70
CORA
Jorden and I are still out on the patio when I hear voices coming from inside.
There’s so much security monitoring the property at all times that I’m not really concerned, but I still turn to Jorden with a frown. “Weird. Ivan isn’t supposed to be back yet.”
I could be wrong. It’s not like he tells me where he’s going. I don’t even mind; I’d really rather not know. As it is, I can pretend he’s safe and cozy in an office somewhere with his feet kicked up, as opposed to facing off with his enemies in dark alleys, wielding menacing weapons and dripping in blood.
“Hm.” Jorden purses her lips, doing her best to look confused… and failing.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Me?” She lets out a loud, barking laugh. “Why would I be expecting someone at your house? That doesn’t even make sense.”
I arch a brow. I can almost literally see the cracks forming in her performance. “What’s going on, Jor?”
She shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I bet it’s nothing. Maybe it’s your manservant—”
“Niles,” I correct. “And he’d throw you over the security wall if he heard you call him that.”
Something that sounds like a busted shopping cart wheel squeals from the kitchen. For a moment, I imagine how I would explain to Ivan that I was sitting on the patio, completely unconcerned, as burglars broke in and wheeled all of his belongings out to their waiting van.
I start to sit up. “I’m just going to make sure everything is okay in there. I can get you a sparkling water or some juice if you—”
“I’ll do it!” Jorden jumps out of her chair before I can even finish. “What do you want?”
I look up at her, squinting against the sunshine haloing her head. “What is going on?”
“Nothing!” she insists. But her eyes shift nervously towards the kitchen.
My heart stutters. I trust Jorden. She’s my friend, but…
If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not nearly as safe as I think I am. What if Jorden is working with Ivan’s enemies?
I try to shove the idea down, but it won’t budge. “Jorden,” I say evenly, sliding to the edge of my chair, “if you know what is going on, you need to tell me.”
Her gaze darts past me to the kitchen door. The voices are still soft. I thought it was because they were deeper in the house, but now, I realize whoever is inside is whispering.
My heartrate ramps up. “Jorden…”
“It’s fine,” she insists. Her cheeks are flushed. It’s rare to see her this rattled. “Everything is fine.”
If someone is in my house, it either means the guards let them in or there are no longer any guards. Neither option is great, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
“You know what? I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone to bust in and—”
I’m shoving past Jorden just as the double doors to the kitchen burst open.
And Anya and Francia burst out.
“SURPRISE!”
I stumble back into Jorden, who wraps her arms around my waist in a tight hug. “Sorry.”
Relief washes through me. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought.”
“They wanted it to be a surprise,” she explains.
Anya grins. “Was it a surprise?”
“She heard you all squeaking around in the kitchen!” Jorden reprimands. “I could barely keep her out here.”
“Was what a surprise? Why did I need to stay out here?”
Anya skips over to me and plants her hands on my shoulders. She walks backwards, leading me through the kitchen doors and towards the private staircase on the right. “I had big, grand plans for you, Cora. There were going to be multiple attendants, endless bottles of champagne—”
“And those little finger sandwiches with the cream cheese and cucumber.”
Anya chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Niles can still make those for us. I’ll put in a request.”
Jorden cheers behind me, but Francia doesn’t say anything. Aside from the initial surprise, she hasn’t said a word.
“Anyway, it was going to be an affair in the most lavish hotel room money can buy. But plans change and I am nothing if not adaptable. So here’s the backup plan.” Anya pushes open my bedroom door and ushers me inside…
To a room of wall-to-wall wedding dresses.
Movable clothing racks are arranged around the perimeter of the room, each one stuffed with lace and silk and velvet, all in varying shades of bridal white. Heels are lined up under each rack. I don’t even need to check to know they’re in my size.
“Wow.”
It’s all I can say. The only word I can muster as I stare at the room overflowing with dresses that I’ll never wear to the wedding I’ll never have.
As it turns out, Anya ordered dresses in everyone’s size so we could all try things on.
“I knew Cora wouldn’t love being the center of attention, whereas I live to be the center of attention.” Anya laughs at her own joke. “So we’re all putting dresses on. It will be fun!”
Ten minutes later, it turns out she was right—at least in the sense that my friends all wearing gowns of their own does make me feel less ridiculous in my puffy-sleeved monstrosity straight out of the 1980s.
“Fun” is a loose word, though. Francia looks like she’s in as much pain as I am.
“Some of these are from the designer’s vintage collection.” Anya steps behind Francia in the mirror, admiring the frilly sleeves. “It’s right out of a fairytale.”
