28
CORA
My phone rings not long after Anya leaves. “Hi,” Jorden says when I answer, her voice surprisingly sharp. “Do you have a second?”
I sit on the window seat and tuck my feet under me. “I have nothing but seconds.”
“Has Ivan said anything to you?”
I chew on my cheek. “He’s said a lot of things.” You’re an empty vessel I can use as I please. As bait. As a wife. That’s what makes you perfect for this, Cora. “Like what in particular?”
“Like…I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Something about what is going on. You said everything is fine, but these two massive men are standing outside my apartment right now and I’m kinda freaking out.”
I’m on my feet before she even finishes the sentence. My heart is in my throat, thundering away, making it impossible to breathe.
“Are you okay?” I choke out. “Who are they?”
Maybe I can yell for Ivan. He’ll know what to do. He could get someone to her faster than the police could, surely.
“Guards, I guess.”
I frown. “Guards?”
“Yeah, that’s what Yasha said.”
I close my eyes and try to calm the storm of panic in my chest. “You talked to Yasha?”
“He called me an hour ago and told me he was sending guards to watch my apartment.”
I drop my face in my hands and blow out a long breath. “Okay. Lead with that next time. I thought you were about to be kidnapped.”
“What? Is that a possibility? Is that why I have the guards?”
This Jorden is a much different version than the one I spoke to a few hours ago. Before, she was wrapped up in the charm of my whirlwind romance. Now, she sounds terrified.
“No. You’re not going to be kidnapped. The way you said that just scared me.”
“That makes two of us, Cora! What the fuck is going on?”
Which is precisely the title of this chapter of my memoir, for sure. What the Fuck Is Going On?: Why you shouldn’t hook up with billionaires at an arranged marriage party. By Cora St. Clair.
Wait, no—Cora Pushkin.
I shiver.
“What did Yasha tell you?”
“Nothing. Well, almost nothing. All he said is that I was going to have guards outside my apartment. But why? He wouldn’t answer any of my questions. Obviously, something is going on that I don’t know about.”
I keep chewing on the inside of my cheek until the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. “There’s a lot going on that I don’t know about, too,” I say finally. “But Yasha is just trying to keep you safe. Marrying Ivan is… It’s a risk. When word gets out, my friends could become targets.”
There’s a long pause before she speaks again. “And this has nothing to do with him being in a Bratva?”
For the second time in as many minutes, my heart lurches uncomfortably. “What?”
Ivan monitors these calls. Someone is going to overhear Jorden making accusations. She’ll become a target—a “loose end,” as Ivan’s dad said. Will they cut her?
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking online ever since the guards showed up and there are some weird stories out there about Ivan. Like that he is some kind of crime boss or something. It’s all rumors, but it’s starting to feel possible.”
Rumors available to anyone with a Google search bar. They can’t kill her for that, right? Surely not.
“You know what kind of shit is on the internet these days. Conspiracy theories and what not. This is probably just more of—”
“So you haven’t heard anything weird since you’ve been there?” she interrupts. “You just met him last night, Cora. Maybe it isn’t safe that you’re staying with him.”
“It’s safe here. I promise. Ivan is protecting me.”
I hope.
Jorden hums nervously. “I want to be happy for you. I am happy for you. But I also love you, girl, so I want to make sure you’re going to be okay and I have a weird feeling about all of this.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I know. I love you, too. All I want is for you to be safe. That’s why you have guards there. It’s all because I panicked and wanted to make sure our engagement wouldn’t put you in any danger. You know, since you were at the party with me last night, and then everything that happened at the diner this morning…”
It’s also why I’m lying now: because telling her the truth isn’t safe. Yasha and Ivan and Anya have made it clear that the less people know about what is going on here, the safer they are.
Ignorance is bliss.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone care that you’re getting married to Ivan Pushkin?” she asks. “I’m starting to wonder if the shooting this morning was actually a random drive-by. Has he said anything to you about it? Are we sure it wasn’t someone he is in, like, a turf war with or something? I just don’t want—”
My phone buzzes. I pull it away from my ear to see that Francia is FaceTiming me.
I’m not sure a call from Francia is really the saving grace I wish it was, but right now, it’s all I’ve got to escape Jorden’s incredibly accurate line of questioning.
“Hey, Francia is calling me. I have to go, but I’ll call you back,” I say, interrupting Jorden mid-speech. “Bye!”
She’s still talking when I end our call. Then I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and answer Francia.