53
CORA
Ivan has his arm around my waist. His hand fits so perfectly against me. Like we were made for this.
We’re in the jewelry store, diamonds glittering all around us. Ivan is watching me slide ring after ring onto my finger. Every time he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.
“I’ve tried on the entire store,” I laugh.
“None of them are good enough. You deserve the best.”
I press onto my toes and kiss his cheek. “I already have the best. I have you.”
I should feel awkward and uncomfortable. We’re only pretending, after all. But there’s no sense of that here. This all feels…real. Normal.
Like we’re an actual couple.
Ivan smiles down at me. Amusement dances in his amber eyes. “Much to my dismay, you can’t wear me all the time.”
“I can try,” I purr.
He leans in, his lips close to my ear. “Tell me what you know.”
I press my nose to his neck, breathing him in. He smells like gunpowder. Like dust and blood and…
I pull back. “What are you talking about?”
But he’s gone.
* * *
Ivan is now kneeling down a few feet away from me. He’s talking to a man who is curled on the ground.
“Who sent you?” he barks. “What did you give her?”
The man on the ground is dressed in all black. I can’t see his face, but I see his hand. He pulls something out of a pocket in his jacket.
A gun.
I try to lunge, but my body is frozen. I can’t move as I watch the horror unfold in front of me, powerless to do anything to stop it.
But the man doesn’t shoot Ivan.
He points the gun at himself. He wedges it under his chin and—
* * *
The car door bangs closed. Ivan is in the backseat next to me. Camera flashes from the paparazzi light up the window. I understand why. He looks incredible in his tux.
His mouth is pulled into a devilish smirk. A smile that promises nothing but trouble. When he turns to me, I feel my insides melt.
“We aren’t going home,” he tells me. “We’re going out on the town.”
I laugh. “After all the cheesecake I just ate, you’d have to roll me out on the town.”
“I’ll roll with you.” He arches a brow and slides a hand over my stomach. “On the town, in our bed—either one is fine.”
Our bed. We share a bed.
Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we?
“I’m stuffed, but if you try really hard, you might be able to convince me to roll into bed with you.”
He snorts. “You think I’d have to try?”
“Really hard,” I tease. “Just because you wine and dine me does not mean I’m a sure thing.”
“You’re going to be okay,” he says suddenly.
I laugh nervously. “I assumed I would be. Should I be nervous?”
His smile fades. He leans across the back seat towards me. Someone—Yasha, I think—is in the driver’s seat. He’s bitching at traffic and swerving all over the road.
“What is going on?” I ask.
Ivan doesn’t answer; he just loops his arms under my knees and around my back. He hauls me into his lap, curling me into his chest like I’m a child.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says again.
My heart is beating a lopsided, unsteady rhythm. “I wish you’d stop saying that. I know I’m okay. I trust you.”
It’s the words I thought before. The words I thought when…when I was on the damp, cold ground in the alley.
The alley behind the bakery.
The gun.
It hits me all at once.
This is a dream.
I’m curled against Ivan’s chest, but the gauzy filter of the dream is gone. The car is dark, but streetlights paint the interior yellow every few seconds as Yasha flies down the road.
I look up in a moment of light and catch a glimpse of Ivan’s face. Blood is splattered across his cheek. I don’t think it’s his.
It’s hard to think of anything. My thoughts feel faraway, disjointed. Maybe I’m still dreaming. But this doesn’t feel like a dream.
My head is pounding and my bones ache. It feels like they’re grinding together with every bump of the car. My stomach swirls. If I’d eaten more than one bite of cake, I know I’d be throwing it up right now.
The worst part is, all I want to do is go back to sleep.
Back into my dream.
As if he can sense my discomfort, Ivan smooths a hand down my spine. He draws me close to him, encircling me with his arms and his scent. It’s not the gunpowder and dust of the alley, but something quintessentially Ivan. It makes me think of warm nights beneath the stars. Of crisp breezes and moonlight.
My eyes flutter closed, and I feel his breath on my cheek.
Soft words spoken in Russian, whispered like a promise against my skin.
I don’t know what he’s saying, but I sink into the words and his arms. I let them carry me away.