Chapter 35
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
ALYONA
I tilt my head, studying my reflection in the mirror.
I look like I just stepped off the cover of Vogue, draped in a Givenchy gown of sapphire silk, my dark hair is tamed into soft waves cascading down my back.
Not that I’m complaining, it’s just surreal being all dressed up for a ball in my honor when I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out one by one.
Kira joins me in the mirror’s reflection, her honey-colored hair is pinned up with delicate silver hairpins. Like me, she’s immaculately styled, wearing a ruby red off-the-shoulder couture gown that Belov somehow scared up in twenty-four hours.
And in the same amount of time, he’s managed to pull together a ball or whatever we’re calling my introduction to high society. Power players and Belov’s political cronies from all over the world are flying in as we speak to take part in tonight’s festivities.
It’s all too much. My head is already spinning, and I swear a migraine has been thumping my skull all day. Sensing my inward spiral, Kira delivers a glass of champagne into my hand.
“For your nerves,” she says, before settling onto an ottoman.
“This is nuts,” she adds, tipping her head toward the window.
“With all this fuss he’s making, you’d think the Queen of England herself was getting married.
” She's right. There’s a glittering fountain at the front of the palace, lit up with spotlights as if it were an old-school movie premiere.
A slew of guests continue to arrive by luxury car and helicopter.
“It would be a dream come true for some women," I murmur. "Just not this one."
Kira sets her drink down on the dressing table and sighs. “I worry about you.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ve accepted it, really,” I lie, my stomach twisting in a knot.
In truth, I’ve accepted nothing. I’ve barely slept since my meeting with Belov, the father I never wanted.
But I’m putting on a brave face for Kira because as soon as I’ve settled into Belov’s life, I'll petition him to let her go.
And I don't want her thinking she's leaving me here miserable.
“You’re one of the toughest chicks I know. You take no shit from anyone, but for some reason, you’re not fighting back. Negotiate with him. Don’t let him take all of your power, even if he thinks he’s god.”
“What choice do I have?” I voice sharply. “What choice did he give me!?”
Kira responds with a sigh, her fingers pressing against the bridge of her nose.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’ll regret it if I don’t.
” She hesitates, her eyes softening. “Are you sure you’re not agreeing to Belov’s terms because you’re scared of what will happen if you actually fight for Leo? If you give him a chance, for real.”
My first instinct is to flat out deny it, but the words stick in my throat. Kira knows me better than most, and she’s sure to see through my lies.
“I don’t know.” I lower onto the edge of the bed and bury my head in my hands.
All the emotions I’ve kept at bay for the last few days comes rushing at me like a dam unleashed.
I reach for a tissue and dab at my eyes.
“When we were on that yacht together something shifted. It’s like …
like every single feeling I’d buried came back, but this time more intense, all-consuming.
I’m mad at him, but I’m also so in love with him it hurts. ”
Even now, Leo is the first thing I think about when I wake up, and my last thought before I go to sleep. He’s consumed me, broken me in ways I can’t even fathom yet, but I still ache for him. Leo might forever have my heart, but the world has conspired against us.
Kira pulls me in for a fierce hug, her arms wrapped around me like a protective shield.
When she pulls back, her gaze is gentle.
“Why don’t you try reasoning with Belov.
Talk to him. I get it, he’s not just going to let you go, but maybe you can work something out.
Some middle ground where you get to maintain some control over your life. ”
“Maybe,” I say, but I’m doubtful. Why would Belov agree to any of my terms? He may be my flesh and blood, but he’s shown me no mercy, no kindness. And he’s clear about the role he wants me to take in his world.
A knock at the door to the room startles both of us. It must be one of the millions of staff members ready to escort us downstairs.
“Come in,” I say, rising and smoothing my dress. The door opens to reveal not a staff member but Belov. He’s the picture of perfection in his slim-cut black tux, his hair slicked back, drawing attention to his chiseled features.
He leans against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket. His dark eyes scrutinize me. I’m sure it's to ensure I look flawless, as required of his daughter. He must be satisfied with what he sees because he nods approvingly. “You look beautiful, Alyona.”
His gaze flicks to Kira, who meets his stare with a scowl. Kira’s appointed herself my guard dog, snarling at Belov every chance she gets, even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary or helpful. Instead, it creates an electric tension every time they are in the same space.
I don’t miss the way Belov’s gaze drifts appreciatively down Kira’s body before snapping back to her face. “Kira,” he says, with a hint of a challenge. “You look lovely as well.”
She responds with a vicious eye roll as he steps further into the room. “And you look like the devil incarnate.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “If you can’t play nice, you can spend the night in the dungeon. I’m sure you’ll find it lacking compared to the accommodation upstairs, but I won’t have you ruining tonight for her. Or for me.”
Kira’s eyes narrow, her ruby-red lips press into a thin line. If there weren’t half a dozen guards milling about, I bet she’d break a champagne flute and use the broken glass to shank him.
“Whatever,” she says, crossing her arms and looking away.
Belov turns towards me. “It’s time to come downstairs and greet your guests.”
My fingernails cut into my palm. My guests. They are hardly my guests, but there’s no point in a rebuttal. I made a deal with the devil and now I must see it through. Kira and I exchange a final look before I follow Belov out of the room, towards the destiny I never asked for and don’t want.
One day at a time, I remind myself. I just need to get through tonight and not think about everyone and everything I am leaving behind.
Not think about Leonid Kozlov, and what we could have been.
What we almost were.