5. Evelyn
5
EVELYN
A n hour later, I’m sitting on the edge of my bathtub, my head spinning. In the crack of light through the half-open door, I see Buttons’ snout poking up against it, his soulful brown eyes watching me. The first thing I did when I walked into my apartment was sink onto the floor and cry, and for probably twenty minutes, he just laid in my lap while I sobbed.
Now I need a shower, and to think, but I haven’t been able to get far enough to do either.
What am I going to do?
Dimitri gave me a ride back to my apartment, although I insisted he drop me off two streets away, since I’m not comfortable with him knowing where I live yet. He’d tried to argue, saying that it was ridiculous, since he’d offered me marriage only a half hour before.
I told him that I hadn’t said yes yet, and slammed the door shut in his face.
It wasn’t the most polite way to handle it, considering his offer. But in that moment, overwhelmed with grief and confusion, I didn’t really care.
Now, I’m wondering if I should actually consider what he suggested.
“It’s insane,” I whisper, and Buttons noses the door open, squirming across the tile until his nose is pushed up against my ankle. I reach down, scratching between his fluffy white ears, and let out a sigh, twisting around to start the shower. The sooner I can get clean, the better I’ll be able to sort through this.
Maybe.
It feels like my entire world has been upended and scrambled in the space of just a few short hours. It’s not just the loss of my shop, which would be devastating enough all on its own, but it’s all the rest of it, too. It’s the realization that I’ve been caught in the middle of a gang war that has nothing to do with me, between organizations that I didn’t even know existed until today. It’s the offer of marriage from a man I don’t even know. The possibility that if I said yes, I could have everything I lost back, and more.
And on top of that, the fact that he clearly remembered me. He thought about me, over the last year. A man like that, who looks like that, with the money and influence he has—I can’t lie and say it isn’t flattering. But it’s also alarming.
I push myself off of the edge of the shower, stripping out of my party clothes and letting them fall to the floor. I’ll have to get them dry-cleaned, and even then, I wonder if the smell of char will ever completely get out of the leather and wool. I wonder if I’ll even ever want to wear them again, or if that outfit that I was so excited for will always remind me of the night that my entire world fell apart.
I tip my head back under the hot water, wanting it to soothe me, but it does unfortunately little to quiet my racing thoughts. The last few hours have felt like days, and I’m so utterly exhausted that halfway through scrubbing the soot and smell off of my skin, my knees feel like they give way and I sink onto the shower floor, tears running down my cheeks again as the water rolls down my back. Next to the shower curtain, I hear Buttons let out a long, mournful sigh—and then he barks, jumping up, nails clicking on the wood floor as I hear the sound of the front door opening.
“Evie?” Dahlia’s voice rings through the apartment, a little wobbly, which doesn’t surprise me. She’s got to be more than a little tipsy, by this point in the night. The party was still going on when I left?—
The party. I realize she shouldn’t even be here. I’d left, telling her there was an emergency at the shop, without being clear about what was going on. I hadn’t wanted to scare her, or make her feel like she needed to leave her own party—the same reason why I hadn’t texted or called her yet to tell her what happened. I’d planned to tell her in the morning.
I twist around, shutting off the water abruptly as I scramble out of the shower, still dripping wet. I grab a towel, wrapping it around myself as I yank the door open and scurry out, coming face to face with Dahlia standing in my tiny kitchen as I drip puddles all over the floor.
She’s still in her sparkly party dress, her hair in perfect old Hollywood waves, her lipstick not even smudged. She’s holding a paper bag in her arms, and she gives me a long, assessing look.
“You didn’t text me,” she says accusingly. “Your shop burned down, and you didn’t call? Evie?—”
“I didn’t want to ruin your party.” I shake my head, confused. “How did you find out? How are you here? I?—”
“Fuck the party,” Dahlia says emphatically.
“Dolly—” My old nickname for her in college slips out, and she smiles.
“Seriously, Evie. Fuck the party. Why would I care about that when something horrible has happened to my best friend?” She puts the paper bag down on the counter, and I hear the hard thunk of glass bottles inside. “I brought liquor. Vodka, gin, and bourbon. Pick your poison.”
