6. Emily
6
EMILY
It’s my first time being in a Lamborghini, and I’m furious.
Not because the car is bad—God, no. It’s because all I can think about is how much I want one, and that I’ll never be able to make that happen.
Konstantin takes a sharp curve along the edge of the cliff, making it seem like we’re going to swing straight over the cusp and into the sea below. The stars and moon create a luminous blue shimmer on the water. I crack the window to let the salty wind inside, not caring how my hair whips in my eyes and mouth.
“They don’t drive like this in Wisconsin!” I laugh.
“Why not? Isn’t it all big empty fields?”
“How dare you.” I give him a scathing look. “We also have corn.”
“But not the sea.” He nods. “And certainly not me.”
“Has that line ever worked?” I ask.
Konstantin throws back his head, laughing with such force that his throat flexes. I’m enamored by the angles of his face. A professional sculptor couldn’t make edges that sharp.
“Here we are,” he says as he pulls up a steep driveway that branches off the main road. We’ve only gone a few miles. I wish he lived further away just so the drive wasn’t over with. I was enjoying the purr of the engine.
Climbing out of the car, I trace my fingertips over the door. “How long have you had this car for?”
“A little after I met you at the airport.” He runs his hand over the glossy surface. “I think it matches your hair.”
Goddamn, he’s good.
I blink up at the two-story house with its crisp white trim and light blue paint. “So, you mean you don’t live here?”
“I told you, I’m here for work.”
“Then where do you live? Like, for real?”
“I move around so much it doesn’t matter.” It feels like he’s dodging my question, but I decide not to press. He doesn’t bother to lock the car. Either he’s not worried someone will try and steal it … Or he knows nobody will dare.
Following him to the front door, I keep a hand’s-width distance between us. I’d like to get closer, but I don’t want to be too obvious about it.
The lights turn on from hidden motion sensors as soon as we enter. His front room has polished wooden floors, and the wide room allows a view into the open kitchen with its double-door steel fridge and massive stove. The main room has two long couches that form a V-shape. A clear glass table rests between them, the base made from pale driftwood.
There’s a simple elegance to the space. It takes me a few looks to realize that nothing here has a brand label.
It’s all custom-made. Which means it’s all expensive as hell.
Makes sense for a guy who can buy a Lamborghini right after he lands.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says.
“Shoes on or off?”
“Up to you. I imagine your feet are sore from the dancing.”
He’s right; my toes have been throbbing for a while. Slipping my purple heels off, I tuck them beside the door. “This place seems big for just you.”
“I like being able to have people over.”
Please don’t say you throw sex parties with half a dozen women at once. Please, please, please. He’s been perfect so far. And I’d hate for that to be ruined.
“Like people you work with?” I ask.
“Something like that.” Konstantin peers at me while he hangs his jacket on a hook.
He walks around to the kitchen. He’s tall enough that I can see the top of his belt even with the counter in the way. When he bends over to open the fridge, his pants cling to his muscular legs and I feel my thighs squeezing together again at the view.
I clench my jaw and swallow. Easy, girl, calm down. “So, what are you cooking for me?”
“How hungry are you?”
“Very, but I’m not picky.”
“Good, because I don’t have a ton of ingredients.”
“Perfect, because I’ll eat anything.”
Konstantin glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, but the look makes my heart flutter and my face heat up. I turn away to gather myself.
The circular stairs leading to the upper floor catch my eye. They’re the kind where one wrong step, and you risk breaking your neck. “What’s upstairs?”
“My bedroom.”
I press my hands tighter in my lap. “Oh.”
Cool. Cool. Cool.
A loud popping noise makes me yelp. Konstantin holds up a corkscrew with a cork stabbed on the end of it. He waves a black-labeled bottle. “Wine to go with our food?”
“That depends on what you’re making.”
“Does it?” he chuckles. He plucks two tall glasses with fat round bottoms from the slats above the sink, where they hang like bats. Turning them over, he fills both to the rim with ruby-red liquid. “Wine is more about the mood than the meal.”
