Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
It’s yet another reason I need to talk to Alexei tonight. I need to know where he stands on this cursed betrothal, if he’s as opposed to it as I hope he is. After all, he’s young too, only twenty-three to my eighteen. What guy that age wants marriage? Or even the promise of it? True, Alexei is no ordinary twenty-something—rumor has it, he’s been running the Leonov organization behind the scenes for the past couple of years—but I bet he still likes to party and wouldn’t want a fiancée (or worse, a wife) cramping his style.
In fact, he might have some beauty warming his bed as we speak, helping him celebrate his birthday tonight.
My stomach twists peculiarly at the thought, and I escape the crowd with an excuse about needing to use the bathroom. As much as I dread the upcoming confrontation with Alexei, it bothers me that I haven’t spotted him at the party yet. It’s still early in the evening, but he is my fucking betrothed. Shouldn’t he have been one of the first to wish me a happy birthday? Not that I want him to, but it would’ve been the polite, civilized thing to do. Then again, what do the Leonovs know about politeness and civilized behavior?
They’re savages, always have been.
I use the restroom and wash my hands before drying them on a soft towel offered by a uniformed bathroom attendant. To my relief, the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the modern-artsy floating sink reflects a young woman who’s all gloss and glitter, her cool smile hiding the turmoil within. Nobody looking at me would guess that I’m a nervous wreck with a rapidly intensifying headache, or that all I want is to return home to my room and fall asleep after sneaking a few desperately needed puffs.
Speaking of which… I exit the women’s restroom and make my way across the hall to the men’s. As I hoped, Vova is skulking by the entrance there, looking all fancy in his tailored tux and not at all like the high-end weed dealer that he is.
“The usual?” he asks at my approach, and I nod, passing him a couple of bills from my tiny purse in exchange for a rolled-up, fully prepped joint.
“You sure you don’t want something stronger?” he asks as I’m about to turn away. “I’ve got a few special treats tonight.”
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, but my right temple feels like it’s getting drilled by an unlicensed dentist. “Like what?”
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?”