Page 6

MIA

Shut up, Mia.

Just shut up. Pretend you know nothing.

Otherwise, you’ll be the one in the acid bath, right next to poor Boyan.

But I’m freaking out as the car stops.

As Maksim announces, “We’re here.”

As Yulian steps around to open my door, takes my hand, unfolds me from the backseat.

His eyes stay riveted on me. Grayer than gray, stormy, intent. Like he’s testing me.

Is she dumb enough to run? To flag down cops?

But I know better than that.

I worked so hard to run away from men like him. To leave it all in the rearview mirror for good. I’m not going to get sucked in again—not for all the money in the world.

But as I think about sprinting for the closest exit while screaming like a chicken with my head cut off, I remember Eli’s shoes.

If I do this, I can take him to the store first thing tomorrow.

I can watch his little face light up again, bright like Christmas lights.

All I have to do is get through tonight.

And for him, for my boy, my little angel, I’ll do anything.

Even make a deal with the devil himself.

So I take a deep breath, look at Yulian, flash a smile, and step through the white-lilied arch of the wedding venue.

The cameras keep flashing. Yulian’s hand stays planted firmly on my lower back, steering me up the marble steps.

I don’t like it there, in large part because it makes me feel giddy and sweaty and all too aware of how huge he is next to me, how good he smells, how intimidating he looks.

But I can’t exactly swat it away in front of the whole paparazzi army, so I just deal with it.

I plaster on the fakest smile I can muster, wave like the freaking Queen of England, and wait for the venue to swallow us up.

“Can you take your hand off my ass now?” I hiss through my teeth.

Without a word, Yulian obliges.

Just like that, a chill snakes down my spine. I’m cold again as soon as he’s not touching me. Lost. Unmoored.

As much as I hated his hand being there, I hate it being gone even more. It’s so unbelievably dumb that my body reacts like this. My own biology despises me.

But then again, I guess it always had a thing for bad boys, huh?

Whether I liked it or not.

“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 can laugh? 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 can feel it. Like he’s touching me in all the right places, all without lifting a single finger. “Most importantly, where I decide. 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 really are looking?

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.

He’s rich. I’m poor.

He’s powerful. I’m not.

He’s someone, and I’m nobody.

The rest of the night makes it even more apparent. As Yulian drags me from group to group, greeting people of importance without so much as introducing me, I realize that’s exactly the role I was meant to play: arm-candy.

Nothing but a well-dressed prop for him to show off.

See? I own her. Like I own this watch, this suit, this world.

After the fifth conversation like that, I say, “You could at least introduce me.”

Yulian flicks me a flat look. “I believe it was you who insisted on ‘no names.’”

“Right. But since you do, in fact, know my name?—”

“It sounds to me, Ms. Winters, like you’re already regretting your own rules.” He says it with the barest hint of a smirk, just enough to let me know how self-satisfied he’s feeling about this.

Asshole.

If I had a drink in my hand, it’d already be on his face. His smug, flawless, unfairly attractive face.

“I need some air,” I say. “I’m going to the bar.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. “I’ll expect you back here in five. See that you’re on time.”

I swallow the childish urge to mock his own words back at him and stomp out.

The outdoors bar is nestled into a pretty, curated garden, lit up by an odd combination of mason jars, naked bulbs, and fairy lights. Like three separate wedding planners had a fight over it and some disinterested groom just told them to do whatever.

But hey, if the bride’s happy…

“What’s the strongest drink a girl can get around here?”

The bartender laughs. He’s a tall, dreadlocked guy with an easy smile, the kind Kallie would fall head over heels for. “Depends on how bad a night you’re having. How would you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten?”

“Eleven.”

He winces. “That bad, huh?”

“Yup.” I pop the P all the way and slump gracelessly on the counter.

“Friend of the bride?” he asks as he mixes. “Or the groom?”

“Neither. You’re looking at someone’s Rolex.”

“Then I guess I finally see the appeal of those.”

The casual flirtiness in his tone makes me smile. Innocent bartender ways, no doubt, but at least it’s not flat mockery like Mr. Cheese Grater Abs.

He slides my drink towards me. I take a sip and— whoa, okay, definitely on the strong side. “Would you believe that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night?”

“Then you need to find yourself a better date.”

