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I watch as the words land exactly how I planned them.
Mikhail twists his lips in thought. “There’s a ring, but it’s going to take time to have it finished and resized.”
“If you really want to convince people we are together, get me another piece of jewelry in the meantime. A bracelet or…” I pretend to waver, thinking. “A necklace could work. It’s not so far off from a collar.”
I look out the window, feigning boredom. Pretending like my heart isn’t about to hurl itself out of my chest.
“I was under the impression you didn’t want people to think we were really together. You’re still waiting for Ivan Pushkin to come save you from my evil clutches, aren’t you?” he drawls.
It’s a trap. He’s so twisted, he might actually like if I fall into it. That way he’d have an excuse to punish me. Not that he needs one.
I snort. “I’ve given up on men—allmen. My relationship with Ivan was never real. Maybe I deluded myself into thinking it was real, but…” I shrug. “He’s with Francia and he isn’t coming for me.”
Mikhail’s hand loosens on my arm. “If you’ve given up on men, why do you want people to think you’re with me?”
I look up into his pale eyes. We’re closer than I thought. I can see the blue veins running under his skin. The desperation burning in them.
“I may not have chosen to be here, but if I have to, I don’t want to be at the center of the rumor mill. I want to be left alone. If selling your version of the story does that, then so be it.”
It’s a blend of my truth and the reality Mikhail wants. A compromise of sorts. I just hope he takes it.
He lets out a slow breath, his eyes roving over my face. Then, without looking away, he barks at the driver, “Stop at a jewelry store on the way back. Any store. I don’t care which.”
I fight back a smile as the words from Ivan’s note flicker in my mind.Wear this and I will always find you.
I hope to God he meant it.
27
IVAN
We’re back at the mansion and things are going poorly.
Francia slams her hands on the dining room table hard enough that the empty glass next to her setting crashes sideways. One of the new maids jolts to get it, but Francia scares her away with a skin-melting glare.
“Leave the glass. Just bring out the food.Now.”
“There’s an appetizer first,” the maid says shakily. “A house salad and—”
“It’s the middle of the fucking afternoon and we still haven’t eaten. I don’t want a salad—I want lunch. Bring it.”
The maid’s mouth opens and closes. She glances at me for help.
The staff just found out twenty minutes ago that lunch at the restaurant was canceled and they needed to have a full lunch ready for us by the time we got back home. Francia doesn’t seem to grasp that roast duck isn’t the kind of thing you throw in the microwave on short notice.
“Skip a few courses and let’s get to the entree as quickly as you can,” I tell her. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The woman nods and hurries out of the dining room with Francia calling after her, “Now,you listen? That’s what I said!”
“I think it’s more about the way you said it.”
Her attention slides to me. “How did I say it?”
“Like a rabid dog,” I say flatly. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out if it’s going to upset you so much.”
She frowns. “I’m not upset about going out. I’m upset that wecouldn’tgo out.”
“I still don’t see why not.”
