YOM
YOM
Yom attemptedto let Lydia go.
He was way off the new plan, and she was obviously upset by his sudden, uninvited appearance at her brother’s birthday party.
Rustanov men were raised to do whatever they wished without caring what anyone else thought. But even Yom was aware he was coming off as psychotic.
So, he watched her rush away, gripping the still-full flute of champagne she’d blindly thrust at him before escaping to the toilets outside the ballroom.
“And I’m not sure what Mount Nik’s offering his players these days,” Lydia’s father continued, as if his daughter hadn’t just run out of their conversation, “but you should know the Raptors are prepared to offer you a handsome signing bonus. Especially if you save us from having to bend over for a draft pick.”
“Darling, language!” his wife chided with a tittering laugh rather than follow her obviously upset daughter to see if there was anything she could do to help.
Yom was beginning to understand why Lydia was the way she was—unaware of her unique beauty, exceptional personality, and many alluring traits. With parents like these, it would have been impossible to develop even the smallest ego.
But. He would not follow her. He would not.
Yom clenched his teeth and pretended to listen to Lydia’s father drone on about a possible move to the Raptors—a decision Yom had already made.
And he took a bit of pride in waiting a counted-down thirty seconds before glancing toward the ballroom doors to check for Lydia.
Of course, she hadn’t returned from the bathroom yet. But he did catch a glimpse of Paul slipping through those same doors.
Perhaps the timing was a coincidence.Perhaps…
To his credit, Yom gave that possibility a whole two beats of consideration before shoving the champagne flute in their blathering patriarch’s hand with a flat, “Excuse me.”
Did he feel silly stalking toward the men’s room to make sure Paul was headed there? How could he not?
However, that quiet alarm going off in the back of his head rose a few decibels when he found the men’s toilets empty.
Paul could have taken the elevators to another location.
Perhaps.
But just in case, Yom crept into the women’s toilets. Fortunately, the design of this particular space included a long hallway leading toward the stalls. There was a chance he could take a peek and sneak out without Lydia ever know?—
“Paul, c’mon, you’re drunk.”
Lydia sounded bright and sunny, but there was an underlying tension in her tone that Yom did not like as he hung back in the hallway.
“Let’s just… let’s just go back to the party.”
“No, you fucking bitch. Always trying to fuck me!” Paul answered, his words slurring with what sounded like copious amounts of alcohol. “First in Berlin. Now here in Chicago, on my own goddamn birthday!”
“That’s right. It’s your birthday party. You don’t want to create a scene. Just… just let me by, okay?”
There came a few tip-tapping clicks, as if Lydia was attempting to run.
But then, those clicks were abruptly cut off by a ripping sound.
“Oh my God, Paul. My dress. Why would you?—”
“You trying to replace me in this family? That’s your plan? That’s why you’ve been throwing your pussy at Rustanov all semester? Thinking you’re going to fucking replace me?!”
Those words were enough to get Yom’s feet moving. Maybe it wasn’t his place to interfere in a family argument. Yet. But he refused to let her brother speak to her that way.
