The SUV turns right and accelerates. Mom blabs about everything Selena told her about the new restaurant, and I nod, pretending to listen.
Thankfully, the ride is short. The SUV pulls up to the curb, and Dad jumps out. He opens the door, reaches in for me, and helps me out, then does the same for Mom. He bends both elbows. Mom and I each take one, letting him lead us past the crowd waiting outside, the red rope, and into the restaurant.
Loud chatter, dim lights, and warm air hit me. I don't let go of Dad, giving myself a moment to steady myself from overwhelm.
All I have to do is get through this.
I can pretend better than anyone,I remind myself, find my footing, and let go of Dad's arm.
Voices overlap in a dense, glittering wall of laughter, greetings, glasses clinking, and music pulsing low enough to be felt more than heard. Warm air scented with citrus, garlic, sea salt, and something sweet swirls around us. Candles flicker along stone tables. Brass fixtures catch the light and throw it back in soft gold flashes.
Everywhere I look, there's motion, celebration, and momentum. It's everything Red stripped from me in his office, alive, thriving, as if to mock me and say it doesn't need me.
A wave of emotion catches in my throat. I force my shoulders back and inhale slowly, letting the noise roll over me until it stops feeling like an attack and starts feeling like cover. If I disappear into this crowd, I don't have to explain myself. I don't have to answer questions my thoughts want me to hear.
Dad stays close for a beat longer than necessary, his hand hovering near my back like he's debating whether to ground me or let me go. I give him a small nod. He takes it as permission, and he finally turns to greet someone calling his name.
Mom gets immediately swept into a conversation with Aunt Selena, who looks radiant in a green silk wrap dress, her eyes shining with pride and adrenaline. Uncle Obrecht stands beside her, already halfway into a story about construction delays and last-minute menu changes. They're glowing, triumphant, and greet me with the same enthusiasm they always do.
I smile and compliment, saying all the right things, but my attention drifts, like muscle memory. My gaze scans the room twice, then locks onto brown-green eyes bright with excitement and mischief.
Demi.
My favorite cousin stands near the bar looking like she belongs there in a way that has nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with presence. Teal sequins cling to her body, catching the light with every small movement. Her brown hair, threaded with natural golden highlights, spills over one shoulder in soft waves. Her skin glows olive and flawless, just like her mother's, screaming her Greek heritage and nothing about her Russian roots.
For the first time since I left Red's office, something inside me loosens. I practically run toward her, avoiding as many people as possible.
"Blue," Demi breathes when she sees me, her face breaking into a grin that's all genuine joy. "You made it." She steps into myspace and wraps her arms around me, hugging me hard enough that it steals my breath.
I let myself melt into it for just a second, pressing my cheek against her shoulder, breathing in her familiar perfume.
This is safe.
"You look insane," I gush when she pulls back.
She laughs. "I know. It's the panic. It really brings out my bone structure."
"Panic?"
She glances around, then leans closer, murmuring, "Nikolai Sokolov."
"Nik—" I jerk my head backward, eyes widening.
She smirks, tossing me a confident expression.
I step closer. Nikolai Sokolov arrived in Chicago straight from Russia a little over a year ago. He's involved in our father's business dealings, and while he's a little younger, it's not much. Plus, he's rumored to be married to a runway model who still lives in Russia, although I've never seen him with anyone. So I keep my voice low, asking, "Have you..."
She shakes her head. "No. Not yet. But he wants me."
"How do you know?"
She softly laughs. "He can't keep his eyes off me."
"Your father will kill him. Hell, my father will kill him!"
She purses her lips together, arching her eyebrows.
"You bad girl," I tease, then flick my hand against her shoulder.
