I STOOD IN FRONT OF my closet, sawing my lip in nervous deliberation.
Why had I agreed to this?
Because he was annoyingly persuasive, that’s why.
The night before, I was sitting cross-legged on his couch watching one of my “trashy” TV shows, while Christian sat at the island and talked on the phone. As soon as he ended the call, he said, “I need you to go somewhere with me tomorrow, malyshka.”
“Where?” I asked absently. Chad was feeling up Rachel, while his wife was next door in the delivery room having his baby.
“A work dinner.”
I faltered. “Like, a Federal Bureau hosted event?”
“Yes.”
I let out a half-laugh. “No way.”
“I always have a date, Gianna.”
I swallowed, hating every word about to leave my mouth. “I’m sure if you put an ad in the paper, you’ll have a variety of blondes lined up down the hall.”
He set his phone down a little more aggressively than usual. “If I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“How would you even explain why I’m with you? Some of the feds at this party might recognize me.”
“No one questions me, Gianna.”
“What if they did?”
“I’d tell them to fuck off.”
I sighed. “We haven’t talked about . . . dates, Christian. Don’t complicate this.”
“You’re the only one complicating it. If you can’t handle going to one party with me without expecting a proposal, then just say so.”
Ugh.
He knew I wasn’t going to say those stupid words.
Later, I pushed his meticulously-placed toothbrush an inch to the left in retaliation.
After an hour-long deliberation, I settled on a Marilyn Monroe-esque black sequin gown. Sophisticated but flashy. I smoothed the dress over my hips, relieved it fit.
I was locking my door when he stepped into the hall behind me. Turning around, I quelled the nerves inside me and raised a brow. “Well, does His Highness approve?”
His heated gaze ran down my body, but something besides lust passed through his eyes. Disapproval? Displeasure? Whatever it was, it sent a burst of annoyance through me. I’d even worn my hair down for him, dammit. I spun around to go back inside and slam the door in his face, but he grabbed my wrist.
“No, malyshka, I like it.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “This is just new to me.” He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “And I haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet.”
“With what?”
“You.”
I still didn’t understand what he meant, but as he brushed a piece of hair behind my ear and told me in a rough voice I was gorgeous against my lips, all my anger escaped with my next breath.
The dinner party took place at the same hotel as Elena’s wedding, but instead of well-dressed Italians filling the ballroom, it was crawling with feds.
Christian laughed at my expression.
My frown deepened. “What if someone arrests me while you’re in the bathroom?”
“I’d bail you out.”
“If you couldn’t?”
“I’d be locked up beside you.”
I couldn’t stop a smile from appearing.
Women stared at Christian like he was the messiah. Married women, single women, old women, young—didn’t matter. Thankfully, only a select few—the bravest ones without a lick of intuition in my opinion—actually approached him. He was polite but distant with them, and I suddenly wondered what he’d be like with them in bed once we came to an end. The thought put a bad taste in my mouth.
“Are your parents as good-looking as you?” I asked him after we’d been there fifteen minutes and the third woman had already come up to introduce herself. For heaven’s sake, couldn’t she see he had a date?
The subtlest tension tightened in his shoulders. I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, but a moment later, he said, “My mother was.”
Was?
“What about your father?”
“Never met him.”
Oh. Wow.
“Siblings?” I questioned.
“A brother. As for his attractiveness, I couldn’t tell you.” An annoyed edge wove through his voice. “I don’t sit around and wonder about how appealing he looks.”
Okay.
I’d hit something a little sore. And I knew it wasn’t his pretty face. I’d joked with him about it on many occasions, and he’d always brushed it off with a light shoulder. An awkward tension now lay between us, the kind not even a cleared throat could penetrate.
While Christian went to get us drinks, I found our spot at our table. I was already regretting agreeing to come to this party, and things were just about to get worse.
Setting my clutch down, I turned to see where my moody date was in the room, only to come face-to-face with another fed. My gaze slid down his suit that was one size too big, to the Asics on his feet.
“Hi.” He grinned. “I’m Kyle Sheets.”
Smiling tightly, I shook his hand, and replied, “Gianna,” leaving out my last name. I was sure it was associated with too many criminal offenses to count. It was still Marino, and I had no intention of changing it. Russo was the old me, and my maiden name Bianchi didn’t feel right anymore either. Even my name was confused.
“I have to say, you look . . .” He tilted his head. “Familiar.”
Here we go.
I offered a coy smile. “Guess I have a common face.”
“No,” he drawled smoothly, his eyes coasting down my body, “I wouldn’t say that at all . . . So, who are you with?”