Francia grimaces. “Am I the evil stepsister in this fairytale?”
Before Anya can answer, Jorden steps out of the closet with both arms wide, walking with her hips pressed forward and her shoulders pressed back. “I look incredible. Now, all I need is a groom.”
Anya wolf whistles. “The trumpet silhouette is perfect for you.”
The gown is fitted through the middle and down her thighs, but flares out in a whirlwind of ruffles and lace at her knees. It balances her out nicely. She looks gorgeous.
“You really do look amazing,” I agree. “Bookmark that dress for when you finally marry your sugar daddy.”
“A sugar daddy?” Anya raises both brows. “Tell me more.”
Jorden shakes her head. “There’s nothing more to tell. Every man I meet is flirtatiously incompetent.”
“What does that even mean?” Francia pinches the tulle skirt of her dress between her fingers and drops it. No plans to say yes to that dress, apparently.
“It means they don’t know how to woo me,” she sighs.
Anya nods. “A girl needs to be wooed. It’s important.”
Is that what Ivan was doing when he studied my naked body up and down before finally handing me his suit jacket to cover up? Was that wooing?
If so… it worked.
“I thought you wanted a sugar daddy,” Francia mutters.
Francia’s inner feral cat is coming out a bit today. She’s been on edge since they arrived. Too much time locked away in the safehouse by herself, I’d imagine.
Jorden shoots a sharp look her way, but quickly schools her face into a lighthearted smile. “I’m a complex human, Francia. I want both.”
Anya plucks a short, edgy veil from the top of one of the racks and tucks it into her hair. “Based on what I saw at the club the other night, you want a certain friend of my brother’s.”
“Huh? Who?” Jorden is playing dumb, but her cheeks are pink.
I know where Anya is going with this. Even while Jorden was shoving dollar bills down another man’s pants, she was watching Yasha.
“You know who! Don’t play coy with me. You two were dancing around each other all night. Not literally,” Anya adds. “Despite my best efforts.”
“Your best efforts were not very subtle. Yasha probably knew you were trying to ship us. That’s why he wouldn’t talk to me all night.”
Anya waves her off. “That was not my fault. Yasha wouldn’t talk to you because he’s bad with women.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Yasha would be so mad if he heard you say that.”
“Of course he would,” Anya says. “All men would. It’s just because they can’t admit that they don’t have a single fucking clue how to talk to a woman. Even Lev didn’t know how to talk to me until at least a year into our marriage. Men need to be taught. Trained.”
“That must be why I can’t find a man worth dating,” Jorden ponders. “Because I’m looking for one that has already been trained. Or because the only men I have been in recent contact with are just there to watch my apartment.”
“You’re hitting on your guards?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
She winks. “They’re cute. And I think they could do a better job of guarding me from inside my apartment. It is not a crime to lure them inside with fresh-baked cookies and whiskey.”
“No, but it is a crime that none of the guards sent to watch over me have been handsome or shown any interest in me whatsoever,” Francia chimes in. She laughs, but I remember the look on her face when we were talking at the club.
She’s lonely. I can see it.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Anya winces. “The apartment building where you’re at is usually staffed with the family guys. Men who need a set work schedule so they can get home to their wives and kids.”
“Just my luck,” Francia grumbles.
“Well, don’t feel too bad for yourself,” Jorden says. “I’m not faring any better. The men you meet are married and the men I meet are hopeless. Which probably means I should stop daydreaming with these dresses. Maybe we should get some nun habits in here to try on for size.”
I drop down onto the bed and kick my legs out from under the skirt of the dress. I’ve only tried on three dresses, all of which have been atrocious. Mostly because I’m afraid if I take this seriously, I might find a dress I actually like.
Then it would be even harder not to picture myself standing at the altar with Ivan.
“My view of men isn’t so bleak,” I say. “There are plenty of nice, handsome guys out there who know how to hold a conversation.”
None that my stepfather tried to set me up with, but “a functioning personality” wasn’t high on his list of must-haves. That fell squarely after wealth, connections, and a girthy stick up their butt. The last one wasn’t official, but I can only assume it was as mandatory as the rest.
“Says the woman engaged to a walking, talking sex god,” Jorden mutters.
“Ew!” Anya plants her hands over her ears. “Please never say that in front of me again.”
“Sorry, but it’s true. Ivan is a higher breed of human. I mean, he had an entire party full of women wanting to marry him. Who gets that kind of response?”
“Rich guys,” Francia suggests.
