Chapter Two #2
Once he’s gone, I lock the restroom door.
My reflection stares back at me from above the sink.
The woman in the mirror looks polished and expensive. Her lips are red. Her dark hair falls in perfect waves. Black satin clings to her body.
She looks exactly like the kind of woman Viktor meant to display tonight.
I hate her.
My breathing quickens.
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water over my hands, then press my damp fingers to my neck and chest.
Not now.
I cannot fall apart now.
I only need to return to the table. Sit through the rest of the meal. Smile when Viktor expects me to smile.
I can survive one more hour.
There’s a knock behind me.
Not the restroom door.
The linen-room door.
“Housekeeping,” a woman calls.
I stare at it.
A key enters the lock.
My mouth opens, but no sound emerges.
The mechanism clicks. A moment later, the door swings inward and a woman backs into the restroom with earbuds in her ears and a stack of folded towels in her arms.
She turns and freezes.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She places the towels on the counter and removes one earbud. She’s wearing black trousers and a white service jacket, her hair tucked beneath a plain cap. Her attention flicks over my face, but she doesn’t ask why a woman in an evening gown looks close to tears.
I manage a watery smile.
“It’s okay. I just needed a moment.”
“I can freshen up the men’s room first.”
“Thank you.”
She turns back to the linen room.
When she opens the door, the sounds of a busy kitchen spill into the restroom. Plates clatter. Someone calls out an order. A man answers in rapid Italian.
The woman steps through and pulls the door closed behind her.
It doesn’t close all the way.
A narrow strip of light remains.
From somewhere beyond it, I hear the same routine repeated.
Knock, knock.
“Housekeeping.”
Keys jangle.
Another door opens and closes.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
The linen-room door remains ajar.
I stare at the opening.
This isn’t part of my plan.
I don’t have my money. I don’t have the knife. I don’t have a coat or a change of clothes.
Ivan is waiting on the other side of the restroom door. If I leave through the linen room, he’ll notice I’m missing within minutes.
This is a terrible opportunity.
It may also be the only one I ever get.
I think about Yevgeny’s hand closing over the back of my chair.
Viktor telling me that his associate likes women beautiful and silent.
The black dress selected for me.
My feet move before the rest of me makes the decision.
I slip through the narrow opening and pull the door closed behind me.
The room beyond isn’t merely a closet.
Shelves of folded towels line one wall. Cleaning supplies fill the other. The sharp smells of bleach and furniture polish replace the perfume and candle wax of the dining room. Across from me, a second door stands open just far enough for light to spill through.
Voices rise and fall beyond it.
Dishes clatter.
Someone shouts.
I move toward the sound.
The second door opens into a service corridor barely wide enough for two people to pass. Servers hurry in both directions with trays balanced over their shoulders. Through a pair of swinging doors comes the hiss of sauté pans, the crash of metal against metal, and a stream of shouted Italian.
Heat rolls out of the kitchen every time the doors open. It carries the scent of hot oil, roasted tomatoes, and scorched garlic.
No one stops.
No one asks who I am.
They barely look at me.
For the first time in six years, no one is watching me.
The realization is exhilarating for exactly one second.
Then I become painfully aware of my dress.
Bare shoulders. Bare back. A slit almost to my hip.
I’ve never felt more exposed.
I keep moving.
Servers brush past me on their way to the kitchen. One mutters an apology when his shoulder clips mine, then continues without looking back. I head in the opposite direction, toward the quieter end of the corridor.
Every step feels stolen.
I expect Yevgeny to appear in front of me.
I expect Ivan to call my name behind me.
I expect an alarm to sound.
Instead, I find two doors.
One is marked OFFICE.
The other reads EMERGENCY EXIT.
A breathless laugh catches in my throat.
I look behind me.
No one is paying attention.
I have only a second to wonder whether the door will trigger an alarm before I push the metal bar.
Nothing happens.
The door swings open, and cool night air rushes over my bare skin.
I step into a service alley.
The smell hits me first—garbage, damp brick, old cooking oil, and exhaust. Dumpsters line one wall. Water drips steadily from a rusted pipe. A delivery truck idles near the far end while its driver unloads crates through another entrance. Somewhere nearby, glass bottles tumble into a recycling bin.
Beyond the mouth of the alley, the city hums.
I stand there for one stunned moment.
No Ivan.
No Viktor.
No walls.
The wind slides beneath the thin satin of my dress, raising goose bumps over my skin.
I should have brought a coat.
I should have taken the money.
I should have planned better.
One heel catches between the uneven stones when I take my first step. My ankle twists, and I grab the brick wall to keep from falling.
I stop, slip off both shoes, and hold them by their straps.
The pavement is cold and filthy beneath my bare feet. Grit presses into my soles, and something sharp nicks one heel.
I don’t care.
Behind me, the door begins to swing shut.
If I go back now, I might reach the restroom before Ivan realizes I’m missing. I could return to the table. Pretend none of this happened. Wait until I have the money and the knife and a better plan.
The door closes with a heavy metallic click.
The sound travels through me.
I turn toward the city.
I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.
But I know for damn sure I’m not going back to Viktor.