65
CORA
FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER
“I haven’t seen a waitress in way too long.” Francia grabs her clutch and stands up. “I’m going to brave the line at the bar.”
I start to stand up. “I’ll come with you.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to lose this table. If we stand up, someone is going to jump on top of it.”
She’s not wrong; I’m just not sure I care anymore. Maybe the people on top of the tables have the right idea. It sure looks like they’re having fun. The ground floor is a touch less exciting.
“Maybe we could go dance or something. I’m tired of sitting here—”
“Okay, thanks! I’ll be right back!” Francia shouts, giving me a thumbs up. I can tell she didn’t hear a thing I said.
She heads towards the bar, and I slouch down in my seat.
When Anya first suggested the idea, I didn’t imagine dancing the night away in a crowd of strangers, but I didn’t imagine babysitting the table by myself all night, either.
I can see Jorden and Anya laughing and dancing in the middle of a circle of people. I should have suspected the two of them would hit it off. They’re birds of a feather, for sure.
Even Francia is having a better time than me. At least she’s drinking.
I’m sober, alone, and bored.
I wish Ivan was here.
Francia was the only one smart enough to bring a purse, so she is holding everyone’s phones. Maybe when she gets back, I can ask for my phone. I won’t text and ask Ivan to come. That would be pathetic. But I could tell him how boring it is. How much more fun it would be if he was here. I could allude to the idea that he should come and rescue me.
Rescue me from what, though? From a night out with friends? The Coop is hardly a horror show. I could be having a good time. I just…don’t want to be here.
A couple breaks away from the dancers and swirls close to my table. They almost crash into one of our chairs, but they hardly notice. It’s hard to pay attention to your surroundings when your mouths are fused together. Their hands roam over one another, lips teasing and tasting. They are lost in the music and each other. Free.
That could be us.
I’m still lost in the fantasy when a dark figure glides in front of me. For a moment, I think my prayers are answered.
Then I realize how wrong I am.
“You look like you need a dance partner.”
He’s tall and towering over me. His face is completely silhouetted by the strobing lights behind him. “No. Thank you. I’m here for my bachelorette party.”
Number one, I have no interest in this guy.
Number two, it’s giving me nauseating flashbacks to the night Ivan and I met.
“Then you definitely need a dance partner,” the man replies with a wicked grin.
I smile tightly and turn back towards the bar. Francia has only been gone for thirty seconds, but I wish she was back already. “I don’t need anything. I’m just fine.”
“You are fine indeed.” His words take on a sinister edge that has me snapping my gaze back to his face. He’s still obscured by the lights, but I catch the familiar angle of his jaw.
And just like that, my stomach bottoms out.
No. No, it’s not him. He’s not—I’m imagining it.
Then he leans down, giving me the first clear view of his face.
“Mikhail.” His name rushes out of me in a breathless gasp. It’s like the sight of him knocked the wind from me.
“Bachelorette parties are supposed to be fun.” He holds out his hand. “Come on, Cordelia. Let’s have some fun.”
Adrenaline pumps through me at the sound of my old name. The name of another girl from another life. A life where my stepfather had me betrothed to this slimy, snarly, sadistic lunatic.
I have no idea what he's doing here, but it can’t be good.
I dart out of my chair and try to lunge for the bar. But Mikhail is there before I can take a single step away from the table.
“Dance with me,” he hisses in my ear. “Or I will make things painful for you.”
Yasha is here. He’ll find me. He’ll stop this, just as soon as he realizes what’s happening. Until then, I just have to play along.
Mikhail holds out his hand again. I slowly lay my fingers in his palm.
It’s a familiar position. We’ve danced together before. When we were engaged, I was trotted out like the show pony my stepfather wanted at weddings and benefits and things like that.
But this time feels different.
Because I now know what it feels like to actually like the man you’re touching. To surge with electricity when he’s around. To be bowled over by sheer physical chemistry.
Compared to that, touching Mikhail leaves me nothing but nauseous.
Mikhail pulls me onto the dance floor and spins me against his body. He has an easy smile plastered on his face. No sign of the monster that lurks just under the skin.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Dancing. Shut your whore mouth and follow along,” he growls, still smiling.
His hands slide to my waist and then my hips. He pulls me hard against him and twists and turns.
