7. Elena #2
“You’re forgetting you snuck out with me,” I say, narrowing my eyes at my traitorous best friend.
Hannah grins, all teeth. “Yes, but I got back undetected.”
Braydon’s glance flicks between us curiously. “So... is someone going to tell us what happened?”
“In all fairness,” I interject, before Hannah can get another word in edgewise, “the plan worked. I was a victim of circumstance.”
Hannah snorts. I glare. Alexei and Braydon exchange a look that tells me they’re fully invested now.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Go ahead.”
Hannah bounces in her seat like a child high on sugar. “The orphanage was strict. We were fourteen, desperate to see this movie that only had late showings. And since the older kids lived on the third floor, we had to get creative.”
Alexei mutters, “I’m not sure I’m liking where this is going.”
I pat his hand. “I survived, didn’t I?”
He deadpans, “Comforting.”
“Anyway,” Hannah cuts in, taking center stage again, “there was this huge oak tree right by our window. Perfect for sneaking out. Once roll call was done, we climbed down, saw the movie, and got back after midnight. I used my cat-like skills to climb up first and jimmy the window open?—”
“And weakened the branch,” I mutter.
Alexei gives me a small, entertained smile.
Hannah stops, looking at me. A silent, you want to take it from here?
I sigh. “I was halfway up when we heard the first crack.”
“Oh no...” Braydon winces.
“Oh yes…” Hannah giggles.
Under the table, Alexei’s hand slips onto my thigh, warm and steady.
“Then came another crack. I could feel the branch giving way. I climbed as fast as I could, three stories up, mind you. I leaped toward Hannah’s hand, but my jeans caught on part of the branch.”
Hannah goes into full hysterics, wiping her tears away.
Braydon glances between us. “Did you make it?”
I shake my head.
Hannah cackles so loudly that the nearest table glances over as if she is back reliving it for the first time.
Heat flares across my cheeks. “The branch snagged my back pocket so hard it ripped my entire bottom. I ended up hanging upside down from the tree, underwear on full display.”
Braydon slaps a hand over his mouth. Alexei tries, fails, to hide his grin.
“It was legendary,” Hannah wheezes.
“Not at the time,” I grumble. “They had to call the fire department to get me down.”
Braydon and Alexei both break into laughter.
“And,” I add with a groan, “I was on house arrest for basically a lifetime. The boys called me ‘Pinky Haden’ for a year.”
Their eyebrows furrow. I sigh. “My underwear was pink.”
Alexei scowls.
I grin. “Not so funny now, is it?”
“Careful, Elena. The look on your husband’s face warns he might track every one one of them down,” Braydon teases.
“Maybe I should,” Alexei mutters.
I don’t even try to stifle my grin.
Hannah’s laughter dies into little hiccups. “You should’ve been there.”
I lift a brow. “Oh? Should we tell the guys about the time you thought Rick was going to kiss?—”
Hannah gasps. “No! Absolutely not!”
Braydon perks up. “Actually, I think we should hear this.”
We continue telling stories well into dinner.
Braydon tells the story of accidentally giving his mom food poisoning with breakfast in bed; even Alexei, not having looked this relaxed in ages, shares a story of his team losing one soccer game in his entire playing career, resulting in them having to dress up in women’s clothes so that the opposing team could take a picture, since they’d lost the bet.
That one earns the biggest laugh of the night.
“I need the ladies’ room,” Hannah announces, right after dessert has been served.
“Good idea.” I place my napkin on the table and stand.
Both men immediately rise, prepared to escort us, but I press a hand to Alexei’s shoulder. “Gentlemen, relax. You’re not on duty tonight. You’re our dates. We can handle a bathroom.”
Alexei ignores that entirely, signaling to Lance and Travis, our shadows for the evening.
I roll my eyes, but steal a kiss to his cheek before Hannah drags me toward the entrance.
Inside, staff bow as we pass. I smile politely and hurry through, even though with two hulking security agents flanking us, subtlety is impossible.
I stop Lance at the bathroom door. “It’s the ladies’ room. We’ll be fine.”
He frowns. “We need to make sure you’re safe.”
“There’s only one way in and out,” Hannah adds, patting his arm. “We got it.”
He opens his mouth to object, but I wave him off as Hannah pushes the door open.
We giggle like schoolgirls as we enter, do our business, and head for the sinks, until my steps falter.
We’re not alone.
She stands at the mirror, putting on bright red lipstick with slow, deliberate care. Her movements are fluid, confident. She exudes self-assurance, the kind that invites every gaze without even trying.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and something of her stillness makes my pulse skip.