I glanced pointedly at the name card beside my purse that read, Christian Allister Guest.
“Ah, I guess I should’ve known.” He looked disappointed, scratching the back of his neck. “Allister didn’t tell me he had such a beautiful girlfriend.”
I somehow doubted Christian would tell this man anything.
Looking back, I should have just rolled with it—the man was clearly trying to find out if I was taken or available. But I was feeling a little petty. Christian knew my entire life story, while I’d only found out he had a sibling five minutes ago. And he’d seemed reluctant to even share that with me. All the words out of his mouth had contradicted this just sex relationship lately, blurring the line into nonexistence, and I needed to take it back a notch.
“Thank you, but that’s probably because I’m not his girlfriend.”
His eyebrows rose. “No kidding? You’re . . . different than the other women he dates. Thought you’d be more serious, I guess.”
“Nope.” I laughed, like that would be ridiculous. The man didn’t even trust me with the basic details about him. “We’re not serious.”
I knew before I’d finished the last word my date had found the perfect moment to return. The temperature dropped ten degrees.
Asics’ gaze flicked to a spot behind me and above my head. “Allister.”
There was no response.
Asics cleared his throat. Looked back at me. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Gianna.”
“Maybe.” I smiled.
When he’d drifted away, I turned to my date, whose gaze had iced over. He handed me a glass of champagne while taking a sip of his own drink and looking casually into the room.
His voice was calm, but a sharp edge came through. “He has less than a grand to his name. Wouldn’t add him to your husband list quite yet.”
His words hit me like a blow to the chest, and I sucked in a breath.
“I appreciate the insight, Officer,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Here I was, just about to pencil him in.”
Tension rolled through him, his presence becoming nearly unapproachable.
Well, this was going splendidly.
As the guests at our table trickled in and took their seats, I might as well have not even been sitting beside him for as much as he acknowledged me.
If there was anything that showed how different and incompatible we were, it was him responding to a question about a new development in biocoenosis—whatever the hell that was—while the deepest thought in my head at that moment was which level of toner I wanted my stylist to use on my hair this week.
I sipped my champagne, smiling above it on cue, while growing more and more resentful of this situation with each second that passed. I was stuck in a room full of feds, I was out of my element, and my date wouldn’t even look at me.
The walls seemed to be closing in.
My chest felt tight.
I grabbed my clutch and excused myself, feeling the heat of Christian’s gaze on my back until I disappeared around the corner. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, my hand shook slightly as I turned on the faucet. I should have stood my ground and said no to this date from the beginning. Because that bubble I’d been content in for the last couple weeks was close to bursting. I could feel it in my chest, inflating to the seams with each breath.
It was going to pop.
And until now, I hadn’t realized how badly it was going to hurt.
Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I breathed slowly. I really hoped I wasn’t getting sick. That was the last thing I needed right now.
I turned the corner in the hall, coming to a stop when my eyes landed on our table. A woman sat in my seat, facing Christian. Her name was Portia. I knew that because she’d dated him years ago. She leaned into him, coyly running a finger down the stem of my champagne glass. He gave her one of those rare half-smiles, responding to something she’d said. They seemed familiar, intimate, and I knew why. He’d fucked her three times.
“Beautiful couple, aren’t they?” A woman close to retirement age stopped beside me, wearing a modest red sheath dress and a gold flower brooch. I knew she was the company gossip by one look at her. “Over half the office had a bet going that they’d get engaged, you know.” She sighed, murmuring, “Some hussy probably came along and ruined it for everyone. Not sure when men will ever learn—those women might be good for one thing, but they’re worthless in the long run.” She trailed her fingers over the pearls on her neck. “Anyway, who are you with, dear? I didn’t see you come in.”
They’re worthless in the long run.
Worthless.
Unlovable.
Whore.
Pop.
The pain radiated throughout my chest, wrapping around my lungs and squeezing.
The Christian-induced haze I’d been stuck in cleared. I couldn’t be—my gaze landed on Portia—that. I couldn’t be the classy, composed woman on his arm. And I couldn’t be the woman still obviously pining for him after he’d moved on.
This was just sex—he’d said it himself.
It was supposed to be easy and uncomplicated. But I’d never known uncomplicated to twist one’s heart into a knot and pull.
He’d already won.
My only choice was to forfeit before I lost everything.
“Dear? Are you all right?”
I ignored her and headed down the hall toward the exit, clipping shoulders with a guest on the way out. I mumbled an apology but didn’t slow my pace because the backs of my eyes burned and threatened to spill over.
