Page 73 of Unholy Tsar

Dinner itself is a torturous affair. Who eats an eight-course meal, for goodness' sake? Russian oligarchs do, it seems.

The food, though, is absolutely delicious, but unfortunately, the company is lacking. The men seem misogynistic, dismissing me as just another young trophy, while their dates look down their noses at me. Oh, they don’t make it so obvious, but there’s a cattiness to their tone when they deem fit to address me.

Meanwhile, Maksim doesn’t appear to notice, and I don’t draw his attention to it. He’s already busy enough, dividing his attention between me and the numerous men who want to engage him in conversation.

His attentiveness to me, and his constant checking in to make sure I’m fine, is the only reason I make it through the long as hell dinner.

When the dessert is finally being cleared, I tap Maksim’s arm to get his attention. “I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you.” He starts to get up, but I quickly tug him down.

“What?” I ask, horrified. I refuse to give these people another reason to look down on me, and I can just imagine what they’ll think if Maksim follows me to the bathroom. “No, stay. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be quick about it, dushen’ka.”

He kisses the back of my hand when I stand up. I can feel his gaze on my back as I walk away, but I don’t look back. He’s probably a little worried since I was so quiet throughout the entire meal.

Once I’m in the clear, I ask one of the waiters where the restroom is, and he points to a closed door. I thank him and make my way inside. There are three stalls, all of them empty. Good. I blow out a relieved breath and walk into the very last one, closing the door behind me.

I don’t actually need to use the toilet or anything; I just want a quiet moment to myself. I close the toilet seat and sit down, suddenly wishing I had brought my purse with me. Then, I could at least text with Bree or something while I get myself together.

Bree. It seems like I haven’t heard from her in forever. I wonder why? Though, I guess I haven’t exactly reached out either.

Suddenly, the main door bursts open, and I hear the click-clack of heels walking in. My entire body tenses. Shit. So much for peace and quiet… I’m about to stand up and walk out when I hear them talking, and for some reason, I pause—and it’s a good thing I did.

“Did you see her? Thinking a designer dress and some makeup will turn her into a princess,” someone scoffs in a thick Russian accent.

“Right? And Mikhail didn’t help matters, telling everyone she’s Smolov's Tsarina,” a second voice adds in relatively clear English.

Are they talking about me?

“It’s true what they say about rich men slumming it. If I didn’t witness it myself, I would find it hard to believe that the great Maksim Smolov is dating a poor Italian girl.”

“Exactly She’s so beneath him… and way too young for such an exquisite man. There’s no way he’s satisfied with such a doe.”

A lump forms in my throat and without thinking it through, I press the flush button on the toilet. The girls go quiet as they realize someone else is in the bathroom.

I inhale deeply, steeling my nerves. Then, I push the door open and walk out with my head held high. When they see me, their expressions shift from casual amusement to a startled mix of guilt and wide-eyed surprise. I offer them my sweetest smile, though my heart is pounding fiercely in my chest. “If you have any questions, you can ask me directly. Come on. Ask away. Like say, how did a poor Italian girl like me get Maksim Smolov to go slumming?”

They mumble incoherent apologies before scurrying out of the restroom. I follow them to the door and lock it behind them. Then I make my way to the sink to wash my hands, the sound of running water a welcome distraction from the turmoil within me. My eyes sting badly, and I sniff loudly, trying to hold back the tears. They fall anyway.

Those girls are right, of course. I’m a nobody. Under normal circumstances—if I hadn’t become friends with Bree—there’s no way someone like me would’ve even crossed paths with someone as great as Maksim, let alone dated him, if that’s even what this is.

Fucking hell. What am I even doing here?

I stare at my reflection. I appear composed and put together, gorgeous. But the tears streaming down my cheeks give away my distress.

Just as I’m trying to pull myself together, the door’s handle jiggles, and I frantically grab some tissues and dab my tears away, careful not to ruin my makeup too much.

“Cecilia? Are you in there?”

I freeze, shocked to hear Maksim’s voice.

“I… you…” What is he doing here? “You can’t come in here,” I finally force out, my voice thick from crying. I clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t notice. But who am I kidding?

There’s a beat of tense silence, and then Maksim starts pounding on the door. “Open the door right this instant, dushen’ka, or I’m going to break it down.”

I laugh a little at his threat, then sniff, wiping off the rest of my tears before I slowly make my way to the door. When I open it, he’s scowling, but that scowl immediately changes to something far more dangerous.