30. Anastasia
Chapter 30
Anastasia
“I think I’m in love with you.”
How can Bash blurt that out so easily? My pulse raced as I tried to decipher if he meant his words or was just playing around, and in the end, I decided it’s too risky to trust him.
I ignore the sharp twist behind my ribs and finish slipping on the dress he stashed for me. When Bash said he took care of everything, I thought that was just the breaking-and-entering portion.
I didn’t imagine it included the penthouse in the same hotel as tonight’s event. The room, if I can even call it that, is the size of a large apartment.
And then there’s the dress. A rich blood red that should clash with my hair but somehow turns it even more fiery. The fabric is thick and hangs smoothly down my frame. There’s a slit that runs up my left leg, revealing several inches too much of my near porcelain-white skin. Somehow, Bash has turned me into a femme fatale instead of the society princess.
I trace the thin strap at my collarbone and trail it down my side. The dress is a love letter to my body, molding every curve like it was carefully crafted for me, even though I know I didn’t sit for measurements.
My cheeks flush hot. It speaks of a very intimate knowledge.
I examine myself in the hotel bathroom mirror. My lips are a deep pink, swollen from earlier. There’s no chance they’re going down, so thank God lip filler is in right now. Bruises line the side of my neck, and I pull my hair over my shoulder in a Hail Mary attempt to hide the marks that bastard left. Next time, I’ll bite him where everyone can see, and we’ll see how he likes it.
I huff out a breath. Hell, he’d probably love that.
I’ve given up pretending I’m not interested in him. At least for the duration of whatever it is we have, I’m going to let myself enjoy it.
I just need to be careful that I don’t get confused and mix up his playful attentiveness with something more.
No doubt, countless women have broken their hearts over that man, and I refuse to be one of them.
Letting out a deep breath, I open the bathroom door, only to freeze. Bash is standing in the middle of the room, changed into a black tuxedo with a matching waistcoat.
His hair’s still ruffled from my fingers, as though he didn’t bother to try to tame it.
He’s watching me with hungry eyes, taking in every inch of my body in the gown he picked out.
“You are stunning.” He practically breathes the words, like he doesn’t know he’s saying them out loud. His devious smile is missing as he takes me in, replaced with something deeper.
I swallow hard, my throat thick as his gaze lands heavy on me. Memories of his touch as he fucked me in that closet have tingles running down my spine.
I cough. “You look good too.”
And he does look good. Dashing doesn’t begin to describe him. He looks like he was born to wear the suit, his wide chest stretching the jacket across his shoulders. He could be in some kind of billionaire top hotties magazine.
I’m undecided whether I should be happy that he’s my date or pissed that I don’t get to keep him.
The reminder that this could be all pretend is like being doused with ice-cold water, and I clear my throat.
“I’m not really feeling well. I think I’m going to head home,” I lie blatantly, but I can’t tell him that I need space to get myself in check. What am I supposed to say—hey, you’re too hot in that outfit, I have to go before I fall in love with you?
Bash chuckles like he can read my every thought. “Nuh-uh-uh, Princess.”
He pulls a long, rectangular velvet box from his jacket pocket and opens it. A necklace dripping with emeralds hangs from his fingers. “I went with you to get the code. I fulfilled my part of the bargain. Now it’s your turn to go downstairs with me and be my date.”
“I just don’t…”
He steps behind me and brings the necklace around my throat. “Lift your hair, Stasia.”
I’m helpless to deny him and grasp the loose strands in my hands, raising them. My now bare neck feels cool as I stand frozen in anticipation. Tension grows in the long pause, and I want to twist and read his expression, but something is holding me in place. A sense of anticipation I don’t dare examine.
His knuckles brushing along the top of my shoulder is the only warning I get. Soon, one end of the jewel-encrusted necklace is sliding down my chest. The metal is cold, sending goose bumps over my sensitive skin.
I have to clench my teeth to hold back my moan as it disappears beneath the low neckline of my dress. The metal is both rough and smooth against my skin. Bash takes his time retrieving it, intentionally dragging it along until my nerve endings feel like they’ve been torn awake.
