5. Elanee
5
ELANEE
O ne week ago…
He decorated me in fucking red. My least favorite color. Connor has tried to strike up a conversation with me twice since picking me up from my shitty apartment, but I’d ignored him. Now, I am forced to play the role of escort, and I hated every moment of it.
The event was exactly how I recalled the extravagant displays of wealth in high society and it wasn’t short of attendees. I couldn’t decide if it was better to have so many people here because it might make it easier to blend into the crowd, or if I had a higher chance of bumping into someone that I know. But with a dress so tight and a color so bold, I think that was Connor’s intention. He might as well be showing me off like a fucking disco ball. I’d only been standing in the red kitten heels for five minutes, and already my feet were in complaint. Years of ballet and injuries have led to instability at the best of times. Any heels make it so much worse. I want out.
Connor guides us through the room effortlessly, smiling and briefly introducing me as I hang off his elbow as instructed. Partly because I also need his support, and I’m certain the fucker has done this on purpose.
“Tell me, what did you miss most about America?” Connor asks as he grabs a flute of champagne for the both of us. I take it but make no move to drink it. I don’t like Connor or the tight leash he has over me, but until I can figure out how to get myself out of his clutches, I will refrain from being on his unfavorable side. “The food?” he asks.
What did I miss? So many things. But none I would share with him.
The beauty of Moscow quickly diminished two years into my living abroad, and I’d since found it very hard to enjoy or miss anything because I realized it was a weakness. I’d also given up on the hope that I might return to American soil.
In truth, what I missed most was my family.
But instead, I say, “The sports.”
An obvious lie.
He offers a slow-knowing smile. “Hmm,” he says thoughtfully as we now stand at the edge of the event. I notice the way he’s searching over the crowd for whom I’m not sure. “Perhaps I’ll take you to a game sometime then.” His hand slips down to my lower back.
“You shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking we can be anything friendlier,” I warn. And the scathing tone catches us both off guard. Sometimes, my obedient mask slips. He might be my keeper for now, but I was not his property.
He smirks and leans in. “Do you really think I can’t keep what happens between us a secret?” A chill runs down my spine, but I don’t show it.
“Do you truly think he won’t find out?” I reply. The truth of the matter is that Connor still takes orders. And I hope that it’s enough to deter him.
Connor doesn’t seem surprised by my response but smiles nonetheless as a woman waves him over. “You’re nothing but a washed-up dancer, anyway. I’m forced to attend this event just as you are, so the least you can do is be a bit interesting, or I’ll make your life hell.”
I swallow my pride because he’s right.
“Now, be a good girl and make adequate impressions while I’m gone,” he orders.
I can tell by the way he’s being eye-fucked by the brunette across the room that it’s a more than friendly time out they’ll be taking. Which means I’ll be waiting here for even longer.
I sigh, a moment of relief as he leaves, and I place my untouched drink down on a side table. I walk further into the party, looking for somewhere quiet so I can sit and rest my feet. They burn, and I need to massage my toes; it’s been a long time since I’d worn heels, and I have every intention of throwing them out the moment I returned to my shitty apartment.
I’m still unsure how Connor got himself involved and worked for such shady people, as he is a part of high society as much as the next in this room. But I suppose I was no different; I hadn’t made good choices myself.
I notice a waitress slip out of a room and close a door behind her in the back of the event. I walk to it, hoping it’s a smaller space, considering so many have ventured outside where it appears the after-party will most likely take place.
When I open the door, a sigh of relief escapes me. It’s clearly a room the catering staff use, considering spare chairs and tables are stacked inside alongside empty silver carts, most likely for clean up when the event ends. The room is dimly lit, most likely to deter anyone from walking in, but it’s everything I was hoping for right now.
I remove the closest top chair and sit on it, almost feeling pity for the room. It’s clearly a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves but is no more than a relic to the wealthy. I remove my shoes and wince at the sore muscles as I begin to rub my feet. Hideous. I absolutely hate my feet. Every time I look at them, I’m forced to relive the reality that my dream didn’t come to pass and that I was no better than a wounded animal who now struggles at best to walk in a straight line.
Light spills into the room as the door opens, and I’m quick to turn my back to them and slip my heels back on. “Sorry, I just needed a little time out,” I say to someone I’m assuming is one of the catering staff.
They don’t say anything, but the door shuts. Once I’m done putting my heels back on, I look over my shoulder. No one’s here. Maybe they left, or someone was looking for a bathroom?
