Vova’s smile makes him look like the Cheshire cat. “Molly, coke, a few other party accessories.”
I wrinkle my nose. “No, thanks.”
“How about some painkillers?” He opens his palm to show me a couple of white pills. “It’s good, strong shit, but my grandmother no longer needs it. She passed away last week.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugs as I stare at the pills, debating. I haven’t tried this sort of thing before, but if it’s for pain, shouldn’t it help the hammers dancing in my skull? And dull the anxiety twisting me up inside? Maybe it’s exactly what my parents’ doctor will prescribe me next week. Before I can talk myself out of it, I snatch up the two pills and dry-swallow them.
“Whoa there,” Vova says with a laugh as I plop three more bills onto his palm in payment. “One is the starter dose.”
Dammit. Now I might be high instead of headache-free. Oh, well. Maybe it’ll make this party more tolerable.
Leaving Vova to his skulking, I return to the ballroom, where I’m immediately surrounded by a group of friends, acquaintances, and people I’ve previously seen only on TV and in society gossip rags. Everybody wants to suck up to the birthday girl, and before I know it, it’s an hour later and my headache is a distant memory. In its place is a fuzzy glow that softens the edges of reality and makes me feel like I’m observing everyone and everything from a small distance.
I like it. A lot. These pills are even better than pot at taming my anxiety. I’m so calm I’m practically catatonic.
I’m on my way to the restrooms to ask Vova if he has any more pills for me to buy when a tall, broad-shouldered man steps in front of me, blocking my path. Startled, I look up—and my stomach performs a somersault that would make Cirque du Soleil proud.
Alexei.
He’s finally here.
“Happy birthday,” he says, his deep voice audible despite the music and the din of the hundred different conversations around us. His dark eyes gleam as he gives me a slow once-over. “You look beautiful, as always.”
All of my calm flees. My heart does a loopy lurch inside my chest, even as the fuzziness at the edges of my vision intensifies. “Thank you,” I say breathlessly. “Happy birthday to you too. I hope you’ve had a chance to celebrate it?”
Fuck, I hope I’m making sense. I’ve never felt like this before, completely out of it, yet on edge. My heart is racing madly, my palms are sweating, and my eyes can’t stop scouring his face, his body… every strong, vital inch of him. Is it possible he’s grown even harder, more intimidating, in the fifteen months since my prom?
Twenty-three or not, the powerful, self-assured man in front of me seems more than capable of ruling a dark empire—or the Leonov organization, which is one and the same.
“I’m still celebrating it,” he says as his eyes travel over me again, raising goosebumps on my arms and making heat ignite under my skin. “The night is not over yet. And in twenty minutes, we’ll have another reason to celebrate.”
I blink up at him, my brain operating maddeningly slowly. It takes me a moment to realize he must be referring to the engagement announcement—the very reason I need to talk to him ASAP. I’m about to blurt exactly that when he reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket and takes out a small black velvet box.
The words freeze on my lips as my lungs cease to function. Paralyzed by horror, I stare at the box as my mind flashes back to the other such box he gave me, the one that held Dan’s ring. Frantically, I try to think if there’s someone else, some other man in my life who could’ve given Alexei the erroneous impression that—
He pops the box open with a casual flick of his thumb, revealing a gorgeous princess-cut diamond surrounded by emeralds. Set in a delicate, diamond-encrusted platinum circle, it’s unmistakably a woman’s ring… and exactly what I would’ve wanted for my engagement, if I’d wanted the latter at all.
I should feel relieved that it’s not another gruesome gift of the kind a cat might bring to its owner, but a different kind of horror grabs hold of me as Alexei orders softly, “Give me your hand,” and takes out the ring, slipping the box back into his pocket. Frozen, I watch as he clasps my left hand in his and slides the ring onto my finger, leaving no doubt of what this gift is supposed to signify.
Possession. Ownership.
The end of my freedom.
No. No, no, no.
I don’t even realize I’m saying the word out loud until Alexei’s hand tightens painfully around mine.
“What the fuck do you mean, no?” His voice is low and dangerous, his jaw set in a harsh line. “You are my fiancée.”
I yank my hand out of his grasp. “No, I’m not!”
Faces turn toward us, eyes wide with curiosity. I must’ve spoken louder than I thought.
Alexei’s face darkens further, and with a sinking feeling, I realize I’m completely fucking this up. This was supposed to be a private conversation during which I would calmly explain my rationale for not wanting the engagement while appealing to his probable desire for freedom. We weren’t supposed to fight, and I certainly wasn’t supposed to embarrass him in public.
I might as well have let Nikolai speak for me. The outcome couldn’t have been worse.