Page 16 of Wicked Proposal

“Better?” Yulian asks, his own smile perfectly in place.

“Much.”

As a scantily dressed hostess takes our coats, I let my eyes roam over the venue. Someone clearly spared no expense. It’s just marble pillars and gold chandeliers as far as the eye can see.

Apparently, rich people like to recreate Greek temples in their spare time.

I can’t deny that it’s beautiful, though.

Yulian’s voice breaks the spell. “Like what you see?”

“This stuff?” I quickly shape my face into a scowl, as if I’m not impressed. “No.”

“So that’s a hate-stare, then.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But…”

“But?”

“It’s like whoever’s getting married tonight thinks they’re hosting the Met Gala. Like they’re convinced they’re just that important.”

“Maybe they are.”

“Please. The press? The Playboy Bunny waitress? The freaking gold leaf in the drinks?” I scoff. “Either Kim Kardashian’s moving onto her next victim, or the happy couple has delusions of grandeur.”

Yulian snorts. “Fairly accurate.”

I do a double-take at the noise coming out of him. The Ice King canlaugh?Who knew?

I let Yulian lead me around the ballroom. This place really does look like a fairy tale come to life. Except for a few classless choices, like the waitresses’ ass-length skirts, it’s clear whoever did this handed a blank check over to an army of interior decorators.

I wonder whose name was on the check. My eyes dart around the little groups mingling together. Even the guests look like they came straight out of a fashion magazine: cool, attractive, rich. Effortlessly at ease in such opulence.

Very unlike me.

It makes me feel like an imposter. Like a poor, stupid wannabe. Like?—

You’re a nobody, sweet thing.

Who’d believe you over me?

“Relax,” Yulian whispers in my ear. “You’re drawing attention.”

“I highly doubt that,” I mumble.

“Yes, you are. These people pick up on nerves. And if they think you’re nervous?” He leans closer. “They’ll know you don’t belong here.”

“Well, I don’t,” I snap. “You know that. You literally picked me up off the street.”

“You belong wherever you decide you belong,kotyonok.” His voice is practically scraping the floor, so low and rough I canfeelit. Like he’s touching me in all the right places, all without lifting a single finger. “Most importantly, whereIdecide. And tonight, you belong on my arm.”

Yulian’s words leave me flushed and breathless. I have no idea what I loathe more: the fact that he’s right—that people reallyarelooking?

Or that he thinks he owns me?

But he does,a tiny voice in my head reminds me.Tonight, he does own you.

Whatever comfort I could have found in his words is eclipsed by that fact. A simple, cruel fact of life.