“I don’t know. Hard to imagine drinking this stuff with sweet and sour chicken.”
Does he even know what sweet and sour chicken tastes like?
“Never know until you try.” He motions for me to take the glass. When I do, he taps the rim of his against mine. The sound is clean and clear, like ice cracking in a river. “Will a ham and cheese panini work?”
I give my wine a swish. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Parking myself on one of the tall stools at the counter, I set my elbows on the marble top. I have a perfect view of Konstantin as he navigates the stove. His movements are similar to his dancing at the bar. His shoes click, ankles and knees pivoting, one hand stuffing ingredients into slices of bread while the other turns the panini grill on.
He slathers butter on the bread and throws the thick focaccia bread onto the grill. The metal top coming down and sizzles deliciously. My mouth is watering. It has to be nearly four in the morning—when did I eat last?
My empty stomach is causing the wine to go to my head. Or maybe I’m drinking it too fast. Because when I look at the bottle again, it’s half gone. But hey, I’m hungry, and it’s all I’ve got to calm my grumbling belly.
He arranges the hot sandwiches on two white and blue plates, and hands one to me. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I nearly drop my plate. Upstairs? Where his bedroom is?
“What for?” I ask, my voice high and tight.
“Sun’s coming up soon.” If he notices my freak-out, he doesn’t act like it. “And I’d hate for you to miss the sunrise from the second-floor patio.”
Air exits my lips shakily. On one hand, it’s not a blatant invitation. But on the other hand …
At the thought of Konstantin bending me over the railing of the second-floor patio, his fist in my hair as he fucks me in the sunrise … my heart starts racing again.
Konstantin pinches the bottle of wine under his arm, sipping from his glass as he walks. Following him up the steps as carefully as I can, I reach the second floor. There’s a room to my left, the door cracked slightly. Inside I spot a king-sized bed covered in a blue duvet. Next to it is the black luggage with the Hello Kitty tag.
It’s weird to see it again.
It reminds me of Olivia. I haven’t heard her voice in …
Well, who’s counting these days?
I should call her. She probably won’t answer. But it won’t hurt to try.
Heck, I can probably do more than try. Maybe I should go to her apartment in New York and knock.
I have all the time in the world now.
I can try harder to reconnect with her. Our distance isn’t all her fault.
Some of it is mine.
And like every memory involving Olivia, I start thinking about my parents. They’re going to be so upset with me when they learn I got expelled. I can picture the scowls dragging their jaws low, their eyes hard as obsidian and just as black.
I can hear them already: Do you have any idea how much all of this costed us?
The reality waiting for me back in America is bleak.
But those thoughts are chased away when we step around a corner and through a set of glass doors. Salty-sweet air with the heavy scent of lemons rushes over my bare shoulders. Straight across from me is a glistening streak of sapphire water. A tall cliff dotted by numerous painted houses juts out into the water before curving away into the distance.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“You like it.” It’s not a question. “Sit. I promise the view won’t change, only your comfort.”
I hadn’t noticed the round table with two woven-back chairs before. I was too enamored by the incredible view. “You’re lucky.”
Konstantin stiffens at that, and I wonder if I said something wrong.
In the glow of the sharp moon, his eyes are less ice-blue, and more silver. Slipping his arm over the back of his chair, he brings his wine to his lips. His glass is mostly full, unlike mine, but he’s brought the bottle.
I pick it up to refill mine and he grabs my hand.
“Let me.”
I don’t let go of the bottle. I can’t, or I don’t want to. I’m frozen with his fingers wrapped around mine, our eyes locked, my heart trying to escape from my mouth.
He pulls slightly, the bottle lifting away. My hand dangles in the air for a moment before I yank it into my lap. I’m flushed all the way across my chest. I can’t fucking help it.
Unsure how to act normal, I pick up my sandwich and sink my teeth into it. The explosion of savory caprese and salty ham, followed by the mouthy feel of olive oil and butter leaves me dazed.
“Oh my God!” I’m speaking through a mouthful of food. “This is delicious.”
“It’s nothing special,” he says. “Just some spare ingredients that was lying around.”
