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“Yep,” they say in unison, then shoot each other glares before erupting into giggles.
I shake my head at them. “So Roman’s throwing us an engagement party. To my utmost astonishment, he’s agreed to let you two, and Ravenna, plan my bachelorette party. So, you better start planning.”
“Hell yes!” Gin wins another narrow-eyed glance from Arianna.
Our conversation settles into party details, venue options, and reining in Gin’s wild ideas. It’s an absolutely perfect afternoon spent with my sisters.
As I’m leaving, I check my phone’s voicemail. There’s a missed call and a message from an unknown number. Just in case it’s important, I press play.
Nik’s voice comes out of the speaker. “You’re going to regret this, you stupid filthy slut,” he slurs. “You think you can agree to marry me and then drop me for another man? You can’t. And I know you’re behind that shit leaked to my cousin. You’re trying to drive a wedge between me and Dimitri. I know it’s you, because that’s the kind of game harlots like to play. You manipulative slut.”
The voicemail cuts out.
I swallow hard, staring down at my phone as I slide into the backseat of the town car. I’ve never heard Nik so belligerent before. He’s clearly lost his mind.
“Everything okay, Miss?” Enzo asks from the driver’s seat. He’s a mild-mannered man in his late sixties who’s worked as Roman’s driver for decades.
“Yes. Fine. Let’s go home, please.”
He gives me an easy salute.
I didn’t think Nik would be this upset about losing me as his fiancée. Though to a man like him, it’s not so much about me, as it is about his wounded pride. A man who’s been crossed like he has is dangerous.
Unease twists around my gut and solidifies. I have a feeling I haven’t seen the last of Nik Kozlov.
CHAPTER15
Sophia
“This arrived for you, Miss Sophia.” Diana places an enormous box on my bed, and I uncurl from the window seat where I’m studying for the SAT. “Here’s the note that came with it.”
I take the envelope from her and read the card.
Meet me in the foyer at eight sharp. ~ Roman
Glancing up at Diana, I ask, “Do you know where he’s taking me tonight?”
The box delivery and instruction to meet him in the foyer remind me of our very first date. I can’t believe that was only two weeks ago. Since then, we’ve both been so busy that I’ve lost track of the time. I’m glad Roman is taking me out again.
Diana shoots me a sly smile. “I’m sure you’ll find a partial answer to your question in this box. Open it. Let’s see what’s inside.”
With an amused huff at her secrecy, I lift the top from the box to discover another red dress—no, not a dress, a ballgown. My breath catches as the intricate beading shimmers in the light. It’s gorgeous. Obviously, we’re going somewhere really fancy, and potentially quite significant.
Lifting out the gown, I find a pair of matching satin heels, and a smaller box of jewelry. At the bottom, there’s a matching, blood red set of bra and panties. Roman has planned my outfit down to the tiniest detail. Heat creeps across my face at the thought of him seeing me in these underwear.
The heat further warms at the realization this is exactly what hewantsto see me wear.
Diana claps her hands twice. “Let’s start getting you ready.”
Two women enter my room. After brief introductions, they get to work on my hair and makeup. I place myself in their capable hands, listening to their ongoing chatter, as they transform me from simply Sophia, into a masterpiece.
Once they’re done, Diana helps me dress and put on the jewelry. By the time we’re finished, it’s a quarter to eight, and I’m restless with nerves. At least I look amazing. I barely recognize myself in the full-length mirror.
Triple checking everything, I finally decide to go downstairs early and wait for Roman.
A few minutes later, he emerges from the shadowy hallway. He’s striking in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that emphasizes his broad shoulders and impressive height.
He stops short, his yellowish gaze lingers over me as heavily as a touch. My skin flushes where his eyes wander. The dress is cut low enough in the front to reveal an alluring amount of cleavage. A laced bodice cinches the waist, then the skirt flares out, falling in spills of silk to sweep the floor.
