“Doesn’t mean I can’t see how great the two of you will be together,” she says. “And at least you have a shot at a future with Chris. I mean, the don is hot and everything, but he’s not long-term.”
I wince. Why does it hurt so badly to hear her say that?
“Um, Freya, I should get going now.”
“Okay, just be careful, okay, sweetheart?”
“I always am.”
“Right,” she says. “Okay then. Bye.”
I can hear it in her voice. She wants to say something else to me, but she’s holding herself back.
“Freya?”
“Yes?” she says, jumping back into the conversation.
“What’s up? You sound weird.”
“Do I?” she asks a little too innocently.
“Yes. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
There are three seconds of silence on the other line before she finally speaks. “I’m just not a fan of telling my friends what they should and should not do. God knows I never appreciated it when my friends tried to advise me.”
“Are you trying to advise me?” I ask, mildly amused.
I make eye contact with the security guard inside the little box house beside the black gates. He nods and waves me through the side gate. The blacked-out golf cart is waiting to take me up to the entrance since the driveway is so damn long.
“Well…”
“Just say it, Freya.”
“I know we haven’t been friends for very long—”
“But we are friends,” I tell her. “So you can say what you need to say.”
“I just assumed that your feelings for this guy were superficial. Like, lust, you know? But it feels like you’re getting in deeper and deeper. That worries me.” She sighs. “I’ve known men like him my whole life, Jessa. They’re toxic. Everything they touch turns toxic, too. I would know. I was in an abusive relationship for the better part of two years.”
“He’s not abusive.”
“Not now. But he’s a powerful man. Men like him crave control. It’s only a matter of time, I guarantee it.”
Between my conversation with Chris and now Freya, doubts are creeping in. The excitement is fading, leaving dread in its wake.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I cringe at my own lame words. “I’ve got to go.”
“Be safe.”
She hangs up just as the golf cart stops in front of the main doors. I thank the security guard, who apparently speaks exclusively in monosyllabic grunts, and step out onto the driveway.
The home is magnificent. Fluted columns, gargoyles leering from the roof. Its bones are Gothic, but the huge planes of glass that break up the beige masonry give the whole place a modern feel.
I stare up at the gorgeous facade, wondering if he’s in there somewhere. Wondering if he’s waiting for me like I’m waiting for him.
But the feeling is tainted now. Freya and Chris are in my head, and I can’t shake the feeling that they’re both right. I can’t ignore my instincts for a pair of incredibly beautiful gray eyes. That’s not the kind of girl I want to be.
Not if I want to survive Anton Stepanov.