Thumbing it open, I read it.
Dimitri:You made it home safely.
It’s not a question. It’s a statement.Somehow he knows.
Me:Are youwatching me?
Dimitri:What do you think?
I think he’s the type that would stalk the woman he loves. But the moment that thought enters my mind, I shoot it right back down. Dimitri doesn’t love me. At least I don’t think he does. I think back to the recent things he’s done. He definitely has feelings for me, but I don’t know if Dimitri is capable of love in all actuality. The very idea seems improbable.
Me:Where are you right now?
Dimitri:Close.
A shiver runs down my spine at that one word. So, he must have followed me home. I don’t know whether that’s oddly sweet or creepy and stalkerish. Once again, he’s left me confused about what I should be feeling.
I don’t know what possesses me to do what I do next, but I type out a quick text and send it before I can change my mind.
Me:Want to come up for a shot of tequila?
Dimitri:Not tonight. Have to work.
I frown at his text. He’s working this late at night? Probably doing nefarious things for his father. Most likely dangerous criminal acts that could get him hurt.
Me:Be careful.
I don’t receive any more texts from him that night. And by the time I wake up the next morning, the last message I sent him is left on read. I stare at our text exchange for a long time, reading his words over and over again. He never apologized for what he did. Not that I thought he would, but I guess I anticipated more of him, considering how things have been between us lately.
I expect Dimitri to text me that week, call or something, but he doesn’t do anything. He completely ghosts me. It’s almost like he vanished without warning, leaving me behind as nothing but a distant reminder he no longer wants. And for the first time since we started this little game, I can feel my heart beginning to break into pieces.
CHAPTER FORTY
Savina
I RECEIVEA text message Saturday morning from my stepmother that my presence is required at my father’s house later that evening. Cosette made it a point to tell me to dress nicely in a second message, and I almost want to put on baggy sweatpants and a stained T-shirt just to piss her off.
But not wanting to provoke the beast any more than I must and then having to deal with the consequences later, I put on a very nice dress and high heels for the unknown occasion. A driver picks me up around six and drops me off at my father’s house around six-thirty.
The first thing I notice as I walk up to the front door is the amount of strange cars parked in the circular driveway. Are they having some kind of party? My birthday isn’t for another week, so this can’t all be for me, unless…
Suddenly, the door opens before I can even reach for the knob and a chorus of voices yell, “Surprise!”
I stare at the crowd of people packed inside the foyer, most of whom are unfamiliar faces, and plaster a fake, saccharine smile on my face. “Wow!” I exclaim, hoping that my tone is not dripping with sarcasm.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart!” my stepmother cries out, stepping forward with a huge grin on her face. She’s dressed in a tight, low-cut, sequined dress with full glam makeup and her hair perfectly styled. Hell, she’s even wearing a tiara on top of her head. I’m honestly surprised it doesn’t say “birthday girl” on it since she’s clearly trying to act as if it’s her own party instead of mine, and I have to force my eyes to not roll in the back of my head. “Were you surprised, Savina?” she asks while batting her long, fake eyelashes, which resemble tarantula legs the longer I stare at them.
“Very,” I tell her honestly. My past birthdays were always forgotten by my stepmother until days or sometimes weeks later after the fact. And even then, they were thrown together so haphazardly and half-assed that I knew she was only doing it to appease my father.
So, for my stepmother to throw such a huge party in my honor a week before my actual birthday is suspicious, at best. I can only think that Cosette did it for the benefit of the Sokolov family. She has been putting on airs ever since they came into the picture, after all.
“I planned all of it myself,” Cosette announces proudly, although I doubt that very much. I know for a fact that she has an entire party planning team at her beck and call, and I have no doubt that they did everything, even down to the napkin color choices.
“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.Thank you for inviting total strangers to my birthday party when you didn’t even invite my best friend, I think to myself.
“You’re welcome,” Cosette says, accepting all of the credit, like usual. “Go and greet our guests,” she prompts, practically shoving me into the sea of people looking at me expectantly.
Trying to keep a smile on my face, but failing miserably, I walk towards the first person on the rightand greet them. This meet and greet then goes on for what feels like hours as I make my way through the crowd. A lot of people have to introduce themselves to me because they’re distant relatives I haven’t seen since I was a little girl and too young to even remember their faces or names. Cosette literally invited everyone she could think of, and I kind of hate her for it. No, I do hate her for it. Because after I’m done making my way through the throng of guests, my social battery is already feeling drained, and I’m loathing the fact that I can’t just leave. It’s my birthday party, after all. And I’m obligated to stay until it’s over, unfortunately.