I turn my attention to the sink, letting the warm water run over my hands.
The woman in the mirror leans closer to the glass, one hand braced on the counter as she smooths another layer of lipstick across her mouth.
The color is bold, too bold for this lighting, and it catches the overhead glow, glossy and calculated.
The soft pop of her lips finishing their application echoes lightly.
She presses her lips together once, twice, then tilts her head, evaluating herself with the cool scrutiny of someone used to being looked at.
I shouldn’t be staring.
Her dress dips low in the front, the fabric draping just enough to invite attention without begging for it.
A thin gold chain curves against her skin, warm and luminous, disappearing into the shadowed hollow at her collarbone.
As she shifts, the chain slides, and the smallest sliver of the pendant peeks free.
Gold.
My breath stutters.
The shape is wrong for coincidence. Soft edges. Curved lines. Not a circle. Not a cross.
A flower.
The word blooms in my mind, unwelcome and sharp.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck as my gaze locks onto that fragment of metal, my brain scrambling to reconcile what I’m seeing with the sudden thrum in my chest. I’ve seen that shape before.
I know I have. The certainty lands heavy, even as the memory itself stays just out of reach, like a name on the tip of my tongue.
I shift, intending to hide my stare, to pretend I was never watching at all.
Too late.
The woman straightens abruptly, movement snapping through the mirror like a cut in film.
Her eyes flick up, sharp and assessing, and land directly on mine.
The air between us tightens. She turns, the chain catching the light again as she pivots fully toward me, the pendant slipping back into view as if it wants to be seen.
Her fingers clasp around the pendant, swinging it back and forth on the chain.
Her gaze doesn’t ask a question.
It accuses.
My pulse thuds hard enough that I feel it in my ears. I force my expression into neutrality, but something inside me has already tipped off balance. The angle of her face. The set of her mouth. The way she holds herself, too composed, too familiar in a way that makes my skin prickle.
I know her.
Not in the way you recognize a stranger from a crowd, but in the way a half-remembered dream lingers after waking. It feels close and far too intimate. Wrong.
She watches me for another beat, unreadable, then her lips curve, not quite a smile.
And whatever memory I’m missing shifts just out of sight, leaving only the certainty that this woman is not an accident, and neither is the way my chest tightens as she turns fully to face me.
“Oh my,” she trills in that singsong voice. “Aren’t you the queen?” Her accent is unmistakable. Russian.
A flick of fear curls low in my stomach. Irrational, unfair, but it hits anyway. I force myself to breathe. One man’s sins shouldn’t stain an entire culture.
“I am,” I answer, adopting my most queenly tone.
She tucks her chain beneath her dress and lets her lipstick fall into her clutch with a delighted gasp. “How lucky am I? I’ve never met a queen.” Her hand drifts to her chest. “I’d almost doubt it. I’d expect an army of guards with you.”
“They’re just outside,” Hannah cuts in sharply.
The woman raises a hand; her eyes glint like a cat’s. “I mean no offense. I’m just… starstruck.”
I give her a courteous smile.
She fully turns to us now, brown hair cascading in glossy waves. “I must say how impressive you are. What you did to that awful man who was supposed to be your family?—”
I stiffen. “Thank you, but I can’t comment on that matter.”
“I understand. Truly.” Her apology is soft, but something in her smile feels… crafted. Perfectly placed. A little too knowing.
An internal alarm tugs at me.
Hannah notices my shift, moves closer.
“You’re extraordinary,” the woman continues. “So young. Strong. Zurdonia is lucky to have you.”
Zurdonia is lucky to have you.
Not we are lucky. Not I.
Is she a tourist? Or something else?
Hannah steps in. “We should get back. Our dates are waiting.”
For a fraction of a second, annoyance flares in the woman’s eyes, but her smile widens, bright, sharp. “Of course. My apologies.” She gives a small bow. “It was lovely meeting you, Your Majesty.”
I force another smile.
She walks past, floral perfume blooming in her wake, soft jasmine warmed by dusk. It lingers beyond the touch of her arm against mine…
And suddenly…
My spine locks. My breath stutters.
An image flashes behind my eyes.
A posed photograph.
Two girls, their faces blurred, but I feel their smiles.
A fine crack splits between them, creeping like frost up my spine… and then it’s gone.
The heels of her shoes click toward the door. It swings open. Closes.
“El?” Hannah’s voice is cautious.
I blink, shaking off the haze. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
“Maybe we can convince the guys to get ice cream?”
I nod again, but my mind drifts, slipping far from the bistro, far from Hannah’s steady presence.
What did that image mean?
Why now?
And what did it have to do with that woman?