“I do not,” I mutter, but he keeps smiling at them like I’ve just confirmed it.
“She’s shy about feelings,” he tells them. “That’s what makes her adorable.”
Adorable. My face burns. I glare at him, but everyone else melts into approving smiles.
“You two are disgustingly cute,” Julian says, raising his glass.
“Well, you know what they say about cute couples,” I add. My chest has been stinging, even though I know there’s no rational reason for feeling betrayed. “They never last.”
Julian’s laugh turns awkward. Dmitry makes another comment about my sense of humor before shepherding me away from those people.
He literally shoves me in front of him, pushing me into the corridor, until we’re near the bathrooms.
I finally exhale, relieved to be away from people. My mask keeps slipping off tonight. It’s Dmitry’s fault. I just hope Julian bought his BS about my odd sense of humor. I can’t seem to be act like my usual, unflappable self around Dmitry. He brings out my teeth. My fangs. The real me. The girl who I’ve pushed down for years. She feels like she can breathe around him.
But her existence has the ability to destroy my social reputation.
“Don’t manhandle me, Antonov.” I grunt when he pushes my back against the wall. There aren’t any people here. Just us. The air vibrates with the flammable combo of my need and his anger.
He turns his head toward me, voice lower. “You keep acting like you don’t want me in front of them. Stop it.”
“What, you think I should be swooning in your arms?”
“You should act like you want to be here. If you keep throwing little barbs, people will think this isn’t real.”
I roll my eyes. “It isn’t real.”
“It needs to look like it is.”
“Sorry, but I’m not an actress.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re better than an actress. Pretending is your middle name. You’ve been fake since the day you set foot on this campus.”
Fake.The word stabs my heart like a knife.
Anger simmers, boiling over. I grab his collar, tightening my fingers on the fabric. It feels cathartic to get mad at someone, to rage instead of tamping down my emotions. What he’s saying is true. I’ve been a pretender all along. So why can’t I do it when I’m with him?
“I’m not pretending for you,” I yell. “Maybe you should have picked someone more cooperative.”
Something in him shifts. His eyes darken. The calm cracks.
I hear a bang, exploding into my ears. I flinch, closing me eyes. When I open them, Dmitry is leaning over to me, his palms against the wall on either side of me, caging me in.
My breath stutters. He’s so close. The proximity makes me feel small, like a hunted animal. His pupils are dilated, his rage apparent. He could kill me. I don’t think he will, but he can. His size, his strength, that predatory twist of his lips...it’s all too clear.
“If you want to be bullied for real, keep talking,” he says, voice low, calm in the way storms are calm before they break. “My family donates more money to this college than your father has ever made. I could have you expelled before sunrise.”
My throat dries. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
He leans closer until I can feel the heat from his body, his chest brushing mine. “If you keep being a brat, you’ll find out that I do.”
For a second, I can hear nothing but his heartbeat. It’s steady, hard, relentless.
I hate that my body doesn’t understand fear. It only understands the electricity running between us. My chest rises against his, and the air between us burns. My nipples are hard as diamonds under my dress and each time they press against his solid, unmoving chest, a crackle of electricity jolts through my system. I’m pressing my fucking breasts against him. It feels so intimate, even though we’re fully clothed.
“Keep misbehaving, and I’ll make you pay for it later.”
His voice drips with power. The woman inside me, the one who longs for punishment and praise, shivers.
