9. Adeline
Adeline
Inormally love any excuse to dress up.
I had to FaceTime Lennie and ask her to go through my closet. I brought plenty of options to NYU, but I lacked floor-length ballgowns. When she came across this one, I figured, fuck it. The dress is hot, and I need a win.
Lennie brought it into the city on her way to work, and we grabbed dinner.
“You okay?” she asked in that typical thoughtful manner of hers.
“Great.” I babbled about Billie, whom I tend to see in the library.
“And your roommates?” she asked.
“Good.”
“You know,” she said at the end of dinner, “it’s normal to be stressed during your first semester. It’s all a learning curve.”
She has no fucking idea. I leave the car running when we arrive at the fundraiser. A guard is already by my side as I step out, ready to park it rather than leaving it for valet.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
I’ve known Marco all my life, and I shouldn’t be afraid of him, but I can’t help avoiding his eye after everything that happened with Jack. How I’d antagonized him in the weeks leading up to his attack.
I smooth the fabric of my dress, my hand freezing when I glance up. Ciaran’s eyes are hungry as he watches me, his jaw set as he stands there with his hands in his pockets. It’s his favorite nonchalant pose.
People laugh around us. Men shake hands. The event is to raise money for children’s cancer research, but it’s also an excuse for people to network. Which is a word I’m starting to hate.
I worked hard on my chignon, but the wind is doing everything to tear it down. I don’t make any effort to move inside, though. Where Ciaran and I will be around people. It’s not like the bistro last week. This place is packed.
“Who are you after?” I ask, swiping hair out of my eyes.
He looks down at me because even in heels he’s still a towering giant. “Mitchell and Morozov. I’d like to put more names to faces too.”
I only know the name Morozov. My sisters say I’m the nosy one, but Ciaran’s mission to meet more people reminds me of Yelena. One glance and she not only knew who Ciaran was despite his recent arrival to the city but could list off his family tree.
Ciaran reaches over, brushing my hair back. Most would think he’s a doting boyfriend, but his next words bring nothing but dread. “And your father. I’d like to meet him too.”
My spine stacks, but my face remains blank.
Dad called me the day after Ciaran and I got lunch. His name flashed on my phone, and my first thought was Yelena had ratted me out.
“My darling daughter,” he trilled. I could hear the hose in the background. He was outside, watering the garden. “How are you?”
It’s ten times worse when Dad acts casual. My family truly has no chill, so when Boris Akatov uses a nonchalant, friendly voice, I know I’m cooked.
“It’s not my fault,” I lied, heart hammering. Of course, it’s my fault. Of course Wallen gained valuable information out of me because I’m the stupid rich girl.
“When is the last time you saw Jack?” Dad asked.
“Um. . .” Knots in my shoulder began to burn.
“Friday,” Dad answered for me. “He took a call from Ferdinand. He hasn’t been seen since. Did you kill him, darling daughter?”
My heart leapt into my throat. “D-Dad!”
He chuckled only to be stern a second later. “You’ve railed against having guards around since you were a child. But Ads, I need you to understand how serious this is. The moment you noticed Jack had disappeared, you needed to call me. When is the last time you saw him?”
“Friday night.” For a second it was on the tip of my tongue—the truth. “Dad, I sort of was drinking.”
“Sort of?”
It was like when Dad caught me coming home from partying all night over the summer. There’s never any yelling. Just thinly veiled disappointment wrapped up in fatherly concern. Any time his daughters take risks, the first thing he tells us is he’s glad we’re safe.
But we’re not. Because of me.
“I went out drinking with some classmates,” I explained. “Jack followed me to the bar. I stumbled back to the dorms with my friend Billie. I didn’t realize until Saturday afternoon when I went out that no one was around.”
“And yet it’s Tuesday,” Dad said. “I know you don’t like having protection, but you should have called.”
“I noticed Marco,” I replied. He’d stayed in the shadows, but he’s been there since Sunday. Dad was testing me, and I’d failed, but at least he doesn’t know how bad it really is.
Ciaran is looking down at me, studying me as my thoughts absorb me. He has no idea the reason I easily snagged tickets to this event is because my father wants an opportunity to scold me. And worse—my mom will be right there beside him.
“You know I’m not sure,” I tell Ciaran, “that we’re at the meet-the-parents stage yet.”
He smirks but doesn’t look compelled to change his plans.
“Have you heard anything about Wallen?” My fingers squeeze my black clutch.
He shakes his head. “It’ll be okay.”
Nothing is feeling okay these days.
“Excuse me!” a voice calls out.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan. Ciaran’s lips twitch.
“Hi. Hello. How are you?” Nat crosses her arms, not hiding the sarcasm in her voice. She gives Ciaran a once over. “Who is this? Who are you?”