“Well, it’s incredible to me! ”
His lips drop open. He seems surprised at my reaction, but the way he starts to smile, I’m sure he’s pleased. “I’ll have to remember the recipe for next time.”
“Do you say that to all the other girls?” I tease.
He stares straight at me. “I meant next time with you, Kitty Cat.”
I drink some wine to keep myself from choking on the next bite of sandwich. This guy is smooth—it’s almost too much. A thorny branch winds through my guts.
“I wish I could stay in Italy forever.”
“Just convince your friend to have her wedding here too,” he says.
“Nadia’s already set that stuff in stone. She’s been planning her wedding since she was a kid.”
“I get it,” he chuckles. “You have a whole life back in America waiting for you. I don’t actually expect you to uproot yourself and stay here.”
A whole life back in America …
He’s trying to console me, but he doesn’t know the first damn thing about me. How can you comfort someone when you don’t know what’s caused them harm?
“If I could, I would.” I drain the last of my wine. “But I don’t want to go home.”
“Why? What’s back there?”
The sky is tinting red where it kisses the sea. Dawn pries apart the sky with rosy fingers. But the moon hasn’t yet fled from the approaching sunrise. I hold my glass up until the silvery sliver is inside of it.
“Reality.”
I hear his chair scrape on the patio as he moves closer. “The reality of what, Kitty Cat?”
I grab the bottle, refilling my glass. “Nothing. Forget about it.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
More than you can ever know.
His eyes drill into mine, unblinking, and I see something flicker behind them. Something that walks the knife edge of protectiveness and danger.
Something that screams: tell me their name.
If I mentioned Phil and what he did … What would Konstantin do? He barely knows me. Yet I swear, he’d hunt Phil down and punish him for me.
As tempting as the idea may be, I can’t agree to that.
“I didn’t come here to wallow in self-pity,” I say as casually as I can. I even manage a smile before filling my mouth with more wine. It was sweeter before. But it tastes sour now.
He folds his hands over his lips, never taking his attention off me. There’s half a panini on his plate, but he ignores it. He’s feasting on me.
“I understand.”
I draw my chin to my chest with a blink. “You do?”
“I know what it’s like to not want to go back to reality …” A faint smile passes over his face, and he turns to look over the sea. “You’re not alone, Kitty Cat.”
A hundred questions flock into my brain. How can a guy who can afford a Lamborghini on a whim and stay in a place like this want to run away from reality? Konstantin drips money. His confidence is worn as comfortably as his bespoke clothes. The base of my neck is itching as I stare hard at him while trying to make sense of his comment.
“You’re in town for work. What sort of work?”
He shrugs casually. “I’d bore you talking about it.”
“It can’t be that bad if you get to travel to Italy.” I glance at the glass doors, thinking about what I saw in his bedroom. “You always take that same suitcase with you on your trips?”
“You’re wondering about the Hello Kitty bag tag, aren’t you?”
“Can you blame me? It’s not exactly what I’d expect from someone like …”
“Like me.” His smile is dangerous. “I get it. If it wasn’t for my sister, I wouldn’t have it at all.”
Sister …
The thorns from before are back. They slither through my veins, cutting me up as they go. “It’s hers?”
Shaking his head, he begins to talk in a softer voice. I have to lean closer to hear him over the crash of the waves below.
“I bought it for her. She loves Hello Kitty.” He stops talking, as if he’s working through a lump in his throat as he says it. “But they only sell the tags in pairs. I gave one to her, and she insisted I use the other. So, I do.”
“Same for me, actually,” I tell him. “Except, it’s my sister who bought it for me before she left home.”
For the second time, I wonder about her. About how she’s doing.
Does she still have her Hello Kitty bag tag?
Does she think of me like I think of her when she sees it?
Konstantin tilts his head at me. His pupils are bottomless, sucking me in. He’s reading my pensive mood. I wish I was better at hiding it. I’m a damn open book with my emotions.
He leans in closer, and my heart races as his lips part.
“I—” I try to protest.