“How are you here?” I repeat, utterly confused. “Did you look at the location tracking, or—” We’ve always had location sharing on each other’s phones, for the sole purpose of making sure that the other is safe on a date. But I never go on dates, and I was pretty sure that Dahlia had forgotten we ever activated that.
“I got a call.” She flips on the kitchen light, bathing the room in a fluorescent glow. “I answered it because you left so abruptly, and I thought maybe it was the cops or something. You said one called you about an emergency. But it was some guy with a Russian accent. I almost hung up on him, but he said he’d just dropped you off near your apartment. And he thought I should go check on you.”
I stare at Dahlia, feeling as if my eyes are going to pop out of my head. “Dimitri called you?”
“Is that his name? Did you get a boyfriend and not tell me?” Her forehead wrinkles as she narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve literally never been angry at you, Evie, but if you’re keeping your love life from me?—”
“I’m not.” I shake my head rapidly. “He’s that guy I met at the party last year. The one I almost fell into. He—” I take a deep breath, feeling a headache coming on as I explain to Dahlia what Dimitri told me. “I guess you were right about the Bratva being a real thing. And he’s the son of the guy in charge, or so he says.”
“Since he found out who your best friend was and got my number—or I assume, had one of his guys on it and got that information from him—in that short a time, I’d believe him.” Dahlia yanks the bottle of bourbon open, pouring a slug into two mugs that she grabs out of my cupboard, and hands me one. “Drink this.”
One hand still holding my towel up, I obey mutely. It’s good bourbon, but it still burns all the way down, and I cough, handing the mug back to Dahlia.
“Do you want gin next, or do you want?—”
“Just a second—” I cough again, holding up a finger. “Slow down. I need a minute to process all of this. I’m still stuck on the part where Dimitri found out who you were and called you.”
“It’s a little sweet, if you think about it.” Dahlia uncaps a ginger beer, topping off her bourbon with it and leaning her elbows on the counter as she takes a sip. “And also stalker-y. But I don’t think men like that think about those things. They just have the resources, so they use them. But he clearly went to some effort for you. He sounded—worried.” She cocks her head slightly. “Thus why I thought you were keeping something from me about your love life.”
I shake my head. “No. But—he did make me an offer.”
“I would hope so, since this was clearly his fault.” Dahlia sniffs. “You’re caught in the middle of all of this. He should make it right.”
“He wants me to marry him.”
Now it’s Dahlia’s turn to cough. “What?” she splutters, setting down her mug. “ Marry him?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Actually, I think I will take another drink.”
“I’ll make you one of these.” She points to her glass. “And while I do, go dry off and get dressed. You’re making a puddle all over your floor.”
The direction helps. I nod, finding it much easier in this particular moment to follow what she’s telling me to do rather than figure it out on my own. I head back down what could barely be called a hall into my closet-sized bedroom—my apartment is technically a studio, but has a couple of walls up to put some definition in the space—and dry off roughly before grabbing a pair of leggings and a loose tunic-style wool sweater. Normally I put in effort to put together outfits even at home—fashion is a comfort to me, and always has been—but right now I’m too exhausted to care. The dark brown sweater is ratty, but it’s one of my favorites, and I sink into it, tugging the sleeves over my hands as I go back out to where Dahlia is waiting.
“He asked you to marry him,” she repeats, leading me over to my small sofa next to the window that overlooks the fire escape and the city outside. “Why on earth? No offense, Evie,” she adds with a small laugh. “But it’s a strange thing for him to offer, in his position.”
“He said he’s stuck in an engagement he doesn’t want. I guess this gets him out of it. And in exchange, he said he’ll pay for everything that needs to be fixed in the shop. Not just that, either.” I hesitate, taking a sip of my drink. “He said he’ll do whatever I want to it. No expense spared. I can do anything.”
Dahlia lets out a slow, heavy breath, and I know she’s thinking the same thing that I am. “If you said no, what happens to the shop?” she asks quietly. “Your insurance?—”
“It won’t be enough.” I swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry again. “It might make up for some of my losses. Clients I’ll have to refund, what I still owe on the building—but I won’t be able to fix it up. It took a huge loan and all the savings I had to even get started. I was lucky that I did well enough to keep going.” My heart aches as I keep speaking. “I’m not going to get that lucky a second time.”
