I guess I didn’t quite get that far.”
