As I watch them with a tilted head, I realize I never saw my parents smile like that at each other, appearing to be in blissful harmony as if they complete one another.
My father is the most distant motherfucker to ever spawn, treating his wife and kids like accessories to his empire, and my mother, well, she tried her best, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t exactly change the original sin—having Dad for a husband.
It wasn’t her fault. She was pushed into a political marriage, where a woman was once again used for powerful men’s egos.
My grandfather was Kabardian nobility with a shit ton of money that my father needed to get his hands on, and since Dedushka had no male heirs, it made sense to entrust the power-hungry, ruthless Yaroslav with it.
From what I know, Vaughn’s mom also comes from Russian aristocracy, but it doesn’t seem that his dad used her for that purpose or that he treats her like a convenience. If anything, he looks at her like she’s his world.
Fuck this feeling.
Now, I’m wondering what I would’ve grown up to be like if I’d had parents like that. Not that it’d matter.
I’m stuck with this clown called Yaroslav for…well, until either Lukas or I take his life.
I can’t kill him when Alya is in his grasp, so if Lukas can hurry the fuck up, that would be great.
With a sigh, I drag my gaze away from Vaughn’s parents.
Speaking of Vaughn, I swear he was around not too long ago, but now he’s nowhere to be seen.
Not that Iwantto see him. I left that day with the resolve that I wouldn’t get close to him again.
But did I fight all my goddamn demons not to walk over to him the moment our eyes met? Sure as fuck did.
He looked pissed off, and I eat that energy the fuck up when it comes to him.
But then I realized it was my bad habits rearing their ugly heads, and I had to snuff them out by walking away.
Then why are you looking for him?
Shut the fuck up, me. I’m just sizing up the enemy. You know, for research purposes.
When my father’s distracted, I slip into the hall and release a breath once I’m away from the constant overstimulation.
The wallpaper-covered walls extend before me as I walk down it. Maybe I should look for Alya. Yes, I know I said I’d let her get on with it, but I’m worried about her?—
A hand wraps around my nape, and I swing around, reaching for my gun as I’m pulled in one swift movement.
My back hits a wall and I point the gun at the chin of my assaulter, my finger on the trigger, only to be greeted by disapproving pools of hazel and a furrowed brow.
Vaughn.
Well, fuck me sideways.
The place he dragged me into looks like a conference room whose biggest feature is a massive mahogany table lined with padded chairs.
He steps back, creating some distance, while I stand with my arm extended, the gun steady between us.
I try, you know. I really,reallyfucking try not to check him out. But listen, withdrawals are little sons of bitches, and I’ve been through at least three a day for the past week, opening the chat between us every few hours just to close it again.
Because, contrary to popular belief, aka Cy’s, I actually do have pride, and I won’t go crawling back to Vaughn just because he graced me with his presence.
Well, that resolve is almost impossible to maintain now.
Because fuck all things unholy, no man should be this mouthwatering in a tuxedo.
Vaughn has always looked so well put together, but it’s tenfold worse tonight. Black tux, sharp lapels, that stiff collar hugging his neck where my hand should be—just saying, or suggesting, whatever fits the bill.
