24
CORA
Every single person who lays eyes on Mikhail seems to instantly sense that he’s stuffed to the brim with shit.
The people he smiles at as we walk down the sidewalk. The hostess he slides a twenty-dollar bill to so she can give us a table near the windows. The waitress who blushes when he compliments her perfume.
“Write down the name of it for me,” he tells her with a wink. “I’d like my fiancée to smell that good.”
The woman looks at me, embarrassed that my “fiancé” is flirting with her in front of me. If only she knew how much worse it could get.
Mikhail’s mask is thin. Even before I knew how deep the rot in him went, I had a bad feeling about him. I knew right away that we couldn’t get married. It was some survival instinct in me that came to life whenever he was around. A radar that went ping whenever I was in the blast radius of the self-centered asshole.
As soon as the waitress walks away, Mikhail leans in close. “Remember what I said this morning, Cordelia. Smile.”
Considering he burst into my room and started to talk to me before I was fully conscious, I don’t know why he expects me to remember anything he said.
Though I do, of course. It’s hard to forget when someone threatens to torture your best friend.
“Up. Get dressed,” he’d barked, throwing a dress on top of my comforter. “We’re going out.”
“I don’t feel well,” I said.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. After I hung up with Ivan last night, I spent the rest of the night crying quietly into my pillow. When I woke up this morning, my eyes were raw and puffy.
He grimaced at me. “Yeah, you look like shit. Put some makeup on. There might be pictures.”
I shook my head. “I don’t feel well. I’m not going with—”
Suddenly, he leaned in close, his words ripping out in a harsh whisper. “Unless you want me to go spend my new free time with your little friend instead, you’ll get out of this bed and do exactly what I say. Now.”
I knew it was bullshit. Ivan has Jorden. Mikhail and Alexander have been lying to me about holding her captive to control me. If I wanted to, I could have told Mikhail to fuck off and pulled the covers over my head. I could have gone with him and then ran at the first opportunity. The control they had over me is gone now. I’m free.
Except I promised Ivan I’d wait. I told him that I trusted him and I’d let him try things his way.
So, reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed, stepped into my dress fit for a garden party from a patriarchal wet dream, and did as Mikhail said.
A few hours later, I’m still doing as he says.
I give him a pointed look and smile. “How is this?”
“Much better,” he says approvingly. “You’re not half bad when you put a little effort in.”
“Wish I could say the same,” I mumble.
He snaps his gaze to me, annoyance burning in his eyes. Then our waitress reappears with our drinks and the name of her perfume on a tiny square of cardstock. I ignore her and take a sip of my iced tea.
If she actually wants him, she can have him.
Besides, there’s more than enough going on around us for me to focus on instead. The world is big, but the world of rich, privileged socialites in this city who can afford to go out to lunch in the middle of a weekday is small. The room is filled with people I half-remember from my old life. People I’ve seen at fundraisers and weddings who don’t know a damn thing about me beyond the name of my stepfather.
Some glare, though. At least a handful of women in this room must have been at Ivan’s party the night he and I met. And now, it is painfully clear they can’t believe I’m sitting here with Mikhail Sokolov instead.
Mikhail places both of our orders without asking me what I want. Just as the waitress leaves, a couple takes her spot. The guy is my age with a trendy haircut and a pink and green plaid polo tucked into his trousers. But the girl is young. Ridiculously young.
“Mikhail! Hey, man. How’s it going?” the guy asks. His arm is around his date’s waist, holding her close like he’s worried she might run off.
Mikhail stands up and shakes the man’s hand. “Geoff, how have you been?”
They fall into an easy conversation about business or world domination or the size of the sticks up their respective asses or something. So I smile at the girl.
“Hi.”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile and a nod. That same instinctual radar that warned me away from Mikhail all those years ago pings again.
Something isn’t right here.
I smile a little wider, trying to communicate to her that I’m a safe space. I’m friendly. “What’s your name?”
“Lucy.” She folds her hands in front of her nervously and now, I’m convinced she’s no older than seventeen.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Cor—Cordelia.” I correct myself clumsily. Mikhail is too busy snickering with Geoff to notice. “Are you two here together?”
She purses her pale lips and nods once.
“Dating or—?”
“Engaged.” She holds up a small hand with an oversized diamond. The ring is gorgeous, but it looks like costume jewelry on her thin finger.
