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By the time he gets back to the hotel, I’m almost positive that he’s going to beat Leonid. Charm, intelligence, sophistication, he has it all. The Russians would have to be complete imbeciles not to trust their future to Alexei Golden Boy Romanov, as they’re calling him on the webchats I’ve seen.

Over the next three days, his ratings skyrocket, and there’s no fear that Leonid and his proposed monarchy will win. The meetings are less and less intense, and we have our first date scheduled, finally.

I’m swiping on some mascara, listening to the hum of the Russian news in the background—I think my Russian has improved a lot with all the news I’ve been watching—when I hear something very concerning.

My own name.

I drop the mascara, smearing black all down my cheek. I turn slowly.

“Recent news reports have been confirmed. What we once believed to merely be nasty rumors have been confirmed as true.”

A large photo fills the screen.

“Latvian criminal Adriana Strelkova, who has been connected with a prominent Lithuanian crime family for years, is Alexei Romanov’s girlfriend. For those of you still holding out hope that this hotly contested rumor isn’t true, we have a clip.”

It’s Alexei. He’s wearing a chunky sweater, because the weather’s already starting to turn here. Someone calls his name, and he turns back toward them, smiling beautifully.

“Is it true that you have a girlfriend?”

His smile broadens. “It is.”

“And can you confirm whether she’s from Latvia?”

“She is,” Alexei says. “Her name is Adriana Strelkova, and I’m lucky she’s willing to put up with all this.” He gestures around, and then he turns back. “And for the record, she’s not just my girlfriend. I love her very much.”

My heart soars when I hear him say those words for the first time, but it’s still very, very bad news. Because just as I predicted, the Russians aren’t keen on their shining golden boy dating someone like me.

The front page of the newspaper the next day calls me the Latvian criminal whore. I can’t even really argue with them, not about the criminal part, anyway. But worst of all, any argument I make won’t help, because Alexei’s not on trial.

He’s up for election.

All that matters is their perception of me, and it’s not good.

Not good at all.

27

Apparently security in Russia is not very good, because Mirdza just shoots through the door to my hotel room, even though to my knowledge, she should not have been given a key.

“You can’t leave.”

I’m nearly done packing my bags. “Why not?”

“That’s what you always do,” she says. “You run away.”

I turn toward her slowly. “When have I ever run away?”

“All the time.”

I shake my head. “I think not. I bash the bullies in the head with a rock. I spit in Nojus’s face. I scream and rail whenever someone wrongs me. But no matter what I do, the only thing that can fix this mess is for me to leave.” My eyes are welling up with tears, and I feel like I might be sick, but what I’m saying is absolutely true.

“That’s a bunch of crap.”

“Excuse me?” I throw the shirt I was folding down and step toward her. “We’ve been trying and trying to figure out how to beat Leonid, with his magic and his minions, and we’ve come up short. But Alexei might defeat him fair and square using the law. He might do it, because the people freaking love him. They should. He’s amazing. It’s no wonder people think I’m not good enough for him.” I shake my finger at my twin. “I’m not. Not even close.”

“You’re being an idiot right now,” Mirdza says. “So I’ll humor you and name a few times that you’ve run. First, you told me you ran that night, when you heard Martinš come after me.”

I flinch. That’s a low blow.