Anya points to Francia. “She’s right. Money covers a multitude of sins. Believe me, my brother has his fair share of relationship mess-ups and faux pas. If you don’t believe me, ask Katerina.”
The air seems to get sucked out of the room. Or maybe it’s just my air.
“Who is Katerina?” Jorden asks.
Anya’s smile looks suddenly strained. “No one. Just trust me. My brother has made his fair share of mistakes.”
“No time like the present to spill the tea. Every woman wants to hear about her fiancé’s exes while she’s trying on wedding dresses.”
I honestly can’t tell if Jorden is joking or not.
Anya drops the veil back on the rack and slips out of her dress. She lunges for her trousers and sweater like there’s a fire. “That may be true, but there isn’t a sister on the planet that wants to talk about their brother’s love life. I’ve learned my lesson where that is concerned: mind my own business.”
“Since when?” I chuckle before I can stop myself.
She turns to me and I see something pleading in her gaze. Whatever she let slip, it was a mistake.
Drop it, her eyes say. I’m begging you.
Jorden is taking a deep breath, ready to launch into what will no doubt be a long-winded argument for why we deserve to know everything about Ivan’s past. As supportive as she has been the last few days, I know she’s still worried Ivan might be trouble.
Before she can, I step in.
“I’m starved. Do you think there are any snacks ready?”
“Yes!” Anya says a little too quickly. “I bet the finger sandwiches are ready. I’ll go grab them.” Then she is gone, only the ghost of her Chanel perfume hanging in the air.
Jorden watches her leave and then does a slow turn back to us, eyebrow arched. “That was weird, right?”
“Anya is flighty. That’s just how she is,” I lie.
“No. No, that was a different level of weird. She was being evasive. What isn’t she telling us?”
I stand up and start sorting through the dresses on the racks. “She doesn’t want to talk about her brother’s personal life. We should respect that.”
I know the words coming out of my mouth are the sane, rational thing to say. It’s responsible to respect people’s privacy and let them divulge whatever secrets they may have to you when the time is right.
Like the way I’m keeping Mikhail from Ivan until the time is right. Even if I have no idea when that time will be.
“Do you have your phone?” Jorden holds out a hand and wags her fingers at me.
“Why?”
“So we can get our Google on, obviously. We need to figure out who this Katerina bitch is.”
“She’s probably no one. And probably not a bitch, either! She might be just a friend or—” I turn to Francia, knowing I can count on her to be sane. “You probably know something about Katerina, right? You know more about these people than we do. Tell Jorden that she isn’t important.”
Francia gives me an apologetic wince. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about her.”
“Ooh, intrigue,” Jorden hisses. She curls her fingers in my direction again. “Get your phone out.”
“Get your own phone out,” I snap back.
“I left it downstairs on the patio. Why can’t I use yours?”
“Because…” I scramble to think of a good reason. “We’re on Ivan’s WiFi. What if they can look at my searches?”
“You aren’t living in a police state. It’s your own damn house!”
If only she knew the truth.
“I have a VPN,” Francia blurts suddenly.
Jorden spins towards her, her dress splaying out around her legs. “A what?”
“A VPN. It keeps my searches private. It’s for my job.”
“You’re a waitress,” Jorden deadpans.
Francia pulls out her phone. “My other job. What do you want me to look up?”
“Nothing,” I say.
At the same time, Jorden rattles off what she wants Francia to type in the search bar. “Katerina Ivan Pushkin Los Angeles.”
Jorden hovers over Francia’s shoulder as she types. Both of them stare down at the phone as Francia scrolls through the search results.
“You two do whatever you want. But I don’t want to hear a thing about it,” I lie. “If Ivan wants to tell me about her, he will.”
Lie, lie, lie.
Ivan doesn’t owe me anything. Honesty about his past relationships, least of all. Maybe if we were in a real relationship I’d demand more information from him, but as it is… The fact he is keeping me alive is enough. It should be enough. I won’t ask him for more than that.
Then Jorden gasps.
I can’t help myself. I spin towards them. Jorden is looking down at the phone, eyes wide. Francia is looking at me with something like fear in her eyes.
My willpower crumbles under the weight of my curiosity. I’m about to nosedive off the moral high ground and wallow in the mud of internet gossip.
Then the door opens.
“We have a visitor,” Anya says, peeking her head in to be sure we’re decent.
Ivan follows her. “I can’t be a visitor in my own house.”
His voice is gruff, but there’s a smile on his face. He has no clue everyone in front of him was just poking their noses into his personal business.
If Jorden and Francia can wipe the shock off of their faces, maybe it will even stay that way.