But truth be told, I get the feeling that the hard look is reserved more for himself.
Almost as if he hates that he’s looking at me in this new light.
I turn away, focus on the yacht growing bigger and bigger with every bounce of the speed boat. The sound of the party grows louder. Pounding bass reverberates across the water, and I see men and women gyrating their bodies in time with the music while girls in skimpy clothes and heels walk around, serving drinks and being paid with gropes.
I hug the shawl tighter around my shoulders, glad that I changed when I did.
We approach the stern of the yacht, where someone is standing there, waiting.
Even from here, I recognize Nico’s lazy confidence from the way he stands. He smiles as we approach closer, and I feel my stomach twist.
I sent him the list of names last night in a fit of rageful jealousy, and then provoked Slava into believing that not only did Nico invite me here, but that I was fucking him too.
And now that I’m here, I desperately wish I had simply told Slava the truth.
What if my lies are about to blow up in my face?
But it’s too late to turn back now. Nico is already throwing down a ladder and a rope for us. There’s nowhere to go but up.
When neither of us make a move, Nico calls down from above.
“My father is waiting, Romanov. And you know how impatient he can be when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
Slava’s hand rests on my shoulder and gives his best approximation of a reassuring squeeze.
“Go,” he says quietly. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I look at him, but my feet remain fixed in place. He cuts the engine, takes the rope Nico tossed down, and lashes his speed boat to the yacht.
I’m trembling now, and Slava closes his hand around mine.
And for the first time, his warmth can’t cut through the cold dread squeezing around my heart.
“Slava, I?—”
“Not now, Bella,” he says quietly. “Now, I need you to be brave. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
His hand finds my chin and I open my mouth to say something snarky—something about how touching me without permission is getting to be a habit, or how his possessive bullshit isn’t as charming as he thinks it is—but the words never come.
We just stare at each other.
Up close, I can see things I’ve never noticed before. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his lashes catch the sunlight. The flecks of green and blue in his gray irises.
Have those always been there?
His thumb traces my jawline gently, in a way I didn’t know he was capable of.
And that’s when I finally recognize what emotion I’m seeing in his eyes.
Concern.
23
BELLA
Slava’s handfinds the small of my back as we board, and I want so badly to lean into his warmth.
"Ms. Creminelli." Nico’s smile is sharklike as he greets me by my fake name. "So glad you could make it."
