17. Skye
SKYE
N ikola and his warning can go to hell, I thought to myself as I studied my reflection in the mirror.
I hadn’t seen him since our hallway run-in, and he hadn’t really given me a reason to obey him. If he wanted me all to himself, he would have to lay a claim on me.
I picked up my phone and messaged the girls.
Me: I’m going out with Kostya for lunch. What do you think?
I attached a picture of my reflection in the full-sized mirror.
I thought I looked cute in a strapless cotton candy–pink dress and nude pumps, both designed by Aunt Reina.
The shimmery dress hugged my curves in all the right places, contrasting against my dark hair, and my legs seemed longer in it.
Probably because there was so little of my legs covered.
Arianna: Totally hot.
Amara: You’re going to give poor Nikolaev a boner, blue balls, and a heart attack.
Anya: God willing. And Nikola will be green with envy. If the fucker won’t fuck you, just fuck his cousin.
Me: WTF, Anya?!?!
Penelope: Jesus Christ, Anya. Who pissed you off?
Anya: Mom and Dad. I just heard all of our parents are scheming.
Amara: Scheming what?
Anya: Arranging marriages to keep their kids safe through alliances.
This confirmed the document I’d found on my papa’s desk. He was doing the same by agreeing to marry me to Amadeo Marchetti.
Amara: WTF?!?!
Arianna: Thank God I’m married.
Me: I heard the same. My papa already signed a contract to marry me off to Amadeo Marchetti.
Amara: Holy shit!
Anya: WTF?!?!
Penelope: Yay, at least we get to be sisters-in-law.
Me: That would be the only highlight, but I won’t be marrying any Marchetti. If I have to, I’ll get on my knees and beg Kostya to marry me.
Anya: As long as that’s all you do on your knees.
Me: When did your mind become such a filthy place?
Anya: It’s all that filth I’m reading.
Arianna: Is Kostya saner than Nikola?
Me:
Penelope: Gosh, those Nikolaevs sono tutti pazzi. Puttane. Sono fuori di testa.
Me: Why are you suddenly messaging in Italian?
Penelope: Practicing. I’m getting married at the end of this year.
Arianna: Whaaat????
Me: Holy shit. Already?
Anya: Don’t you already know Italian? Why practice?
Penelope: I’m not good at cursing in Italian, but I’ll know every fucking word before my wedding day.
Anya: Okaaay, we get it, woman.
Amara: Do you intend to send him into an early grave with all the cussing?
Penelope: He’s not worth it. Besides, mark my words. Enzo Marchetti will regret this wedding before I’m through with him.
Anya: Attagirl.
Amara: Are we invited to the wedding fiasco?
Penelope: Apparently it will be a family-only event. I’m so sorry.
Arianna: Well, that better include me since we are family.
My messaging got interrupted when Kostya knocked and entered my room, his hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets. He whistled while I spun around.
“You look stunning,” he said. “Nikola won’t like that.”
I winced. “ Ouch. Why are we talking about Nikola ?”
Kostya flashed me a smile.
“Because I know you, and we’re friends-slash-cousins-slash-whatever. I agree with you, Nikola needs a push, and this will be it.”
I smiled sheepishly, letting out a relieved smile. “ I’m sorry for not being upfront with you. ”
He fished out his phone, then waved it. “Don’t worry about it. Now, let’s post a selfie. We look hot together, but I know you’re not into younger men.”
I threw my head back and laughed just as he snapped the selfie, his smiling eyes meeting mine before flickering to his phone.
“Ah yes, the perfect couple. Just don’t tell your papa or Uncle Sasha. They’d tear me limb by limb.”
“ Cross my heart .” I made a sign over my chest and then pretended to lock my mouth and throw away the key.
He put his hand on the small of my back and urged me forward.
“Now let’s have fun torturing Nikola.”
“ Where are we going ?” I signed to Kostya as he drove down the highway. The manor was far enough from the heart of the city to enjoy some peace and quiet, but still less than a half-hour drive from downtown NOLA.
“Sazerac Bar,” he said, winking. “Nikola’s father owns it, so he’s sure to get updates.”
I chuckled. “ Wow, you’re even more strategic than I am .”
Once we arrived, Kostya parked his flashy red Lamborghini right up front, making sure Nikola couldn’t miss it.
He gallantly offered me his arm, and I took it as we entered the restaurant.
I’d always been fond of the vibrant, culture-rich ambiance of New Orleans, and today was no different. Sazerac Bar and Restaurant was located on the corner of St. Louis Street in the historical French Quarter of the city, where deeply patinated walls and old photography decorated the place.
A large crystal chandelier dominated the room and tables and booths surrounded the black-and-white checkered dance floor. There were even a few couples dancing.
“I had a table reserved,” Kostya explained.
We took a seat by the magnificent arched window that looked out onto Jackson Square and the St. Louis Cathedral.
Lively crowds strolled past, the sweet alcoholic concoction of gin, rum, vodka, and melon liqueur the locals referred to as hand grenades in their hands as they laughed and chatted.
The windows were open, allowing a warm breeze to sweep through from the river and along the busy street, the smell of croissants and local spices drifting in the air.
“Let’s see how long it takes Nikola to shut this place down,” he joked.
“ You really think he will ?”
“No fucking doubt.”
I raised an eyebrow. “ You’re that sure, huh ?”
“I know my cousin.” A waiter showed up and Kostya gave him our order. “I’m glad you’re forcing his hand, although I’m slightly surprised,” he said.
My brows furrowed. “ Why surprised ?”
He shrugged. “You’ve had this crush on him for… how long? And you’ve never acted on it.”
My cheeks flushed, burning with shame. “ Am I that obvious ?”
He chuckled. “Only to those of us who pay attention. Our parents, on the other hand, are blind as fuck. So don’t worry about that.”
Our waiter came back with our non-alcoholic drinks. Kostya didn’t like to push the envelope, and neither did I. We left the alcohol for family gatherings and school parties.
“So why the sudden change?” Kostya asked, sipping on his Sprite.
My shoulders slumped. “ Papa’s arranged a marriage for me .”
Surprise flickered in his pale blue eyes.
“Are you sure?” I nodded. “To whom?”
My gaze darted to the street where people mingled on the square, lovers held hands, and families enjoyed their midday strolls.
I sighed, returning my attention to my date, and gave him the dreaded name: “ Amadeo Marchetti .”
He shook his head in disapproval. “Well, if Nikola doesn’t hurry the fuck up, I will marry you myself. There’s no fucking way you’re going to spend your life tied to a Marchetti.”
I chuckled. “ Promise ?”
He raised his glass and vowed, “On my life.”
I mimicked his gesture and we clinked our sodas.
“Here’s to marrying you, ” I teased. “ If all else fails. ”
He grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”
And just like that, a sense of peace I didn’t think I’d ever get back washed over me.