Mala…
Christmas Eve…
I’m a fool.
I don’t know why I’m attempting this. Cormac made it clear he would have nothing to do with me, but my freedom is slipping away, a year and a half left before my life belongs to my father and whoever he marries me off to. I know that stubborn Scottish dick wants me. Almost as much as I need him.
Willow, who under most circumstances could be the spokesperson for Adderall, is remarkably single-minded when it comes to sniffing out heartbreak.
“You’re going to have to tell me who you’re really dressing up for tonight because I know it’s not for Mariya.” She’s lounging on my bed, eating the rest of my Red-Hot Cheetos stash from home.
“You’re getting Cheeto dust all over your makeup,” I said, finishing my lipstick. “Now hurry up. I have to go dress Mariya before she tries to do it herself.”
“Makeup application is not her strength,” Willow nodded, “remember her attempt at a smokey evening eye last year?” Weboth cringe hard enough that I can feel my spine compress. “But you’re not getting out of telling me something. Who is all of this…”
She waved her hand, encompassing my short, silver dress and stiletto heels, “Who is it for? I never see you hanging around any of the guys enough to think you have any interest in them. Aren’t you supposed to be making nice with Ronan Cox? Didn’t he ask you to be his date tonight?”
I fluffed my hair in the mirror, ignoring her question. She’s right. I’ve been instructed to get closer to Ronan, but I still turned him down. It’s too obvious. Letting Ronan rub up against me while I’m yearning for Cormac is… gross. I couldn’t do it.
Tonight, Cormac MacTavish going toseeme. I won’t let him look away this time.
On the walk over, Mariya slips her arm into mine. “We knowmyreasons for our date tonight, but what about yours? Are you sure about this?”
Back when we’d agreed to attend the dance together, Konstantin - her fiancé from her family’s Bratva arranged marriage - was acting like a complete bastard and I had been seething from yet another round of Cormac’s burst of heat and then his instant, chilly withdrawal and dismissal.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, mouth tight and angry. “He’ll have to show some kind of reaction, one way or another. And if it’s a negative one, at least I’ll know, right?”
“I wish you’d tell me who he is,” she asks, concerned. When I don’t answer, she squeezes my arm, smiling sweetly. “I’m pretty sure this mystery man is not going to know what hit him.”
The abrupt change from the chill outside to the warmth of the Grand Hall is welcome; all four fireplaces are roaring, withevergreen swags draping the walls and an enormous Christmas tree in front of the windows looking out on the entryway to the Academy. This might be a formal night, but the Dean unbent enough to bring in a DJ instead of a string quartet this year.
Since only around twenty-five percent of the students here are women, there’s huge competition for formal events like these. The faces of my fellow Spies hanging around the bar are hilarious; alternately outraged and disappointed.
“Well, that’s just not fair!” Matt Carson’s new this year, a blond surfer boy type from California. “Really? This is selfish, ladies! So many of us and so few of you.” He’s saying it with a smile and a nod to Konstantin, who’s watching like he’s swallowed his tongue.
“Sorry, but sometimes a woman just needs the soft touch of someone who understands her,” I say, batting my lashes.
One of the guys with Matt makes a helpless little bleating noise as I kiss Mariya’s cheek. Her face is turning an ominous red because I know she’s about to burst into uproarious laughter, so I slide my arm around her waist and quickly pull her onto the dance floor. We laugh so hard that we’re clinging to each other to keep upright.
“Bozhe moy,oh my god, that was hilarious,” she wheezes, trying to wipe her eyes and keep my excellent mascara application from running.
“That guy from the Warriors division - Karl, I think - might have been crying a little,” I add, pressing my hand against my stomach. My muscles are sore from laughing, but it’s wonderfully freeing, and I feel lighter now, joyful.
“And now, we dance!” Mariya swings me in a circle and my hips swivel in a figure eight to the music. It’s been so long since Idanced, just for fun, spinning and laughing with my friends… It was that night in Southbank, in fact.
The night I met Cormac.
I know he’s here, I can feel his gaze on me like a physical caress. Looking around the hall, I find him. Cormac’s in full Scottish Laird mode tonight, tall and powerful looking in his kilt and black jacket, his hair swept off his face and he’s gorgeous, damn him. He’s in the left corner of the room by the bank of French doors leading out to the terrace, near some of the faculty but standing a bit apart. There’s a little group of his fangirls edging closer, but he’s ignoring them, drinking angrily from a glass of amber liquor. Probably Scotch. Something expensive and rare, no doubt.
He’s glaring at me over his glass and I feel a vicious bolt of satisfaction.
Good.
The light’s flickering off my silver dress and I spin again, waving my arms above me like seaweed and feeling invincible.
“You are both looking exceptionally beautiful tonight.” It’s Konstantin, looking handsome in his tux and giving us an elaborate bow. Leaning in closer, he murmurs, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Mala. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Mariya looks a little surprised. “Why? There’s no harm in dancing.”