“An interesting place to find you.”
I almost jump out of my chair and gasp at the voice as a shot of adrenaline spikes my heart rate. When I look over the other side of my shoulder, I notice a strong hand holding the edge of my chair. My gaze trails up the suit jacket, and a lump forms in my throat as piercing blue eyes stare back at me.
Eyes that I’ve drowned in many years before.
Dmitri Volkov.
Rage immediately fills my core, and I’m out of my seat before I know it. “You!” I seethe with a finger in his face.
“Me?” he says as if surprised by my accusing tone. “Weren’t you meant to be in Russia?”
“Was I not clear enough last time we spoke for you to stay the fuck away from me?” I growl out, surprised by the mixed emotions that arise—the hatred, the loathing, the something else there that I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Well, last time you threw a drink in my face. This time, you don’t have one, so I thought we were making progress.” He cocks an arrogant smile and his eyes drink me in. I hate the way that smug expression has tormented me all through our college years. The way he had control over me in ways that he never entirely knew. Or maybe he did, and that’s what was so damaging about this man.
“Perhaps next time it should be gasoline I throw on you instead,” I say defiantly, calming my pounding heartbeat and hardening my resolve.
His eyebrows perk up. “You’re already promising there will be another time? How forward of you.”
My jaw feels like it might split in pain with how tightly I grind it. This arrogant fucking prick has hardly changed. But he doesn’t look so much like a boy anymore. My stomach betrays me with warm flutters seeing him again, and I know I have to cut it off immediately.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Dmitri.”
“Who’s the pinprick dickhead that’s parading you?” he asks as he takes a step closer.
I back up into a set of chairs because it’s only instinctual to step away from a man who oozes with such power and intimidation. But then I’m reminded of another monster far worse than Dmitri. That hardens my resolve to deal with him.
“You can’t seriously be jealous?” I sneer. Because in the past Dmitri had always denied his irrational, jealous nature, telling me it was because I was his friend that he needed to protect me.
He was just being an asshole. Then and now.
“Just looking out for you, Cricket.” Dmitri winks with an arrogant smile.
“Don’t call me that,” I say as he steps into my space, and my back is almost pressed against the chairs.
“Stop avoiding the question,” he pushes. The next step I take back, my ankle awkwardly rolls in the heels, and I keel over, pushing a stack of chairs.
His strong hand grabs my elbow, catching me before I fall, but the pile of chairs crashes with a thunderous noise. My heart is pounding as millions of racing thoughts split my mind. What if Connor sees us together? What if they hurt him or anyone else I come back into contact with?
I rip my elbow free. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
His blue eyes narrow as I pull away from him yet again. A playboy like him probably isn’t used to women doing anything they can to avoid his touch.
“Does your sister know you’re in town?” he asks as he goes to reach out to touch my face, but I slap his hand away, the noise deafening as it echoes. His jaw tics and nostrils flare as he bunches his hand and places it back in his pocket.
“No. And it’s going to stay that way. Let me make one thing very clear, Dmitri. I still hate every fiber that you exist with. And if you so much as approach me again I’ll call the cops.”
His smile kicks up at the threat, not taking it seriously at all. I fucking hate how patronizing this asshole has always been. So, I go for the lowest blow I can possibly deliver.
“What could I possibly want with the son of a serial killer?” I look him up and down in disgust and I can tell I’ve hit his deepest wound. Rumors in college spread that he was a Bratva member’s son. The little I know about their non-existent relationship was that Dmitri hated his father with a vengeance, and even now he physically reacts to the mention of him. “My opinion of you hasn’t changed since college. You’re still an immature asshole who only thinks of himself and his dick. So go play nicely with yourself and leave me out of your games. And stay the fuck away from my family because anything you touch goes to shit.”
His jaw hardens as I shove him out of the way and go to take my leave. As I do, two waiters open the door, inspecting the noise they most likely heard. Because of the music playing at the event, hopefully, no one else noticed.
I don’t so much as look back over my shoulder but can feel Dmitri’s gaze on me as I leave.
He was the last person I wanted to know I was back in New York.I close my eyes as I slip through the door and back to the main event, praying that my scathing words targeting an already-infested wound will be enough to keep him away and not raise any suspicions.
He can hate me for all eternity.
Hell, I’m certain I still hate him.
It’s best this way—for both of us.