I raise my voice so Gustav hears.
“Hold on,Boris!”
Silence on the other end. A long, dangerous silence.
He grabs the phone and glares into the screen. For a heartbeat, I’m frozen. His face. I miss it. I miss him. I want to plead with those beautiful gray eyes to come to me. To let me hold him.
But I snap out of my fairytale and remember I married a mad king, not a prince charming.
Impressing even myself, I slip into my new persona and fret with my hair.
“Gotta go! I need to check my makeup. I have a visitor. Boris. You know… the one,” I say sweetly, and before either of them can respond, I hang up.
Tyra stares at me as if I’ve just performed an exorcism.
“What in the holy balls was that?”
“Told you. My husband is nuts,” I say, breath shaking.
“So you made him jealous on purpose? That’s bold. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I nod slowly, clutching the phone to my chest. “He’s different. He will burn the world down despite himself. And I think I’m the only one who can reach him in a strange way.”
“You better hope your plan works.”
I swallow hard.
“So do I,” I whisper, because the truth is, not only do I love him, I know he must be suffering. He’s in a full spiral.
Chapter 34
Peighton
Afull day crawls by, slow and suffocating, and every hour without Gustav feels like a bruise blooming deeper in my chest. My father survived. The relief is sharp but small compared to the dread twisting inside me.
I can’t shake the feeling he is watching. That he is near. That any moment the doors will explode open and he’ll storm in, wild-eyed, accusing, furious.
Every time a door opens, I tense. Every time a text buzzes, my heart leaps. But it is never him.
By evening, Micha tells me gently, “He will not come tonight. Get some rest.” His reassurance does nothing. Instead, it makes everything ache worse.
Tyra and a few others convince me to get drinks. “You’ll combust if you don’t drink something,” she says, tugging on mywrist. So I go, desperate for anything that stops my mind from exploding.
The bar is packed and loud, warm bodies crushed together to escape the cold. Vodka helps. Not much, but a little. I dance with Tyra until sweat slicks down my back and under my tits. For a moment I even laugh, until—
A tall figure in the corner. Still. Watching. Shoulders too broad. Head tilted like Gustav’s when he’s studying me like prey.
My pulse spikes and I push through the crowd. “Gustav?” I call over the music, voice cracking. The man backs away. I follow, weaving between bodies, breath coming fast. The man slips toward the hallway. I break into a run and grab his forearm.
He spins around.
Not Gustav.
I stare at the stranger’s confused face. My throat tightens. Tears burn my eyes.
“Sorry,” I whisper, backing away. “I’m sorry.”
I return to the group. Tyra squeezes my shoulders. “Hey. Hey. Breathe.”
