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For the second time in as many minutes, my heart lurches uncomfortably. “What?”
Ivan monitors these calls. Someone is going to overhear Jorden making accusations. She’ll become a target—a “loose end,” as Ivan’s dad said. Will they cut her?
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking online ever since the guards showed up and there are some weird stories out there about Ivan. Like that he is some kind of crime boss or something. It’s all rumors, but it’s starting to feel possible.”
Rumors available to anyone with a Google search bar. They can’t kill her for that, right? Surely not.
“You know what kind of shit is on the internet these days. Conspiracy theories and what not. This is probably just more of—”
“So you haven’t heard anything weird since you’ve been there?” she interrupts. “You just met him last night, Cora. Maybe it isn’t safe that you’re staying with him.”
“It’s safe here. I promise. Ivan is protecting me.”
I hope.
Jorden hums nervously. “I want to be happy for you. Iamhappy for you. But I also love you, girl, so I want to make sure you’re going to be okay and I have a weird feeling about all of this.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I know. I love you, too. All I want is for you to be safe. That’s why you have guards there. It’s all because I panicked and wanted to make sure our engagement wouldn’t put you in any danger. You know, since you were at the party with me last night, and then everything that happened at the diner this morning…”
It’s also why I’m lying now: because telling her the truth isn’t safe. Yasha and Ivan and Anya have made it clear that the less people know about what is going on here, the safer they are.
Ignorance is bliss.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone care that you’re getting married to Ivan Pushkin?” she asks. “I’m starting to wonder if the shooting this morning was actually a random drive-by. Has he said anything to you about it? Are we sure it wasn’t someone he is in, like, a turf war with or something? I just don’t want—”
My phone buzzes. I pull it away from my ear to see that Francia is FaceTiming me.
I’m not sure a call from Francia is really the saving grace I wish it was, but right now, it’s all I’ve got to escape Jorden’s incredibly accurate line of questioning.
“Hey, Francia is calling me. I have to go, but I’ll call you back,” I say, interrupting Jorden mid-speech. “Bye!”
She’s still talking when I end our call. Then I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and answer Francia.
29
CORA
“Hi, Franny.”
The screen is black for a second longer before Francia appears. She’s holding the phone out in front of her, but as the call connects, she leans it against something on the table in front of her and sits back. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah. I was just—”Dodging Jorden’s questions and lying to our mutual friend.“I’m free. What’s up?”
“I talked to Jorden.”
“When?” I ask. “I was just talking to her.”
Are the two of them talking and putting the pieces together? Maybe I should find a way to tell them the truth if it will mean they stop looking for answers.
“A few hours ago. She told me what you told her. About the wedding. It would have been nice if you’d mentioned it to me.”
“I was going to tell you, Francia. I was. I just didn’t want to do it over text. It’s all happening so fast and I needed a second to process it. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She sags slightly. “I was freaking out earlier.”
“Probably because strangers were telling you you weren’t safe in your own apartment.”
She chuckles humorlessly. “That might have been part of it, yeah.”