“This is Ciaran,” I introduce.
“Ciaran?” Nat’s brows lift. “Ciaran who?”
Her hair is down, and her makeup is the same as she does for work. She doesn’t give a fuck about dressing up but I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s here. Her girlfriend, Lia, drags her to events like this all the time.
“Ciaran O’Connell.” He offers her a hand.
She pointedly stares at it, arms still crossed. Then she looks at me.
“Don’t be a bitch,” I warn.
She shakes Ciaran’s hand. And then turns right back to me again. “Who the fuck is this?”
“It’s Ciaran.” I shrug.
“I’m her boyfriend.”
Nat wrinkles her nose. “No, no. I don’t like this.”
“Nat, could you not?” I beg.
She points at him. “This is the reason you haven’t been answering my phone calls?”
“You get annoyed when I call you!”
“This is not the 1960s.” Nat waves her hand in the air. “We did not send you off to NYU to get an MRS degree.”
“Sorry I didn’t have a high school sweetheart to keep me company.”
“You should be studying,” Nat lectures.
“You told me to get a life!”
“Getting drunk. Losing your security detail.” Nat’s already been looped in.
“Well, at least I didn’t take them to any crack houses this time,” I mumble, the back of my neck heating when I feel Ciaran’s curious gaze.
“No, now you’re just parading around”—Nat waves a hand around again—“at high flying fundraising events. Very mature. Very sophisticated.”
“Mature, yeah.” I flash her a look. My older sister is not coming across as very mature right now. “Where’s Lennie?”
“God, like she’d come here.”
She breezes past us, mumbling something about needing a drink.
“Stop laughing,” I tell Ciaran. “She doesn’t like you.”
The statement doesn’t kill his amusement.
“I need a drink,” I grumble, striding forward. I’m tugged backward, Ciaran grabbing my hand.
“Perhaps, we skip the drinking tonight.”
“Yes, let’s dictate what I can and cannot eat or drink.” Because that’s what every girl wants.
We make our way up a grand staircase with red carpet. Chandeliers drip from the ceiling.
He squeezes my hand. “I don’t give a damn about your older sister giving me a hard time. The only reason she’s giving you a hard time is because she’s your older sister.”
“She nitpicks.”
“You know, that might just be an Akatov family trait,” Ciaran says.
I try to take my hand away, but his shoulders shake with laughter. When we come to the landing, I stop and turn toward him. “Look. I know. . .”
The silence is filled with the truth. Ciaran is beside me because he saved me from Jack.
“Please just. . . Be nice to my family.”
It’s like asking a venomous snake to be friendly. I’m increasingly aware that I’ve been wearing a cloak of naivety. I see it when Ciaran looks at me. And Yelena’s pitying glance at the bistro.
Ciaran is in my dad’s world. A place where kindness is done away with and retribution is dispensed easily. I don’t know what his goals are, but Ciaran is ambitious. I’m not interested in being used just so he can get in a pissing match with my dad.
“Please,” I whisper again.
“I’m interested in allies tonight,” he says, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. “Not enemies.”
I could be an ally. The idea floats through my mind as he tugs me into the giant ballroom. The flash of a photograph momentarily blinds me.
There’s a crowd right through the doorway, my ears filling with a din of murmurs. A live band plays jazz. Thanks to a surge of people, there’s a jostle and my hand slips from Ciaran’s. I’m afraid I’ll be lost, but then he’s right in front of me, his jaw set.
“You okay?” he asks, one hand on my shoulder.
“I hate people,” I decide.
He smirks. “Remember that when you want to go shopping.”
Thank God someone invented the internet.
“Adeline!” my mother calls out.
Here we go.
I’m wrenched around, claws on my shoulders as my mother shakes me.
“Mama,” I try to interrupt her Italian mutterings.
“What?” She waves a hand down my body. “I’m just checking to see if my darling daughter is okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” The words are brittle.
“Why would my darling daughter stop talking to me?” There’s the Akatov dramatics I’ve been dreading.
“What are you talking about?”
“You never call me.” Mom blinks wildly like she can’t understand why this hardship has fallen upon her. “We drop you off in the city and never hear a word from you again.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Nat says you brought a date?” Mom’s brown eyes don’t stop searching my face like she’s looking for clues. God, I miss her even when she’s giving me a hard time.
“Hi,” Ciaran says, stepping forward.
“This is him?” she asks.
“This is Ciaran, Mom.”
She makes a show of looking him over. She hums under her breath, turning her chin.
Unless your name is Elijah or Yelena Zimin, my mother has never been rude. But now my mouth drops open. “Mom!”
“Your father wishes to speak to you.” She squeezes my arms before letting go of me. When I stand there, she nods in the direction of my dad.