He was tender and almost loving with me the night we met. The connection was instant.
I told the man my secrets.
Did he tell me the truth? About him being raised in an orphanage? Was I really the only woman he kissed so tenderly? Or was it all a lie?
No. No one can act that well. Plus, Misha wouldn’t have saved me. He would’ve let me die or, even worse, killed me himself.
So the attraction was real? Right?
Ugh. I wish I had the ability to read minds.
Again, I think about the hatred in his eyes, the viciousness in his tone.
It hurts. A lot.
I rip the washcloth off my face and let out a frustrated huff. I wish I’d said something back. Anything! Instead, I just stood there and let his words rain over me like acid.
Letting out a sigh, I pour some body wash onto my loofah and quickly bathe myself. Once I’m done, all my emotions are still a chaotic mess in my chest, and I have no answers to any of my questions.
Not able to cancel the dinner so I can crawl beneath the covers and wallow in my heartbreak, I dry myself off, lather my skin in lotion, and head to the walk-in closet.
Instead of hating Misha, my mind conjures up the fantasy of him waiting in my bedroom.
He sweeps me up in his arms and kisses me until I’m breathless. He explains his cruel words while his eyes hold all the love in the world for me. He lays me down on the bed and worships my body, assuring me I’m the only woman he’ll ever love.
“Stop it!” I snap at myself.
My movements are irritated as I put on a pair of panties and grab an evening gown off a hanger.
I don’t even care what I wear to dinner as I step into the dark jade dress. I add a pair ofDolce & Gabbanaheels, and letting my hair out of the clip, I pull a brush through it.
Ugh, I don’t even want to put on makeup but sit down at the dressing table and go through my routine. For a final touch, I decide to wear the emerald platinum jewelry set my parents gave me for my sixteenth birthday.
Let’s just get this night over with, then I can crawl under the covers and mourn the loss of my dream.
When I’m done, I place my suite’s keycard in a clutch purse and walk to Abbie’s room. I knock on the door, and it takes a minute before she opens for me.
“How do you always get ready so quickly?” she complains as she rushes to her bedroom.
I follow her and sit down on the edge of her bed.
Abbie continues with her makeup, and before brushing on her mascara, she meets my gaze in the mirror, asking, “How are you holding up?”
I shrug. “It’s confusing and heartbreaking. I’d much rather crawl into bed than go to dinner.”
Continuing with her makeup, she says, “Later tonight, we can order comfort food and lie in bed talking so you can get it all off your chest.”
“I think it’s going to take more than one night,” I whisper.
I’ve built him up in my mind and heart so much it might take another two years to break all the dreams down.
“Take all the time you need.” Abbie applies her ruby red lipstick, then she turns to look at me. “But I think you should give him hell. Flirt with him, and the harder he fights, theharderyou make it for him.” She wags her eyebrows. “Pun intended.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I can’t flirt with the man if he kills me,” I reply sardonically, resting my chin on my palm.
“That’s the beauty of being at St. Monarch’s,” Abbie says with a mischievous grin. “He can’t kill you.”
“Oh wow, I feel so lucky,” I mutter. “Besides, you’re the one with all the flirting skills. I’m the one who suffers from secondhand embarrassment.” Wanting to change the subject, I say, “That come-on line you used on Nikolai Vetrov was downright cringy.”