"Uh-huh." Lydia nods. "No-one made you almost take my head off before I got through the door."
“I just want tonight to be over with." I stop and try to assemble something resembling composure. "That’s all."
Lydia closes the door behind her, and leans against the wall, and watches me return to the mirror to fix my eyeliner. "You know you can talk to me, right? About whatever's happening with you?"
"Nothing's happening with me."
"You're lying."
"I'mfine," I snap, and immediately regret it.
She's my best friend and the only one who knows the full truth of who I am and what I'm doing. She deserves better than my deflections.
But I can't explain what just happened at my door. I can't explain Slava’s chin on my wet shoulder, the press of my palm against his heart, the way he called memalyshka, and how much it bothers me that I want him.
I can't explain it because explaining it would mean confronting the reality of what I’m feeling. And I don’t want to do that.
"I'm sorry," I say instead. "I'm just... it's going to be a long night. I'll tell you everything tomorrow."
Lydia studies me for a moment longer, then nods. "I'm holding you to that."
I finish my makeup in focused silence. Foundation first, then concealer. One layer after another of my carefully applied armor until I can almost fool myself into believing that I can survive the night without another dangerous fantasy of what I want to happen.
Now, for the final piece.
I pick up the tangle of gold chain from my bathroom vanity and I look at the seven-pointed star.
It was a custom commission that Mr. Romanov worked very closely with us on.
Maybe it’s for the best if I leave it off tonight. If I leave it off, maybe he won’t stare at me with a gaze that makes me want to throw myself into him.
But then I hold the diamond against my throat, see the way it sits so exposed around my throat, and I think about the way his eyes darken as he stares at it.
At me.
Like I’m something he wants and can’t have—something he can’t look away from.
And like the madwoman that I am, I clasp the chain closed behind my neck and let the star settle against my chest.
The thing about digging… is that you never know when you’re digging your own grave.
I want him to look.
Because the longer he looks, the closer he’ll come to losing his composure. And once he loses his composure, it’s only a matter of time before he breaks and cracks and loses control.
And when he does, I want to know just exactly what he’ll do to me.
8
SLAVA
The summer nightair does nothing to cool the fire beneath my skin.
I stand outside the SUV, watching the entrance to her building. The waiting is its own particular kind of hell. I’m used to clean and purposeful pain from interrogation, not this.
This is messy and undisciplined. It’s the torment of knowing exactly what I ought to do while I’m paralyzed by thought of what I want to do.
I've been sitting on the confirmation about who Bella really is for almost the entire week now.
