2. Rose – Six Weeks Earlier
Rose – Six Weeks Earlier
I stare down into the drink on the polished table in front of me, the whirr of the engine below me as the plane whisks me back home.
Really, I should be enjoying my first time on a private jet, but all I can think about is the asshole who forced me to flee like this in the first place, and I want nothing more than another drink.
I take a sip of the vodka on the rocks, wrapping my arms around myself as I sit there in the large leather seat in the dress I picked out for the masquerade.
I haven’t taken it off yet, though I feel entirely ridiculous just sitting around in it like this.
I haven’t even bothered to remove the mask I chose for this evening, either: a beautiful blue peacock one that obscures my features, leaving only my mouth and one eye on display.
I thought I looked so pretty when I left the hotel room earlier this evening to attend Petar’s family function, but now I just feel like a goddamn idiot.
The moment I saw him on that call with that woman, I knew something was wrong.
And it didn’t take long to get it out of him, just what it was he had been getting away with right under my nose while he was here.
In fact, she filled me in with great gusto, like this was the chance she had been waiting for to prove that she was the better of the two of us.
He had flown her out there to join him for the gathering, putting her up in a room in the same hotel as us.
And once he had her safely stashed away, he had been sneaking off twice a day to meet with her and fool around in her room.
He had me on his arm at the ball, but that didn’t mean a goddamn thing when he was treating me like a fucking idiot right there behind my back.
"Rose, come on, you need to listen to me," he had pleaded with me as I had rushed down the stairs of the balcony, trying my best to escape. I couldn’t stand to be in there for another second, knowing that his family was nearby, wondering if any of them had been in on it.
Had everyone known all this time and been clucking their tongue sympathetically behind my back while I got cheated on?
"I think I’ve heard everything I need to from you, Petar!
” I had yelled back up at him as I rushed for the main exit.
I didn’t even know where I intended to go.
Finding some way back to Chicago was the first thing on my mind.
Out here, across the state, at one of his family’s luxurious homes in the woods, it felt like I was a million miles from anything or anyone who might be able to help me.
I didn’t even have my phone on me; it was back at the hotel, because I had been so sure that it would have been the height of rudeness to bring it with me when I was supposed to be spending the night with family.
I planted my hand against the stone doorway and caught my breath, shooting a look behind me to make sure that Petar wasn’t following me.
He surely couldn’t have thought for a moment that anything was going to come of it if he did—I didn’t want to lay eyes on him again, not after Lisa had spilled the beans.
He had hooked up with me a couple of times on the trip, too—had that been before or after he had taken his fill of her?
Ugh, the thought alone was enough to make me—
"Hey, what’s going on?"
I looked up to find a man stepping out of the front door, a cigarette in one hand, a concerned expression on his face.
I recognized him at once as Ilya, Petar’s uncle.
The head of this family—in fact, the one who commanded the family fortune, though I knew little of where that came from.
I have hardly spoken to him till now, but in this moment, I would take whatever help I can get.
"I need to get out of here," I pleaded with him. "I have to get home. Now."
"What are you—” He clasped my arms, looking into my eyes. "What’s happening?"
"Please, just help me get back to Chicago. That’s all I need," I replied. "I won’t bother any of you again. I just... I have to get out of here, I’m begging you..."
He ran a hand through his crop of dark hair. Even beneath the arm of his gray formal jacket, I could see the flex of his muscles beneath the fabric.
"Stay here," he ordered me. And with that, he turned the corner, gesturing to one of the guards. The man moved to his side at once, and I watched as the two of them exchanged some kind of hushed conversation, Ilya looking back over his shoulder at me briefly. His gray eyes locked with mine for a moment, and I averted my gaze, feeling as though I had been caught looking when I shouldn’t have been.
The guard nodded and strode off, and Ilya moved back towards me, hand on my shoulder.
"I’m calling a car around now," he assured me. "And my private jet will be ready in an hour or so."
"Your private jet?"