Just then, a ringing noise blasts from his pocket. His face contorts, every wrinkle deepening as he hits the ignore button.
But whoever is on the other end is insistent. Not a second later, the phone rings again.
“I think you should pick it up,” I tell him, even though every fiber of my being wants him to do the exact opposite.
He nods and checks the caller’s name. That’s when his eyes widens and he shoves the device to his ear. When he speaks, it’s a language that I don’t recognize. A rough one filled with shushing corners and rough edges.
His expression changes with every word. The handsome lines of his face contort into something else.
Something dark.
Something dangerous.
When he hangs up, he folds his fingers together as he looks out at the brightening sky.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Yes.” Rising, he adjusts the front of his jacket, then pulls down his cuffs to his wrists. He’s clear-eyed and calm. Every hint of our relaxed hangout has been erased. “I need to go.”
I frown slightly as my heart falls. “Oh, okay.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Kitty Cat.” He stiffens, looking at me with fresh interest. “I will be back. Stay and make yourself comfortable. You can use my bed if you’d like.”
I would, in fact, like that.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Not long after he’s out of view, I hear the car roar to life below. Peering over the patio, I catch the twin headlights as they illuminate the road. In the rising sun, the Lamborghini looks like a bolt of dark fire streaking through the streets.
Propping my elbow on the table, I drum my fingers on the metal surface. The tapping reminds me of the bachata music. I stop myself by making a tight fist.
The clouds over the sea are thick as fresh cream. A few birds glide over them, breaking up the pure white surface with their dark bodies. The world is waking up. And here I am, already wide awake. I haven’t slept a wink. I glance at the glass doors again. I could go to sleep and wait for him in his bed.
Would he like to find me there when he comes back?
Will he wake me with kisses? Will he keep calling me Kitty Cat as he fucks me?
Placing my glass to my lips, I go to take a drink but find the wine is all gone. The bottle still has some left in it. I tip it over and fill my glass with the final drops, then I grab Konstantin’s glass and dump the rest of it in too.
As I’m debating stripping down and slipping into his bed to wait for him, that’s when my phone begins to vibrate.
My first thought is it has to be Nadia making sure I’m alright.
But then I see the word MOM flash on my screen.
My throat narrows.
Oh no. This is it. My parents have found out about what happened. I bet Phil got to them first, telling them that what happened wasn’t his fault. I knew I should’ve told them …
I glance at the sky slowly growing brighter by the second.
What time is it over there in Wisconsin? It must be after midnight. They’re usually asleep by now.
I’m tempted to hit ignore like Konstantin did. But I know that there’s no way Mom is calling for no reason. So, I hit answer and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Mom?” I say quickly, my voice trembling. “What is it?”
“Emily! Thank God you picked up.”
She doesn’t sound angry. But I don’t relax, not yet.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Her sigh is long and deep, like she’s straight-up exasperated. “Your father and I need your help.”
Bit by bit, my fingers unclench my phone. I allow myself to sink into my chair, and immediately switch into problem-solving mode for them, like I’ve done for years since the day Olivia left.
At the same time, a guilty giddiness blooms inside of my chest.
They don’t know yet …
“Yeah, of course, Mom. What do you need?”
“Do you know anything about your sister’s life insurance policy?”
What? The question throws me for a loop. They’ve never bothered to talk about Olivia in the years since she left, except maybe to use her failures to scare me into doing what they want.
But even then, they never mentioned her name.
It’s usually always that junkie , and when they feel charitable, your sister .
A ringing in my ears starts, the pitch rising until I can barely hear my own breathing. When I don’t respond, Mom continues.
“Dad and I have been trying to find out more, but we don’t know where to look.”
I work my tongue in my mouth, the thickness of it forcing me to form each word deliberately and patiently.
“Why do you need to know? What’s going on?”
There’s a beat of silence. I’ve never lived through so many years in a handful of precious seconds.
It’s as if my brain is doing all it can to protect me in anticipation for the moment my whole world will be irrevocably changed.
“That junkie is dead.” Mom’s voice is flat, cold, and emotionless when she replies. “She killed herself a week ago.”