Dahlia bites her lip, swirling her drink in its glass. “What about your parents? Would they be able to help?”
I shake my head. “They don’t have that kind of money. And even if they did—they weren’t very supportive of it to start. The best they could do is cosign another loan, and I know they’re not going to do that. Especially when I might still owe some on the original even with the insurance payout. They’ll tell me to ‘get a real job’. They never thought this was going to be sustainable long term.” I take a sip, relishing the burn of the bourbon this time. “I hate that they’re going to be proven right.”
Dahlia’s teeth sink deeper into her lower lip. “I’d give you the money if I could. My parents give me a little of my trust fund at a time. I could help with some smaller things, but nothing on the scale of what you’re going to need. And they’d pay for anything for me, but they aren’t going to unlock the vault for anyone else. I could ask, though—” She frowns, considering. “I could lie and say I need something big.”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “I don’t want you to lie for me. I’ll figure something out.” But even as I say it, I have no idea what that something might be. Unless it’s taking Dimitri up on his offer.
“What happens if you marry him?” Dahlia asks, as if echoing my thoughts, and I shrug, looking dejectedly into my glass.
“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far. I was—pretty dismissive of the whole idea.”
“It’s a crazy idea.”
“Right? I can’t marry a man I don’t know. Even if it’s just temporary.”
Dahlia lets out a sigh, finishing off her drink. “What if you did, though?”
I stare at her. “Seriously?”
“If you don’t have any other options, and it’s temporary—” her mouth twists. “Maybe it isn’t the worst idea. You could set some rules. Tell him how you want things to go. And then you get your shop back, he gets what he wants, and you can walk away in the end.”
“You’re serious.” I swallow hard. “You don’t think this is a terrible idea?”
“Of course it is.” She looks at me sympathetically. “But it also might be the best one you have.”
She isn’t wrong, and the knowledge makes my stomach drop.
I don’t know Dimitri. I can’t possibly trust him. But Dahlia is right about one thing.
I can set the terms of my agreement. And if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to say yes. He said he needed my help, too—so we’ll see just how accurate that is.
“I’ll stay over tonight,” Dahlia says, scratching Buttons between his ears as he comes over and nestles between us both. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“You don’t have to.” I lean back against the sofa, taking another sip of my drink. “I already feel bad that you felt like you had to leave your party for me.”
She shakes her head. “Seriously. I meant it when I said fuck the party. Anyway, this means I don’t have to clean up until the morning.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Okay. You’re the best, you know that?”
Dahlia nods. “I sure do.”
“I’m going to sleep on it,” I tell her. “And in the morning I’ll decide what to do.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” She yawns. “Speaking of sleep?—”
We finish our drinks, curling up in my bed that takes up most of the space in the tiny bedroom, Buttons at our feet. I look at my phone, wondering if this will all feel better in the morning. More manageable, at least. If some kind of answer will come to me while I’m sleeping.
But it doesn’t. In the morning, after Dahlia brings me French toast bagels with strawberry cream cheese from my favorite shop down the road, and I’m dressed and facing the day, I still don’t see any better solution. A call to my insurance company, discussing the report, doesn’t help either. And I’m left on my couch, sitting next to Buttons, looking at where Dimtri put his contact information into my phone.
I text him. It feels more controllable that way, more in my hands. Talking to him on the phone feels like it will be easier for him to charm me, get under my skin. And that’s the last thing I want or need right now.
Evelyn: I want to discuss your offer. Drinks at the Copper Pot? It’s a bar in this neighborhood.
There’s no response at first, and I wonder if the offer was a ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ kind of deal. But on the other hand, he went to the effort to track down and tell Dahlia what was happening. Which, while slightly creepy, makes me think he has more invested in this working out than he might want me to think.
Dimitri: Tonight?
I bite my lip. I’m tempted to put it off. To give myself more time to find some other solution. But the truth is that I already know there isn’t any other solution. I exhausted all of those options when I opened Pearls & Lace originally. They were difficult enough to access then, and I know they won’t be there for me now.