He closes the clasp, and I fight for my composure as I turn toward him, determined to hide exactly how my body is reacting.
He’s staring down at me with one brow raised and his bottom lip caught between his teeth in a look that can only be called mischievous.
Lust turns to rage in my veins, and I poke my finger hard into his chest, earning a grunt. “Do not laugh at me, Sebastian Everette.”
He’s trying hard to hold back his smirk, but he can’t hide his dimple. “Never dream of it, Princess.”
I use the elevator ride to get a hold of myself. Tonight’s just another part in a play. One where I pretend to be the dashing youngest Everette brother’s date.
I’ve been set up plenty of times before. It’s the norm in our society, everyone trying to figure out the next best match. This isn’t anything different than that.
Except it is different.
I just need to keep my head together. I have one goal: get the tiara and use it to work with my grandmother. She’s a harsh woman, but I believed her when she said she’d help us. I don’t particularly want to be indebted to the Russian Bratva, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Bash’s fingers on my elbow pull me from my thoughts. He’s scanning me as if trying to read my every thought.
I lift my brows in challenge. “Can I help you?”
“Are you getting off?” He gestures to the now open door and the group of hotel guests waiting to get on.
I tuck my chin and scurry out of there, apologizing on my way. Bash is close on my heels as I travel the familiar hall toward the ballroom.
My shoes click against the tile floor with each step I take. Freaking embarrassing.
Bash’s grip tightens on my arm. “Woah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you back there.”
“Well, you didn’t,” I huff, fully aware that I’m overreacting, and what I’m really responding to has nothing to do with that elevator.
Bash cants his head to the side. “Good.” He leans in closer and straightens my hair, his thumb grazing my neck. “I never want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I’m looking anywhere but at him. The sincerity in his voice, like he’s pleading with me to believe him, has my stomach doing loops.
I shake off his hold and step back. “It’s fine. I’m just a little nervous about tonight. Not every day I get to pretend to be one of the Everette brothers’ dates.”
His eyes narrow on me, and there’s a tick to his jaw, but he doesn’t fill me in on which part of what I said bothered him.
As expected, the gala is spectacular. The ballroom is adorned with sparkling fairy lights and lanterns, creating a dreamy atmosphere. Soft colors of blues, greens, and purples dominate the ceiling, representing the starry night sky. The guests themselves are like living works of art, their elegant attire reflecting their wealth and status.
The sweet scent of jasmine and other floral arrangements fills the room, adding to the enchanting atmosphere. Mixed with hints of expensive perfumes and colognes, it creates a heady fragrance that lingers in the air.
All eyes turn to us as we enter, a silence falling over the space as the guests take in Bash, Lord of the Order of Saints, entering with me. He makes a display of our closeness by wrapping his arm around my back and curling his fingers over my waist, tugging me closer. His palm is warm, soaking through the silk fabric of my dress, and his thumb drawing tiny circles helps calm my racing heart. I’ve been coming to these events my entire life, but no matter how much I told myself I was ready, nothing could have prepared me for the weight of everyone’s judgment.
Bash gently guides me deeper into the room until we’re surrounded by groups of people, none of them approaching us. He looks straight ahead as if headed to a specific location. The whispers start soft at first but quickly gain traction. What’s she doing with him? Didn’t her family lose everything? Don’t worry, she won’t last long.
It wouldn’t have bothered me if they weren’t right. My family is broke. I have no business with a Lord. Our relationship is fake, and it was doomed from the beginning. Bash doesn’t let me fall behind him, instead keeping me a step ahead as he maneuvers us easily between two columns. Even though it’s still open in the ballroom, it feels separate, as if he’s found a hidden corner amongst the sea of people. They still watch us, but at least I don’t have to rub elbows with them.
Bash leans in close and drops his forehead to my shoulder. “I fucking hate it here.”
Goosebumps rise as his hot breath fans over me. I tap my elbow into him and shove him off. “Come on. You’re the prince of the ball. You’d think you’d love it here.”
