Page 5 of Cruel Romeo

But this one’s definitely got meat in it.

Dear God. What iswrongwith me?

Internally, I keep screaming. And screaming, and screaming, and cracking the venue’s irreplaceable crystal glasses.

Outwardly, I plaster on a smile so fake it could be sponsored by a toothpaste brand and blurt out cheerily, “Sorry! Didn’t know anyone was in here.”

I move to leave. Every part of me wants to run. I’m about two seconds from diving headfirst through a linen closet door and making my escape via laundry chute when he stops me.

“Of course you knew.” He frowns like he’s wondering whether I’m not quite right in the head. “You’re here for me.”

Am I?For a second, I wonder if he’s right. He says it so matter-of-factly that it seems rude to point out that I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about.

Still, I feel a short burst of relief. His immediate response hasn’tbeen to make human sashimi out of me, which means he hasn’t connected the dots. Not yet, at least.

If I can get out of here fast enough, we can both pretend this never happened.

“I think you have the wrong person.” I start backing away slowly. “You’re getting married in, like, two hours, so?—”

“So you’re not her.”

“Her?”

“My bride.”

Bride.He thought I was his bride. But—I mean, c’mon. The man is getting married today. Surely he’s got to know what his future wife looks like…

… Right?

As if reading my mind, he shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “Never met her before. For all I knew, you were her.”

“How can you be getting married and not know who your own bride is?” I find myself asking incredulously, against all common sense. In my defense, it’s pretty fucking bananas.

But then I remember my brothers. Anatoli, Maksim—even Feliks, the youngest. I remember their wedding days like it was yesterday. The forced cheer, the inner misery. All three of them married women they’d never met before. If this exact scenario had happened to them, they might have come to the same conclusion Petyr did.

You’re here for me.The words melt into me like warm honey. For a second, I let myself imagine what would have happened if Ihadbeen there for him.

He would have come closer. Crowded me against the door. Bracketed me in with those weapons of mass destruction he calls “biceps” and?—

And what?I slap myself mentally.He’s the enemy, you dummy! He’s a Gubarev and you’re the missing Danilo Bratva princess! He’d rather stick you with a knife than stick you with his?—

“You look upset.” Petyr draws closer, a prowl straight out of my dirtiest fantasies. “Maybe you are here for me after all.”

I hate this. No—I hatehim. Hate that he’s pushing every button I never knew I had, giving me tachycardia and dry mouth and a thousand other conditions more commonly found on the back of medication boxes.

Most of all, I hate that he’s still wearing basicallynothing. A flimsy pair of boxer briefs, something that couldn’t hide his virtues or vices if he tried. Which he isn’t doing, like, at all.

“I, um?—”

“Yes?”

He continues being naked in my presence. I continue to stammer like a remix version of myself.

“I’m not,” I manage to mumble. “Here. Not here for you, I mean.” He doesn’t look convinced, so I point at my nametag. “This, um… This is me. I’m with the agency. For the, err—planning. Of the wedding.Yourwedding, I mean.”God, someone just shoot me.“But of course you knew that. You’re, like, the groom.”

“That I am.” His golden eyes fix on my nametag. “Miss…”

That’s when I realize my mistake.