“Gianna? My goodness, I thought that was you!” Samantha Delacorte’s heels clicked as she caught up to me. “I never thought I’d run into you here,” she said, walking at a fast clip beside me. Her voice lowered. “You know, considering your previous offenses . . .”
My chest hurt, my eyes burned, and I had zero energy to spar with her right now, so I remained silent.
“Anyway, I just wanted to catch up with you to share the big news!” She squealed and shoved a massive diamond under my nose. It looked incredibly similar to the one Vincent had offered me only three months ago, just as he’d claimed to love me. Sardonic amusement mixed with a dose of bitterness crept through my veins. If I never heard that stupid word love again, I’d be a happy woman.
I offered a half-hearted, “Congratulations,” as I walked out the front doors and into a light rain.
“Vincent and I are eloping in Barbados this winter.” Samantha halted at the edge of the overhang. “I’ll send you an invite!”
“Can’t wait,” I muttered.
I crossed my arms and headed down the sidewalk away from the hotel. The cold rain slid down my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. I should have worn a jacket tonight. Why couldn’t I do anything right? Self-loathing churned in my stomach.
I didn’t get far before someone grabbed my arm from behind, pulled me around a corner, and pressed my back against an alley wall. His hands flattened on the wall on either side of me, trapping me.
Straight lines. Broad shoulders. Blue, burning brightly.
But I saw other things now; other memories piled up on themselves in a fight to the surface.
“You won’t forget me.”
Moya zvezdochka.
They had built into something significant enough each one twisted my heart in a cruel grip.
Attachment?
Infatuation?
It couldn’t be love.
His jaw tightened. “You left.”
“Of course, I left. I knew this wouldn’t work out from the beginning, and tonight just confirmed it.”
“This?”
My throat felt tight. “Us.”
Tension gripped him tight. Rain collected on his eyelashes. Something torturous flickered through his gaze.
“What are you saying?” The words were accented, and somehow, it tore my chest down the middle.
“You know what I’m saying.” I swallowed. “We knew this would come to an end eventually.”
His teeth clenched. “This might come to an end for you, but it will never be over for me.”
My lungs hitched, and a distressed breath escaped my lips. It rained harder, pinging off a nearby dumpster and soaking my skin. I hoped it concealed the wetness pooling in my eyes.
Why did he have to make this so hard? Was I the only one who could see we didn’t make sense?
“Why am I the only one being practical about this?”
“Because you’ve never been in this as deeply as me.” No emotion behind those words. Just cold hard fact. Though, a flicker of something passed through his eyes, something soft and soul-wrenching. Something I’d seen in my own before. Something unrequited.
“When I said this was new to me, I meant I can’t fucking think when it comes to you. I shouldn’t have said what I said, malyshka. The thought of someone touching you, taking you from me . . .” His gaze flashed with darkness. “It makes me feel fucking crazy.”
I shivered as icy rain trickled into my dress. The heat from his body touched my skin, as if I stood at the edges of a fire. I wanted to step closer, the fear I’d get burned pushed further and further away.
His thumb brushed my cheek. “I promise, I won’t ever say anything like that to you again.”
I sighed. “It’s more than that, Christian, and you know it.”
“We’ll figure the rest out. But I’m not letting you go.” His jaw clenched, eyes fierce. “I can’t.”
He meant what he said.
At least, for now.
A part of me knew this couldn’t end well.
But the urge to give in, to close the distance between us, to feel him against me, ached. It tore at every cell in my body, leaving something desperate behind. The idea of walking away, back to the cold, colorless life I’d lived before him made me feel sick.
A tear escaped, and he brushed it away with a thumb.
“I don’t know what biocoenosis is,” I said softly.
“You’re not missing out.”
“I can’t have intellectually stimulating conversations with you.”
“I was bored out of my mind.”
Last-ditch effort to save myself.
“There are plenty of women who could make you happier, Christian.”
“You’re the only one I want.”
Our eyes held each other’s, some thick and unknown feeling brewing between us. Consuming, like panic, and heavy, like need.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. “Moya zvezdochka.”
“I think I’m getting the flu,” I breathed.
Once he realized I’d given in, he made a noise of satisfaction and kissed me deeply, slipping his tongue into my mouth.
I sighed and shivered.
Pulling back, he slipped his jacket off and put it on my shoulders. A memory came back, of the last time he’d done the same thing. The night he’d taken me to Ace’s after the shooting five years ago.
I didn’t know how I’d gotten here.
Walking down the sidewalk with this dirty fed’s jacket on my shoulders and his hand in mine.
But now I wondered just where I’d be if he had never been around.
