But it’s already too late.
22
BELLA
I'm completelyout of my fucking mind.
That's the only explanation for why I'm standing in my apartment wearing the smallest bikini I own.
When I bought it two summers ago during a brief manic episode where I thought I might become a beach person, I never actually wore it. It lived in the back of my drawer like a shameful secret, buried under a mountain of more sensible clothing.
But today, it’s the armor I’m wearing to war.
I turn in front of my bedroom mirror and examine the three pieces of floral pattern fabric held together by what is effectively dental floss, wondering just how the hell they’re supposed to contain actual human body parts.
No matter how I adjust the top, my breasts feel absurdly exposed. The bottoms are bottoms only because that’s where they happen to be. In other words, they’re bottoms the same way that a Post-it note istechnicallypaper.
Sure, it exists, but that’s about where it ends.
It’s crazy.
But I’m doing it anyway.
I turn to examine myself in the mirror, grateful that Anthony is with Lydia for the day. Then, I check my phone. Slava should be here soon.
Just thinking about Slava sends his threat slithering down my spine again.
That dark and intoxicating possessiveness in his voice when he said it is keeping me off-kilter and sends my heart thump-thump-thumping against my chest every time I think about it.
But the part that I still can’t get over is howhotI found it.
After he hung up the phone yesterday, I stayed in the bathroom for another ten minutes as I slowly reassembled my brain into a semblance of functionality before stepping out on watery knees.
Once Anthony was sound asleep, I spent the rest of the night with my hand between my legs and his name on my lips like a curse I couldn’t stop muttering, feeling shameful and disgusted as I chased one orgasm after another until I made myself a whimpering mess on my bed.
And it still wasn’t fucking enough.
My buzzer sounds, and my heart skids in my chest. I take one last look in the mirror at the exposed skin, the defiant set of my jaw, and the dark circles under my eyes that even concealer can’t fully hide.
The momentI open the door and step out into the hallways to greet Slava, two things become immediately clear.
First, my outfit is having the exact effect I intended from Slava. Because the moment he sees me, I can’t tell if he wants to fuck me or if he wants to kill every man in the world so that none of them can see me.
Second, he looks absolutely impossibly gorgeous.
He’s wearing white linen pants and a matching white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dirty blond hair is slightly windswept. His gray eyes are narrowed. The small scar on his chin catches the hallway light as his jaw tightens.
“No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
I lean against the doorframe in a casual pose that absolutely does not match my racing pulse.
“I’m sorry, was there a dress code memo I missed? We’re going to a yacht party, aren’t we? I’m expecting to getwet.”
His nostrils flare at that word.
“Not in that.” He gestures at me. “You’re not.”
“I’m sure Nico willlovewhat I’m wearing,” I retort. “Maybe I want to see if you’ll make good on your promise last night.”