"Hard to get a normal flight at this hour," he replied with a shrug, as though it should have been obvious. "Besides, I need to get to Chicago this evening. I’ll travel with you. Make sure you get there alright."
His words seemed laced with something pointed, as though he thought he had good reason to keep an eye on me. I supposed after walking into me like this, in tears outside his family party and begging to go back to the city, he probably had good reason to wonder what the hell my deal was.
The car arrived a few minutes later, and the driver cut smoothly through the quiet roads until we pulled up at a small, private airfield. A jet was already lined up for take-off, and Ilya gestured for me to go up the steps first.
For a moment, I hesitated, not sure if I should trust such kindness after what had just happened. But what choice did I have? I smiled at him in thanks and made my way up the stairs, practically collapsing into a seat as soon as I got inside.
One of the air hostesses brought me a drink, laying it on a napkin on the table in front of me with a polished smile.
"Courtesy of our host," she explained, and I lifted it to my lips gratefully. I didn’t care how it made me look, I just wanted to get something in me to take the edge off the pure humiliation that was currently coursing through my veins.
The plane took to the air, and I found myself getting through another couple of drinks as I pondered on the mess I’d managed to find myself in.
I turn my gaze to the window, where the clouds streaked against the dark sky.
It would have been kind of beautiful, I mused to myself, if it weren’t for what had just happened.
I heard a creak on the floorboards and looked up to see Ilya standing there in the doorway. I offer him a smile in greeting, knowing that I should be going out of my way to make sure he knew how grateful I am for what he did for me.
"Are you alright?" he asked me gruffly. There was genuine concern in his voice, which surprised me. It was hard to imagine I would be anything other than an irritation to someone as powerful as him. But it was a relief that he didn’t seem to loathe the very sight of me.
"I’m fine now, thank you," I lied as I took another drink. I noticed that he had one in his hand, too, and my gaze lingered for just a moment too long on the way his fingers rested around the glass.
"Would you like to join me?" I hardly even knew what I was saying before the words came spilling out of my mouth.
For a moment, he just stood there, one hand resting on the back of the leather seat. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his powder-blue shirt, and the sinewy muscles in his wrists were hard to ignore.
"If you want," he replied, and he took a seat opposite me, close enough now that I could smell his aftershave in the air. It was crisp and clean, almost aquatic, and I was suddenly gripped by this insane desire to lean in and press my face against his neck.
I shifted slightly in my seat, trying to bring my mind back to a few more reasonable matters.
"Uh, so," I remarked, trying to fill the silence as he looked at me. "I’ve never been on a private jet before."
He smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I’m sorry your first time had to be under such distressing circumstances."
"Oh, I’m going to be alright," I replied, waving my hand. And to my surprise, I was not lying about it. Things between Petar and me had never exactly been pure romance and magic. He’d always been sneaking around behind my back—I could see that now—and he clearly had one foot out the door for longer than I could have guessed.
He didn’t have the nerve to break up with me like a real man, and that really pissed me off, but at least I saw who he truly was now.
What he did to me tonight, it was not the kind of thing you could come back from. And that was something of a relief.
"I’m glad to hear it," he replied, and I lifted the glass to my lips, meeting his gaze for a moment. The way he looked at me, it was almost as though he was studying me, considering me from every angle. I couldn’t tell exactly what conclusions he was coming to, but there was something rather vulnerable about sitting there before him, knowing that he was making no effort to disguise his curiosity.
"What business is it you do, again?" I asked. "I mean, what are you going to be taking care of in Chicago?"
"I’m not sure my business is something an innocent thing like you should be concerning herself with."
I cocked my head to the side, sensing a kind of challenge. "What makes you think that I’m some innocent thing, anyway?"
He leaned back slightly, resting his hand on the arm of the chair as he considered his response. He let his drink play at his lips for a moment, as though intentionally drawing my attention to the way they moved.
"Hard to know anything about you behind that mask," he remarked.