“And I suppose that would be you?”

He grins like he’s been waiting for me to ask that exact question—which, obviously, he has. The bartender opens his mouth to deliver his knockout line.

But before he can, someone steps between us.

A very large, wealthy, pissed-off somebody.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he growls.

My drink disappears from my hand.

“Hey!”

I try to get it back, but I’m too slow. All I can do is watch with mounting horror as Yulian tips the glass back, drains the whole thing, then thumps it down in front of the bartender.

“Thanks for the drink,” he drawls with simmering venom. “If I find out you’ve served my date another one, though, I’ll shatter it and shove the broken glass down your throat.”

The bartender is stunned into silence. I’m not totally sure what you’d say to that kind of thing, anyway.

Because Yulian looks like he fucking means it.

When the silence stretches to a satisfying length, Yulian nods once. Then he turns to me. “Let’s go.”

Just like that, he grabs my arm and drags me back to the hall.

As soon as we’re there, I yank my arm out of his grip. “What’s your problem?!” I ask furiously. “I was just?—”

“Flirting. You were flirting. ” His voice is scalding now, fire smoldering just beneath the ashes of his gray eyes.

“I get that you don’t do this for a living, Ms. Winters, but let me give you a tip: If you’re looking to get paid for your services, running off with the help is not the way to do that. ”

“Running—? Oh my God. ” My cheeks burn with shame. “I was literally getting one drink. One. Drink. ”

“Seems to me you were out to get more than that.”

“Not even a little bit! He’s not my type whatsoever. He was just?—”

“I don’t care who wanted what or why,” he snarls. Suddenly, his Ice King aura is nowhere to be found. I can see rage burning in the depths of his irises, hot and blazing. “Until the sun rises, you are mine . So do not wander off again. Have I made myself clear?”

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat, the bitter disappointment that this is what it’s come to: me, being treated like property.

Again.

You belong to me, sweet thing. Now and always. Brad’s voice just will not leave me alone tonight.

“Crystal,” I bite out.

Yulian considers me for a moment longer. The smoldering ashes of his eyes revert back to the cold, smooth surface of a frozen lake.

“Good,” he says. “Now, keep up. And give me your phone.”

I blink. “My?—?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Ms. Winters.” His face clouds over again. “You’re here to perform a job. I won’t have you be distracted again.”

Right. Tonight, I’m not my own person.

I’m not my own anything.

“Fine,” I snap, handing him my phone with all the lack of grace I can muster. “But I need to be reachable for emergencies.”

He doesn’t even bother answering me. Just pockets my phone like that’s his property, too, and beckons me to his side.

For the rest of the night, I keep my feelings close to my chest. I don’t let him see how hurt I feel, or how badly he’s disappointed me.

I steel myself. I smile at all the right times, nod in all the right places, laugh politely at every joke. Once or twice, Yulian even remembers to introduce me.

Then the announcement rings out.

“Esteemed guests, please make your way to the chapel.”

Fucking finally. The sooner we get this ceremony over with, the better.

We step into a side room fitted with everything a chapel would have: cascades of flowers, lacquered wooden benches, more of that odd mix of fairy lights and naked bulbs from the garden.

We take our places on the groom’s side. For the first time, I realize I have no idea who’s even getting married here.

How does Yulian know them? Is this business, or does he, too, have friends?

But one glance at his emotionless face tells me all I need to know. Whoever’s tying the knot here tonight, he couldn’t care less.

Then I see him.

Tall. Blond. Decked in white from head to toe, waiting for his bride at the altar, his curls slicked down with gel and a lily in his breast pocket, and…

… the face of my worst nightmares.

No. It can’t be.

My palms go clammy. My heart starts hammering, wild, the heartbeat of prey caught out in the open, defenseless, hopeless.

I try to make myself small in my chair, frantically looking around for an exit route, but the other guests are blocking me in.

At that moment, the march starts playing.

If I stand now, he’ll see me, I realize, panic rising through my throat. If I stand ? —

But he sees me anyway.

I feel it in my gut—the second our eyes make contact.

The moment I know, irrevocably, how fucked I am.

Because my abusive ex just recognized me.

Brad.

The man I ran away from.

The man I changed my name for.

The father of the child he thinks I lost.