“If I’m the prince, then you’re the princess.”
I huff out a breath. “No matter how many times you call me that, it doesn’t make it true. Maybe when I was little.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You have this entire place in a tizzy, staring at you in that dress.”
“More like judging me for my audacity,” I grumble under my breath. No use complaining to him. He needs me to be his fake girlfriend, and that’s easy enough.
“Are you good here while I grab us some drinks? This spot’s great, but the waitstaff doesn’t come here.” By the tone in his voice, it’s a genuine question. If I asked him to stay, he wouldn’t leave my side. A part of me really wants him not to leave. He’s like a solid wall between me and everyone else. No one dared to look directly at us in case they catch his eye.
It’s hard to believe this notorious playboy holds so much respect, but it’s clear from the other men in the room that he’s above them. Which, I guess, is to be expected since he’s a Lord and they’re just Saints.
I snap myself out of it. I’m more than capable of standing my ground. I don’t need his protection, no matter how tempting it is. I’ve been telling myself I can take care of myself, so I’m not sure why I keep leaning on him so much. He just makes it so easy. But that’s enough of that.
“I’m good. Go run along.” My hands make the shooing gesture, and he just laughs.
“As you wish, Princess.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“You like it.”
“Never.”
“We’ll see.”
This man is absolutely impossible to deal with. He’s smart enough to flee before I can hit him. My skin prickles as eyes fall on me, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, I look blankly over the crowd, plastering on a bored face. It’s not hard—this place sucks. The fact that I can’t take out my phone is killing me. I could really use some mindless scrolling right now.
“Miss Volkov.” A shudder rolls through me at the familiar thick Boston accent.
I spin around, and my gut hollows as I’m met with the Salvatore man who came to my house the other night. My eyes dash around the room. There are still a few people glancing our way.
Which is why I take the hand he holds out to me, even as a shudder crawls down my spine at the feel of his lips on my knuckles. He lingers a moment too long, and I snap my hand back.
“What are you doing here? How are you here?” I hiss under my breath. It would be very bad for anyone to recognize him. It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together that our family is somehow involved with the Salvatores.
“I have my ways.” He rolls back on his heels. “I told you I’d be checking in. We haven’t heard from you in a while. You wouldn’t be planning anything stupid, would you?”
“Listen, you can’t be here. I’m with someone. I said I’d get the money, and I will.”
He smirks. “Sebastian Everette, right? I saw you come in. Why don’t you introduce us after a dance.”
Shit. I shake my head, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist, his fingers tightening. I wince as the sensation of the small bones grinding together, and a quiet whimper escapes my lips.
“You’re hurting me.” Tears prickle the corner of my eyes as I try to pull away, and he refuses to let go. He knows I won’t draw a scene. In a place like this, we keep our problems secret, showing the world only our perfection, or they’ll act like wolves ready to pounce.
“That’s the point, sweetheart. Now, tell me why I can find you and not your brother?” He tugs on my wrist, causing me to stumble forward. “He didn’t abandon you, did he?”
If I struggle anymore, I’m about to draw everyone’s attention.
“Let her go.” It’s a low growl of warning. Relief floods me as Bash approaches us.
Bash’s attention is on where the man still holds my wrist. He clenches his jaw, making a muscle tick in his cheek. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
His words are a dark promise, and shivers roll through me for an entirely new reason. I should be afraid of him, but let’s be real—he’s totally hot.
I’m too relieved to worry what Bash will think about me speaking with one of the Salvatore men. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to recognize him anyway.
The man’s frozen in place, like prey in front of a predator. Bash peels his fingers off me, and the guy whimpers in his grip.
“Fucking bastard. This has nothing to do with you,” the guy hisses.
Bash’s smile is wicked, daring, like he’d enjoy nothing more than to fight. “I’d watch what you say if I were you.”
Blood is flushing into the man’s face, turning him a ruddy red. Large veins stick out in his forehead when he says, “This is between me and her. She owes me?—”
“Wrong answer.” There’s a dark flame behind Bash’s eyes, a hint of the man he hides beneath his mask of indifference.
