Chapter 19 Adriana #2
He lets the door fall shut behind him. “You need a bigger room,” he says, voice softer than I expect, but there’s a playful edge to it. “And a bigger bed. I’ve got plenty of space in mine, you know.”
He crosses the room in two strides, sits on the edge of my bed.
His hand finds my hip, thumb stroking through the fabric, slow and teasing.
His lips brush my forehead, my cheek, and then his mouth trails lower, warm and coaxing.
For a moment, the comfort is all I want.
I let myself lean into his touch, heat and hunger rising again between us.
But as his hands wander, Sergei’s voice slices through my mind: You’re just a distraction…a little whore with a ring…
The heat drains from my skin. I go still, stiffening beneath Dante’s touch. I can feel him pause, confusion threading through the warmth.
He leans back just enough to see my face, eyes searching. “Adriana?” he murmurs, gentler now. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow hard, look away, willing myself not to cry in front of him—not again. The urge to reach for him battles with the ache Sergei left behind. I wish I could explain, but the words stick.
He sees it anyway—the way I retreat, the way something invisible closes between us. He lets his hand fall away, his jaw tightening in concern. For a moment, neither of us says anything, and the silence is louder than anything else in the room.
I know he’s disappointed I turned him down.
I can feel it in the way he closes the door, in the heavy silence he leaves behind.
I lie awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to believe that none of this can touch me if I don’t let it.
But the truth is, Sergei’s words linger.
They crawl under my skin and make a home there.
In the morning, I force myself up early.
I won’t give anyone a reason to talk. I wash my face twice, brush my hair until it shines, pick the soft blue dress I’d planned to save for a better day.
When I look in the mirror, my eyes are puffy, but the rest of me passes inspection.
I pull my shoulders back. Determined. I will not let anyone see me flinch again.
Downstairs, the maid waits with a polite smile that slips a little when she sees my face. “Breakfast is in the garden today, Mrs. Volkova. The family wanted to enjoy the sun.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. The last thing I want is a family breakfast, but I nod anyway and follow her outside.
The garden is bright and almost pretty, if you can ignore the knots in your stomach.
The table is long and covered in starched linen, all the best silver glinting in the early light.
As I get closer, my smile falters. There’s a new voice—high, clear, too bright.
I recognize it even before I see the woman sitting with her back perfectly straight, blonde hair pinned and lacquered, laughter ringing like tiny bells.
Larissa.
She’s surrounded by a knot of aunts, all beaming at her, hanging on every word.
When she catches sight of me, her smile curls, not quite reaching her eyes.
She gives me a look—one I know too well from a hundred school events, family dinners, awkward run-ins where I was always the outsider. The one who never belonged.
I grip the back of a chair, trying not to show how my hands shake. My mind goes blank, a kind of static filling my head. Why is she here? Why now? It’s like the universe can sense exactly when I’m weakest and sends in reinforcements.
“Adriana, darling, you’re up early for once,” one of the aunts calls, voice loaded with meaning. “Come, sit! You know Larissa, don’t you? Of course you do.”
Larissa offers me a sugar-sweet smile, her gaze skating over my dress, my hair, my face.
“It’s so good to see you, Adriana. I was just telling everyone about that little gala in St. Petersburg last winter.
Oh, you would have loved it—so many of the old crowd.
But then again I guess the Petrovs aren’t the darlings of society anymore. ”
My cheeks heat. I hear the implication, the way she can turn even a greeting into a reminder that I’ve always been on the outside.
Before I can muster a reply, the mood shifts. Dante appears on the far side of the garden, talking to two of his men. His voice is easy, relaxed, the sound of someone perfectly at home. I watch him, trying to read his face, but he’s turned away, focused on business.
He doesn’t even look at me. Not once. Not a glance, not a nod.
Larissa sees him and her eyes light up. She practically springs from her seat, smoothing her dress as she goes. “Dante!” she calls, voice bright. Before anyone can stop her, she hurries across the grass, heels sinking into the lawn. She throws her arms around him like she belongs there.
He lets her cling for a moment, only half turning to acknowledge her, still in conversation. I watch them together—her confidence, the way everyone smiles and leans in, as if this is how things should be. As if I’m invisible.
The world narrows to a dull, heavy ache. I can barely hear the aunts tittering behind me, the soft scrape of cutlery, the wind in the leaves. All I can think is, This is what the rest of my life will be. Always an outsider, always watching someone else step into the space I thought might be mine.
I take a shaky breath. I can’t do this. Not today.
I turn away from the table, heart pounding, mind racing with everything I don’t say. I start to walk, not fast, not running, but purposeful—back through the roses, away from the laughter, away from the table where no one is waiting for me.
Just as I reach the path, I hear Dante’s voice, clear and commanding. “Adriana.”
I pause, the instinct to stop ingrained, but this time I don’t. I keep moving, head down, wishing I could shed my skin and be anyone, anywhere else. I don’t trust my voice, and I don’t trust myself not to look back.