“Oh, wow. Congratulations.”
I must not look as cheerful as I sound because Lucy frowns. “Thanks. You, too.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Me, too? For what?”
“Your engagement,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I guess it is. Or it would be—if Mikhail and I were actually engaged. He didn’t even organize a sham proposal to accompany our sham engagement. I still don’t have a ring on my finger.
I chuckle. “Oh. Right. Yes. Of course.”
“It’s probably a lot to keep track of,” she says softly.
My brows pinch together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
She glances over at Geoff and Mikhail. Both of them are busy assuming they are the center of the universe, so they aren’t paying any attention.
Lucy looks back to me and leans in. “It’s probably hard to keep track of your engagements. You’ve had so many.”
I pull back and her expression is neutral, but I feel the venom from her words.
“Oh. I don’t—That wasn’t—” I fumble for something to say, but I don’t know how to recover from this. Or how to explain the last few weeks of my life. Instead, I blow out a breath. “How old are you?”
Her brow arches sharply. “Old enough to know you’re a fucking idiot.”
I blink at her, stunned. She glances at Geoff. When he looks over, she smiles pleasantly. But the moment he looks away, her gaze snaps back to me. “No person in their right mind would give up Ivan Pushkin. You’re the dumbest woman alive.”
There are a million things I should say, but all I can manage is, “I didn’t give him up.”
Her eyes narrow further. “Then you weren’t worth his time. Which makes you the most pitiful woman alive. Have fun with that.”
Bitch.
I tell myself to give her grace. She’s young, probably being manipulated by this douchebag named Geoff, and has been brainwashed to think that her only worth comes from marrying someone with money.
But I can’t say any of that. Not right now. Not when Mikhail is standing two feet away. Not when I’m supposed to be playing my role to perfection.
Instead, I smile at her and turn to the side. “And you have fun being repeatedly cheated on by a man named Geoff for the rest of your life.”
Her mouth falls open, but before she can say anything, I lay a hand on Mikhail’s arm. “Excuse me—I’m going to the restroom.”
His eyes flare. He doesn’t want me out of sight, but he can’t say that in front of his acquaintances.
His teeth clench as he grimaces. “Hurry back. Our food will be here soon.”
I slip away and move towards the back of the restaurant. I feel eyes on me as I walk, but I don’t stop and talk to anyone. Mikhail’s goal in bringing me here was for the two of us to be seen. And we’ve been seen. Goal accomplished. Now, I need five minutes in a quiet room to decompress.
The women’s bathroom is a right turn and a long hallway away from the dining area. Just turning the corner takes some of the weight off. I sag into my bones, dropping the facade I’ve been clinging to for dear life all morning.
When I step into the restroom and bolt the door behind me, I release a soul-deep sigh.
Whatever plan Ivan is working on, he better make it happen fast. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
The fake smiles. The fake people. The metaphorical knife twisting in my ribs.
Mikhail is content just to trot me out like a show pony—for now. But it won’t be long before he tries to corner me again. Before he wants way, way more than I’m willing to give.
I won’t be able to fake a smile through that.
No, if Mikhail tries to touch me again… I’ll kill him before I give myself over.
For now, though, I don’t have to kill anyone. Right now, the goal is to get through lunch without wanting to kill myself.
I shake off the dark thought and turn to at least wash my hands before I walk back into the arena. But just as I reach for the water, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
“Just a second,” I say sweetly.
Whoever it is knocks again. Three times. Hard.
I clear my throat and speak louder. “Someone is in here. Just a second.”
Again, three more knocks.
My heart rate spikes. I turn to face the door in mute horror. I don’t say anything. I just stare at the wood and the laminated sign reminding employees to wash their hands.
Another knock.
Suddenly, I’m certain I know who it is.
Geoff and Lucy must’ve walked away, and now, Mikhail has come to find me. He’s outside the door, and the moment I open it, he’s going to push me back inside and punish me for walking away from him.
I just swore to myself I’d kill him if he touched me, but I don’t even have my purse with me. Unless I can figure out how to turn a roll of paper towels into a weapon, I’m unarmed and backed into a corner.
My breathing is coming fast and heavy. I feel panic taking hold.
What do I do? How do I get out of here?
Then the knob turns.