I scoff. “T-t-try to be on the r-r-receiving end of that glare,” I tell her before walking with the crowd as it slowly departs the cave.
“I wish I could be. Damn, I bet he fucks like a stallion.”
“Darby!” I hiss, my face flushing in utter embarrassment.
“What? It’s not my fault you’re the only virgin between the two of us,” she whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut forcefully. She’s right. Darby has been experimenting with boys for a while now, and she has screwed all three of the boyfriends she’s had over the past year. Me, on the other hand, try to stay away from the opposite sex. I didn’t read over the contract when I signed it, but my stepmother has informed me several times over the past two years that I’m not allowed to even date, let alone have sex, before I fulfill the contract. I wonder if the same holds true for Dimitri, but I doubt if he would even follow the rules. He’s probably already lost his virginity. And for some reason, that makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“So, are you going to tell me how you two know each other?” Darby prompts, pulling me from my inner turmoil.
“Long s-s-story,” I mutter.
“Ooh, a long story between you and theRomanian,” she says, fluttering her lashes dramatically as she gathers her hands near her face. “I see a sleepover in the near future. I need all the dirt, girl.”
“Oh, there’s d-d-definitely a lot of d-dirt,” I say more to myself than her. Where would I even begin? Anyone that’s not in our world would never understand the history and meaning behind arranged marriages. As far as an outsider is concerned, the whole idea is foreign or just downright bizarre. Darby comes fromold money, not blood money, like me. I don’t think there’s a way I could make her understand.
And as far as talking about Dimitri, that’s the absolute last thing I want to do. In fact, I’m hoping that tonight is the last time I see him for a while. I’ve enjoyed the mental break over the past two years. I want to go back to him not existing in my world, so that I can keep on pretending that everything is fine, that I’m living a normal life and that I’m not secretly betrothed to a certified psychopath.
CHAPTER THREE
Savina
THE NEXT DAY,I try to forget about everything that happened at the fight last night, but literally everyone in school is talking about it. I can’t escape the whispered rumors about the fighters, and I can’t help but cringe every time someone says Dimitri’s name. He’s built up quite the reputation for himself in such a short period of time, and he’s not even a student here. The whole thing is just absurd.
I’m sitting in the middle of second period when a knock sounds at the classroom door. My English Lit teacher, Mr. Pendleton, says, “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing into the hallway. I take the opportunity to pull out my beloved sketchbook. The cover is worn and covered with doodles, constellations, pretty faces and twisted trees.
I first started drawing at the suggestion of my psychiatrist, Dr. Barlowe, who my father sent me to shortly after my mother died. I was hesitant about it at first, but now I can’t fathom my lifewithout drawing. It’s an escape for me. The world always felt too loud, and my sketchbook has always been like living inside my own little universe. I draw everything I see, loving to capture real life art and using my imagination to shape and shade it how I see fit.
Mr. Pendleton walks back into the room and announces, “We have a new student joining us today.”
My eyes are glued to the sketchbook as I fill in some shading around a pretty bird I drew earlier this morning. I’m barely paying attention when I hear heavy footsteps enter the room. Risking a glance, I stare at the black boots of the newcomer. They look scuffed and worn, and my fingers twitch at the thought of drawing their imperfections.
“Everyone, please welcome Dimitri Sokolov,” the teacher says.
The pencil in my hand freezes. Slowly, I look up. My gaze rises from the boots, to the navy blue pants, his untucked white button-up and plaid tie. Shadows of bruises litter his brutally handsome face, and I’m staring at them intently when I feel his eyes lock onto mine. Quickly, I duck my head and pretend to be doing something else. Something other thanstaringat him.
“There’s an empty seat beside Miss Cipriano,” Mr. Pendleton says.
I slowly close my eyes and internally mutter a curse.Of course there is.
“Perfect,” Dimitri mutters under his breath. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but I’m sure he is. Until he proves me wrong, I’m going to assume he hates me. Every interaction I’ve had with him thus far has clearly shown that much. I’m just not sure why he has so much anger towards me. I mean, it’s not like either one of us willingly agreed to the contract or anything. We’re both stuck in this situation, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
However, if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t say I’m very fond of him either. He frightens me. I feel like I never know what his next move is going to be. He seems to be volatile, aloof. I’m a planner, never doing anything spontaneously, and I have a feeling he’s theexact opposite of that. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. I’ll be nice. Well, as nice as I possibly can be. And if Dimitri chooses to take a different approach and be a dick, then I’ll be a dick right back to him.
As he approaches, I snap my sketchbook shut and cradle it hard against my chest, as if protecting it from him. He eyes me suspiciously but simply takes a seat next to me and leans back in his chair.
Mr. Pendleton starts writing things on the whiteboard behind his desk while the class takes notes. I bury my face in my notebook as I write, shielding my view of Dimitri with my long, dark hair.
Suddenly, I feel his presence beside me. His scent wafts over. Expensive cologne with a hint of tobacco and mint. “Why are you in this class for juniors?” he leans over and asks me in a hushed whisper.
“Advanced c-c-courses. I’m a couple years ahead of my p-p-peers,” I admit in a low voice. While I technically should be proud of that fact, I suddenly regret telling my father years ago that I was bored in school. I wasn’t being challenged, so my stepmother decided to force the principals and teachers to put me in harder classes. If I wouldn’t have opened my mouth back then, I wouldn’t be in the same class as Dimitri right now. Funny how things work.
“Why are youhere?” I quietly ask, stressing the last word.
“Your father thought this school would be a good fit for me,” he answers.
Ah, so my father is responsible for this. Considering the cost of tuition and the fact that half of the students who apply get turned away, Papà must have really pulled some strings. I don’t know why that makes me so infuriated, but it does. I was enjoying my Dimitri-free life for two years, and now it’s ruined. I’m going to have to see him every day. I can only hope that this is the only class we have together. Maybe I can switch seats with someone or…
