I was like her when I came here from Russia. I justknewmy life would be perfect. A fairy tale, even. And then it turned into a nightmare.
“Do you live in the city?” the mother asks. “We’re staying in the Theater District, and I have no idea if we’ll have time to get dinner before we seeHamiltontonight.”
“I’m only here for work,” I say softly, and the woman’s face falls. Regret hunches my shoulders, and I glance down at my phone. Even though I don’t live in the city, I’ve been here enough to answer her. Not everyone I meet is out to get me. I have to remember that. “Unless you can get a bite at the hotel, you won’t have time. The drive from the airport takes over an hour this time of day.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea.”
“If you can afford it, take a taxi, not one of the airport shuttles. It will cost a little more, but you’ll save at least half an hour.”
“Mom, I can just have a candy bar,” the teen says. “I don’t want to be late for the show.”
“Emma, you arenothaving candy for dinner.” Mom huffs out a breath, then relents. “Granola bar first. Then candy.” She turns back to me and flashes me a smile. “She’d eat candy every meal if she could.”
“I would have too at her age. Good luck with the traffic.” Before the mom can say anything else or draw me deeper into conversation, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, the bruise will be gone. But my problems won’t fade that quickly. I have to send Dimitri his second payment before we board the plane for Zurich. If I wait until we land, I’ll officially belateagain, and even though I’m not at home for my attacker to break in again, I have no doubt Dimitri will find another way to get to me.
* * *
“Over here!”Marina calls, jumping up and down, her black curls bouncing around her heart-shaped face. “Sloane!”
Adjusting my oversized purse to sit higher on my shoulder, I duck around a large family and wrap my free arm around Marina. “Please tell me you didn’t make plans for us tonight.”
The look she shoots me is nothing short of pure disbelief. “I wouldnever, sweetie. We’re going straight to my place, where we’ll feast on lean protein and fresh veggies, along with sparkling cider and chamomile tea. But in the morning, we’re booked for mani/pedis, massages, and facials at the Equinox. By the time we get on that plane tomorrow night, we’re going to be more relaxed than we’ve ever been.”
Shit. Facials. Without makeup. I hope to all that’s holy in this world there’s a scheduling mix-up and we won’t be in the same room at the same time. But I know better. Marina loves “girl time” and, if I’m honest, so do I. As long as I’m not recovering from a black eye and a bruised hip.
Forcing a smile, I link my arm with hers. “You’re the best. Come on. Let’s get to baggage claim.”
* * *
My makeup skillsget me halfway through the evening, but after Marina brings out the fruit plate—and the dark chocolate sauce to drizzle on top—she parks herself next to me on the sofa. Before I reach for a strawberry, she draws in a sharp breath. “Sloane. What happened to your face?”
“Huh?” I ask like I don’t knowexactlywhat she’s talking about.
“Come with me. And don’t even think about playing dumb. I know what half a dozen layers of concealer look like.” Taking my hand, she leads me into her bathroom and grabs a cotton pad and a bottle of mineral oil.
“Don’t. Please?” I shrink back, and my lips press together of their own accord. Great. I’d managed to avoid chewing them most of the day by popping piece after piece of gum, but seeing the confusion and disappointment in Marina’s eyes? I can’t help myself.
“Sloane, I have to know what I’m working with when we get to Zurich. And I’m worried about you. Ever since we found out about this trip, you’ve been distracted. Like you’re not even happy about it. This is going to make your whole career. Thecoverof the Christmas Book? That’s freaking amazeballs. I don’t care if you have a massive zit. We can deal with that.”
If only it were that easy to explain away. Or cover up. Desperate for a shred of control, I take the round pad from her, soak it in mineral oil, and gingerly swipe at my cheek. Each pass makes me cringe. Not because it hurts. The physical pain is mostly gone. But because once I’m done, I have to make a choice.
Lie to my best and maybe only friend or tell her the truth and risk not only my own life, but hers as well.
“Who hit you?” she demands, hands on her hips as she stares at the bruise. Tears well in my eyes, irritating my contact lenses, and the dam I built around my heart fifteen years ago crumbles into dust.
I don’t know how I end up on the floor, but Marina wraps her arms around me and holds me until I stop crying. “Back to the couch with you. I’m going to get us something stronger than sparkling cider for this conversation,” she says as she helps me up.
“I can’t.”
“You’re not going to get all puffy from one drink—”
“I’m an addict.”
Oh, my God. What did I just do?
I haven’t said those words aloud since I left the hospital where I got clean. Even though I never had a problem with alcohol—I’ve had all of three drinks in my entire life—my counselors told me it would be easy for me to regress if I ever touched the stuff. One addiction can easily lead to another, even if Dimitri was the one who forced the heroin on me in the first place. I didn’t want it. Until it made the pain go away. Then I wanted it very much.
