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“Your oldest isn’t even thirteen,” I hiss.
“Then be patient. Your father and I worked out an alliance. There is still time to make it happen. Katerina can be replaced.”
What a loving father, swapping out his daughters like pawns on a chessboard. Maybe my own father has a use for someone like Konstantin Sokolov, but I don’t. Our families’ alliance will end when I ampakhan.
I lean in. “Everyonecan be replaced.”
He stiffens, but I brush past him, headed back into the party to look for the only person who might be an exception to that statement.
I can’t imagine replacing the woman I met tonight—Francia, if that is even her real name. That’s why it’s even more important that I find her. The moment we shared tonight was exactly what she said: a fantasy.
But real life is no fantasy.
Nothing and no one is ever as good as they seem.
11
IVAN
People call out to me from the crowd as I wade through. Others say my name in hushed whispers, giggling with their friends. I ignore them all and slice through the grass towards the stage. The band is softly playing, but they fade out as I mount the steps. By the time I grab the mic, they’ve gone quiet.
There’s a sharp shriek of feedback through the speakers. Then every eye is on me.
I didn’t have a plan for what I was going to say when I started walking this way. But now, there’s only one thing worth mentioning.
“The party is over.”
Disbelieving, unfamiliar faces stare up at me. People wait for a punchline that will never come.
“Thanks for coming. See yourselves out.” I point towards the gates. “Now.”
I drop the mic, sending a resounding thud and another screech of feedback through the party.
As I make my way back to the house, no one approaches me. For the first time all night, I’m given a wide berth. Like I’m suddenly contagious.
It’s a fucking relief.
Yasha is standing by the patio doors, his lips pressed into a firm line. “Your dad is going to bepissed.”
“Tell security to stop Francia at the door.”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Francia Delacour,” I snap impatiently. “She’s wearing my suit jacket.Onlymy suit jacket. I want to talk to her. Don’t let her leave.”
“Oh, shit,” Yasha laughs. “Sounds like you already did more than talk to her.”
“Now,Yasha.”
Yasha senses the urgency in my voice and holds up his hands in surrender. He pulls out his phone to relay my order to the security team. In the meantime, I turn back to the departing crowd.
Forlorn faces slathered in makeup glance my way. But I don’t see Francia among them.
She shouldn’t be hard to catch. Dark hair. Nude except for my suit jacket. Someone will spot her. Surely someone will spot her.
That assurance fades as the crowd thins.
“No one has seen her,” Yasha tells me fifteen minutes later. “She might have left before you called the party off.”
