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“Do nothing.” He leaned back on his seat, and we watched a few couples dancing on the floor. “He can do nothing.”
Silence settled between us, and it strangely brought back the memory of the night in the bedroom. When I’d watched him shrug his jeans off, not knowing what to say or do.
The throb intensified and I squeezed my legs shut to keep the thoughts at bay.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “You really do think you’re untouchable, don’t you?”
Fabric rustled on the chair when he shifted, propping an arm on the table. “About a month ago, I thought I was, until an Irish princess stabbed me in the knee with a syringe, right after she came on my finger,” he said and stroked the beard on his chin as he watched the dancing couples with an intensity that had no connection with the fascination of their moves.
“She touched me, won’t you say?”
I swallowed. He was bringing them back; the memories from that day in the office. The day I took advantage of his weakness and escaped.
I turned to face him, lips parted and words ready. But he beat me to it, holding me captive with his eyes while he spoke.
“It won’t happen again, Moy malen’kiy golub’. You won’t ever be able to escape me again.”
There it was the confirmation that this man held me captive even from miles away. My heartbeat sped up and I had to calm myself down before speaking.
“There will be no chasing or escaping again. You have no reason to continue with this. I am free, uncaged. My father owes you nothing. Why don’t you just move on?”
“I could ask you the same question, Ava…”
My heart dipped when my name rolled off his tongue seamlessly. It sounded like he called it with so much intentionality and precision.
“Why don’t you move on?”
I looked away before he could spot the wave of conflict in my eyes. But somehow, he managed to catch me red-handed.
“Tell me, why do you still nurse those dreams you have of me? Don’t deny it; I know you do. I know you think of me just as much as I think of you, and deep, deep down, you know the truth. You know that you can never be free of me.”
The pounding became louder and the noises in the background turned to a loud ringing in my ears. His shoulders puffed and his eyes hardened. I know my reaction had only boosted his confidence.
He knew he was right.
Before I could move, he moved his lips to my ears and whispered, “The next time we meet, you should ask me how I got the Varkov name. Trust me, Ava, I’m determined, I always get what I want. Always.”
Chapter 12 - Ava
I was sitting by the dressing mirror with a detangling brush in my hair and a half-eaten apple in my mouth when a soft knock came on the door. I munched, brushed, and sat up straight.
“Come in.”
The door opened and the maid strolled in quietly with an empty silver tray clasped to her hip and her head bowed. Her long brown strands fell forward, and she slid them behind her ear.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. The boss seeks your attention urgently downstairs. He asked me to fetch you.”
I wanted to make a lame joke about her choice of Old English when she spoke, but I didn't bother. She wouldn't have gotten it either way.
“Ava.” I dropped the brush and rose from the soft plush seat by the mirror. “I’ve told you for the hundredth time, Arielle. You can call me by my name. I don't bite. And you are not committing some universal crime if you speak to me with your head up.”
Arielle and I were the same age, and we might have turned out to be good friends if she wasn’t so obedient and serving. What was the point in having her address me like I was some Queen Superior who needed all the attention?
Hesitantly, she lifted her head, and brown eyes stared at me as if I had two heads when I took the bowl of fruits to her. “Here, have some.”
She sputtered, choked, and couldn’t speak for a straight ten seconds. “Ms. Sulli—”
“Arielle?”