Evelyn: How does eight sound?
Dimitri: Like I’ll be there. Want me to pick you up?
Evelyn: No thanks. I’ll meet you there.
Dimitri: Independent. I like it.
I frown, staring at the last text. Does he really? I find it hard to believe that a man who is part of an organized crime family really likes the idea of having a fiercely independent woman as his wife. I don’t know anything about those kinds of families other than what I’ve seen in pop culture, but my impression isn’t very good. I don’t know that I trust what he’s saying.
Am I really going to do this? Marrying him is insane. It’s an idea that I can’t believe I’m really considering. But it’s also incredibly tempting. To not only have the losses I’ve suffered covered and the damage to my shop repaired, but also be able to remake it in any way I want?—
It might be worth the risk I’m taking. It feels too good to be true, but what if it isn’t? What if he just really sees me as a solution to his problem, the same way he can be for me?
My stomach is fizzing with nerves as I get ready to go. I go through five different outfits, wanting to look nice while at the same time not wanting to make Dimitri think that I’m trying to impress him. One outfit seems too slouchy, another too sexy, until there’s a pile of clothes on my bed and my hair is frizzing from how many times I’ve run my hands through it. I stare at the last outfit I pulled out—a pair of dark blue jeans with flowers and tiny mushrooms embroidered on the pocket and a silky rust-colored blouse with long, billowy sleeves, and decide to simply go with that. It’s a little cottagecore for the bar I’m going to, but I5’ve run out of energy to keep going through outfits—which just tells me how thoroughly exhausted with all of this I am. Trying on clothes is usually one of my favorite hobbies.
Forty-five minutes and a taxi ride later, I get out in front of the Copper Pot, my boots sinking into the snow. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and cheery, the bar strung with garlands and lights, each table lit with candles. I look around when I walk in, searching for Dimitri, and I see him sitting at a small round table in one corner, wearing dark grey chinos and a forest green shawl-collared sweater. His dark blond hair is swept back, styled much like the first time I met him, and I’m startled all over again by the bright blue of his eyes. He’s unfairly handsome, possibly the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and it’s only enhanced by the bit of stubble on his jaw and his accent.
And the tattoos . Both of the times we’ve previously met, I was too distracted to notice his tattoos. But now, as I see him stand up from the table, I notice the black ink that swirls over the backs of his hands, hints of it just under the collar of his shirt. It only adds to how sexy he is, and I feel a sudden deep apprehension about this plan for an entirely new reason.
There are sparks between us that I can’t deny. I felt them that first night, and I feel them now, as Dimitri slides the other chair away from the table and I step close enough to smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. And I’m thinking about marrying this man? Putting myself in close, constant proximity to him is asking for a temptation that will be horribly hard to resist.
“I’m glad you decided to consider my offer.” Dimitri smiles at me, sinking back down into his chair. “I know it’s a strange proposal, but?—”
“It is.” I bite my lip as the server comes over, ordering a glass of pinot noir. Dimitri asks for vodka with lime, top shelf, and then looks back at me.
“I meant it when I said I’ve thought about you ever since that party at the Met last year.” His blue eyes find mine, as intense as ever, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“And I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to see you again.” I take a deep breath, stiffening both my spine and my resolve. “If we’re going to enter into this—arrangement, Dimitri, then I have terms.”
He gives me a wary look. “Alright. I’m listening.”
“This marriage is temporary. Once your father has passed and my shop is rebuilt, you’ll give me a divorce. I know you said that’s what you would do, but I want to say it again. Out loud.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “And I want it in writing. Along with the rest of what I have to say.”
There’s a spark of something in Dimitri’s eyes, an interest that tells me he isn’t often challenged. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he liked my independence. He doesn’t say anything, and I continue.
“I have full say in the restoration of my shop. All of the design choices, materials, everything is my decision. Full stop.”
“Agreed,” Dimitri says, without hesitation. “I have no issue with that.”
“I keep my apartment. I assume we have to live together, so that it’s believable. So you’ll make sure that I can go home when this is finished.”
He nods. “Of course.” A small smile twitches the corners of his mouth. “Is there anything else?”