The Salvatore man’s eyes go round as if just realizing the position he’s in. He attempts to pull away, but it’s too late. I cringe at the sound of bone cracking and push down the sour taste in the back of my throat.
He whimpers as he clutches his hand to his heaving chest. He looks small and vulnerable, but it only lasts a second before he’s whipping back to Bash, grabbing his collar.
“Now, this is fun.” Bash’s smile grows wide, sharing the glint of sharp teeth. He’s menacing, all sharp angles and wildness.
There’s a thrill skittering under my ribs and low in my stomach as his expression darkens. His confidence makes a mockery of cockiness. There isn’t a hint of fear, just the dare for the man to test him.
At the worst time ever, heat floods between my thighs, and I press them together. There’s no way I’m letting Bash know this is actually turning me on.
Still held up by his collar, the bastard winks at me. “You look like you want me, Princess.”
I scoff. “You wish.”
Bash runs his tongue along his teeth. “Of course I do.”
“Are you really flirting right now!” If possible, the man’s face grows even more tense as he grits through his teeth, shaking Bash as much as he can with one hand, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Bash’s brows raise in amusement, and a dimple appears on his cheek. “Promises. Promises. That’s what they all say.”
The man goes to take a swing, clearly forgetting that his hand is broken. Bash doesn’t attempt to move, looking as casual as ever.
He might be fine with being punched in the face, but I’m not okay with it. I hurdle my body to slam into the man’s, but I’m stopped at the last second.
Damon is holding me steady as Matthias grips the guy’s arm, hauling it behind his back. From the way the guy’s face contorts, it hurts like hell.
“You wouldn’t be picking on my youngest brother, would you?” Damon asks. His voice is cold, any hint of the warmth I’d seen the other night completely absent. This is the leader of the Order Of Saints.
As if sensing his situation, the man switches to apologizing, but Matthias wrenches his arm harder. “Too late.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please…I’m begging you.” The man turns pleading eyes on me, but Matthias grips his broken hand. A gurgled sound of pain rips from him.
Matthias leans in closer. “You should have thought of that earlier.”
I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Matthias nods at me as he makes his way out the door, and Damon speaks quietly to Bash. I can’t make out a word they say, but by the spark of excitement in the youngest Everette brother’s eyes, it’s not going to be a pleasant night for the man.
“Anastasia, I hate that this is how we’re seeing each other again. Bash here should have taken better care of you.” Damon’s voice is warm and welcoming. The realization that this is the person he is only in front of his family startles me.
Somehow, I’ve made it into their small circle. A sickening guilt curls in my gut. These aren’t men who trust easily, and I’ve been lying to them all. I give him a weak smile. “He’d have to stop picking fights if he wanted to do that.”
Damon raises a brow at Bash, who’s somehow made himself look innocent.
“Don’t look at me. That asshole had his hands on Anastasia.” There’s a chill in the air. “My only regret is he still has that hand.”
“I’ll see you later.” Damon nods as if saying you were going to dismember someone was completely normal.
I’m still standing dumbfounded as Damon disappears around the corner, following his brother. At some point, we will have to tell them the truth, and I can only hope they don’t hate me for it.
Warm arms wrap around my middle from behind, and the heat from Bash’s chest seeps into my spine.
His mouth is close to my ear when he says, “If you don’t like lying, I’m more than happy to make it the truth.”
I twist to face him, and he gives me a lopsided smirk.
He’s playing a game that I can’t afford to lose.
I lift onto my toes and close the distance between our mouths. He stiffens for less than a second before he’s taking the kiss deeper.
The crowd of people staring disappears from my mind as his tongue twists with mine, and his hand grips my hip and presses me firmly against him. I gasp when the hard ridge of his cock lines up with my core, driving pleasure through me. I’m lost to needing more and chase after Bash’s kiss when he pulls away with a chuckle.
“You can shut me up like this anytime.”