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“Oh my gosh! Look at how beautiful this is!” One of the women announces. An ivory lingerie set glistens as she holds it up. The bra and G-string have intricate black lacing. “Oooh, and a special little toy.”
Heat scorches my cheeks as she raises the boxed vibrator.
“Your husband has exquisite taste,” Mitch whispers into my ear. I pointedly glare in Dmitri’s direction, who flips over to another page, but I know he’s intently listening.
It takes me back to my college years. He’d always purchased lingerie sets to get under my skin. He’d break into my room to leave them, just so I knew he’d yet again breached my boundaries. It got to the point where my roommate just opened the door and let him in when she was there.
But surely, he didn’t expect anything of me tonight, right? We’d never crossed that line. Guilt is a tight vice around me. I made sure of that.
“Well, cheers! To a happy ever after!” Mitch announces. I hesitate to clank my glass against theirs as if it’s a bad omen. Is it really okay for me to wish something like that?
When I look in Dmitri’s direction, I realize this time, he’s watching as I slowly clink my glass with theirs.
Perhaps not so much happily ever after, but I was grateful for those who continued fighting for me.
And I tried not to remind myself of the cliff edge we were undoubtedly closing in on.
17
DMITRI
“When you said reserve the restaurant at seven, I thought you meant a spot,” Elanee whispers across the table.
“Why are you whispering when we’re the only ones here?” I ask, sitting back as the waiter places the napkin on my lap. He’s intimidated and hasn’t looked Elanee’s way once, even when he places her napkin down. Good.
Because she’s stunning. A goddess. A jewel to behold and a view for only me.
“Thank you,” she says, noticing his reluctance to look at her directly.
Multiple dishes are placed in front of us.
“You got us tapas?” she says surprised.
“Well, it used to be your favorite, wasn’t it?” I point to four of the six dishes. “They all have chili in it.”
She seems taken aback but picks from the plates. I watch her every move, but not entirely sure I’ll be able to let her go again. Even by her wishes.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” I say, gesturing to the dress and smirking at the boots. “It’s nice to know I still have good taste.”
She rolls her eyes and the tension ripples away effortlessly.
“Great taste but a terrible personality,” she remarks as she places a piece of chili steak in her mouth. “Oh wow. That’s delicious.”
All of this is a façade. I know that. But I find myself wrestling with asking the most important question. Because I don’t want her to ever think of it again. I’ve only just stripped back a tiny bit of her flight and fight response and now she’ll retract into her shell for self-preservation.
She places her fork on the plate, and it clatters in the empty restaurant, where there are usually a hundred guests at a time. I didn’t want to risk taking her out in public, and even if I had, she would be the only thing I focused on.
“You want to know about him, don’t you?” she asks.
My appetite turns at the mention of him. I’ve hated my father for as long as I can remember. Up until eight years old, I thought if I could prove myself to be strong, he’d come back for us. But after I watched my mother crumble time and time again because I mentioned his name, I realized he had only been a monster, and we were lucky to be set free. Although my grandfather looked after us and partially raised us, I’d always resented him for not doing anything further. As an adult, I understood why a business typhoon had no need to get involved with the Bratva, but it didn’t take away the amount of trauma he’d put my mother through. The screaming that aroused the household nightly from the nightmares that she could never say out loud should’ve put him into action. But it didn’t. Instead, it became my responsibility to bear.
I was just a child when I made that decision. I wasn’t a child anymore.
“More importantly, I want to know what he’s done to you.”
The atmosphere shifts. She takes a sip of her champagne and adjusts herself in the chair. She’s gone back to hiding behind the only mask that’s probably kept her alive this long. My hand grips the fork at my inability to be that shield for her.
“You can’t fight all of my battles for me, Dmitri. I made choices in this as well that led me into this situation,” she says diplomatically.