I take a deep, slow breath, feeling a shiver of nervousness run over my skin. “There won’t be any physical aspect to our marriage. You won’t expect a wedding night, or any other night.”
There’s something heated in Dimitri’s gaze as he looks at me, his eyes sweeping over my face in a way that makes my cheeks heat. I can tell in an instant exactly what he thinks of that proposition, and a flood of butterflies rush up through my stomach.
I don't think I’ve ever had a man look at me like that before. Like the only thing in the world that he wants is me, and he’s just been told he can’t have it. It’s enough to make my already shaky resolve waver, but I reach for my wine glass, taking a long sip before I can say anything else.
“A marriage requires consummation to be valid,” Dimitri says slowly. “If I’m to understand what you’re saying. The wedding night is?—”
“Not necessary.” My voice sounds slightly strangled. “You can say whatever you want about our wedding night, but what won’t happen is anything between us. At all. Not for the entirety of our marriage. I mean it.”
His mouth twitches, and I immediately regret those last three words. It very much sounds like a case of my protesting too much, but Dimitri just leans back, taking a sip of his drink as he looks at me. I think I see disappointment in his gaze, but he’s clearly trying to pretend that he doesn’t care one way or another.
“Do you want that in writing, too?” he asks, that amusement on his mouth again, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Yes.”
“I’ll have my lawyer draw it up. Is that all your requests, l’vitsa ?”
Don’t call me pet names. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back as soon as I see the flicker of mischief in his eyes. He’s baiting me, I realize, tempting me to admit that the pet name bothers me. That it does something to me.
“No,” I say coolly, and I see that flicker of disappointment again. “Those were my terms.”
“Good.” Dimitri takes another sip, sitting up straighter. “Then I have one condition of my own.”
I tense instantly. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m instantly on guard, and I know he can see it. He chuckles, clearly enjoying my discomfiture. “What’s that?”
“I want to spend some time with you before the wedding. We should get to know each other better. I need to take care of some incidental details tomorrow, but the night after—I’ll take you to dinner?”
My immediate response is to say that I’m busy, but I remember, with a drop in my stomach, that I’m actually not. Other than contacting my clients and letting them know about the situation, and starting to deal with any refunds that will be needed—I don’t actually have anything to do. For the first time in years, my schedule is empty, and it doesn’t feel as good to have the time off as I would have thought.
“If it’s a marriage of convenience, then we don’t need to know each other well.” I settle for that, instead, hoping that it’s convincing enough. “There’s no need to ‘date’ each other. This is a business arrangement.”
“I like to know my business partners,” Dimitri says smoothly, his smile quirking up on one side.
“Do you take them all out to dinner?”
“Sometimes, yes. The company will be much better this time.”
“How do you know that?” I frown at him. “You don’t even know me. This is the third time we’ve met.”
“You’re only making my point.” He grins at me, and I struggle not to toss what remains of my wine at him.
“You’re insufferable.”
Dimitri shrugs. “You did tell me when we first met that you had poor judgement when it came to men.”
“Oh, my—” I grit my teeth. “Fine. Dinner night after next. We can go to L’Riche.”
Dimitri chuckles. “You have good taste. I haven’t actually been there yet—I hear it’s good. One of the top new restaurants that’s just opened. I might not even be able to get us a reservation.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the heir to the Bratva?”
“ A Bratva family, yes.” Dimitri smirks. “You have a lot to learn about how all of that works. I’ll explain over dinner.”
“I’ll bring a notebook.”
We look at each other over the table, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest all over again. I’m really doing this , I realize, a mixture of dread and anticipatory adrenaline flooding me, like what I imagine bungee-jumping off of a bridge must feel like. Like it might be thrilling, or I might be leaping to my death.
I clear my throat, draining the last gulp of my wine before standing up. Dimitri stands as well, and he’s suddenly in my space, that scent of juniper clouding my senses.
“In writing,” I croak. “I mean it.”
He looks down at me, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll call my lawyers tomorrow.”
I nod, suddenly speechless. And then, before I can do something stupid like let this man kiss me, I pivot on my heel and all but flee the Copper Pot, out into the freshly fallen snow.