I lose track of where the table is. Which direction the bar is in. I know Anya and Jorden are out here dancing, too, but I couldn’t find them if I wanted to. Every time I try to get my bearings, Mikhail spins me again.
Then I look over and realize how close to the wall we are. How far from the center of the floor we’ve moved.
He’s leading me into the shadows.
I try to pull away, but he holds me with a crushing grip. “No more running away. Not this time.”
“What do you want?” I hate the edge of panic in my voice. I hate it even more when Mikhail smirks.
“I want what was promised to me.” He drags me against him and holds me firmly by the hips. His fingers dig into my skin. “Don’t even think about fighting.”
He glances back towards the dark alcove behind him. It yawns open like a cave. I have the feeling that if I go in there with him, I won’t be coming back out.
So I hold still and meet his eyes. “I never made you any promises, Mikhail.”
“Didn’t you?” He grabs my left hand and holds it up, twirling my ring around my finger. “I put a ring here once, too. Does Ivan know that?”
“It hasn’t come up.”
Lie. Ivan as much as asked me earlier today in bed. I told him as much of the truth as I was willing. Now, I wonder if I shouldn’t have told him everything. Yasha could have been on the lookout for Mikhail and my stepfather. He could have protected me from this. The way he has protected me from everything else.
I’m an idiot. I thought the past would stay behind me. I should’ve known it wouldn’t die so easily.
His jaw clicks. “How long have you even known him?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Tell him nothing. I hear Ivan’s voice in my head. Tell him not a fucking thing. Keep him calm. Get away.
Mikhail glowers down at me. “It does matter. It matters a lot. Answer the question.’
“I’m engaged now. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
I try to take a step back, but Mikhail glues our bodies together. His cologne cloys my senses. “Are you worried you won’t be able to control yourself around me, Cordelia? Are you worried your fiancé will find out your heart belongs to someone else?”
“I’m just worried you’re delusional and I won’t be able to stop Ivan from killing you.”
I expect him to get mad and lash out. Instead, Mikhail trails a finger over my neck, tracing my jaw. I jerk my head back. “Ivan is the one who needs to watch his back. He took what was mine.”
“I was never yours! Whatever we had is over.”
I’m not Ivan’s, either. Not really. Not in the way I want to be.
But Mikhail doesn’t know that—and I have no intention of telling him.
He leans his head to the side and studies me, but when I look in his eyes, I see…nothing. They’re dark and vacant. Just black disks, as empty as deep space.
He drags a hand over my hip. “It’s not over, Cordelia. It’s just getting started.”
I shake my head. “What are you—”
“Now that I’ve found you again…” He pulls me close. “I’m not letting you go.”
I shove off of his chest, trying to get some space between us. Trying to find some room to breathe.
“You’re insane.”
He laughs viciously. “You were promised to me, Cordelia. The deal we made is still on. You are my fiancée no matter what lies Ivan fucking Pushkin has put in your head.”
There’s anger there. Rage in the way he says Ivan’s name.
“Do you know him?” I ask.
He snorts. “Everyone knows Ivan. For better or worse.”
“How do you know him?”
“I’m much more interested in how well you know him,” he says. “Have you met Boris yet?”
Mikhail might as well be reading from a notecard. It’s obvious he and my stepfather only want to know how much trouble they might be in with the Pushkins for stealing me away. How deep has this relationship gone? How invested is Boris in the idea of me?
Maybe they’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble.
Or maybe they’ll feed me to the sharks.
“I’ve met him,” I say evenly. “Boris approves of our marriage.”
Another lie. Can Mikhail tell? Does he know Boris? If he does, he’ll know there is no way the man could approve of me. But if he doesn’t…
“Has he fucked you yet?”
I go rigid against him. “How dare you?”
“Don’t act so precious, Cora. There are rumors going around about you. Nasty, nasty rumors.”
“And you won’t get any of them confirmed by me,” I snap. “I’m not telling you a fucking—”
He grabs my arm with bruising force and hauls me close. “You’ll tell me exactly what I want to know. I’m the one who might be receiving used goods,” he hisses. “I have a right to know who my future wife has been with. What kind of filth she’s going to bring into our marriage bed.”
I stretch onto my toes, getting as close to him as I can. “Fuck. You.”
Then I haul my free arm back and throw all of my strength into punching him square in the face.