“What happened to us?” I ask, my voice quieter this time. “I know things have been hard since Mom died, but I have suffered too. I’ve been lonely too. And I needed my father...” I get a hold on his arm as the last words seep out of me. “I needed you.”
For a moment, his gaze softens, and I cling to it for way longer than I should, because whatever emotion is swimming in his eyes is gone just as quickly as it appeared.
He snatches his arm away as if a rabid animal just touched him. “This is neither the time nor the place. It’s in the past. Now, pull yourself together and stop being so difficult. One day, you’ll look back on this moment and thank me. You have no idea what I have to deal with on your behalf.”
Whatever else he says before leaving, I’m not hearing it. Suddenly, everything feels too real. And this venue…it tilts, all the people in it blurred silhouettes.
A lump forms in my throat, keeping me from speaking again. I can’t even breathe right.
Not with this corset tight on my chest.
Not with all these men circling me like sharks.
Not with the sound of the piano reminding me of what I’ve lost.
I’m suffocating, tumbling down into the ocean again, like that day I almost died, the same helplessness embracing me.
I let my feet take me to the nearest buffet, my breaths heaving through my chest.
Frantically, I take in the plates of appetizers—of caviar, tartare, and fancy bowls of whatever—snatching the closest thing. It’s not cigarettes, but it will have to be enough.
I turn back toward the party, locating the double doors, when Cesare’s gaze finds mine from across the room.
It’s only for a split second, but even through my hazy vision, I see the way he looks at me—like he knows exactly what I’m about to do, where I want to go.
Swallowing into my dry throat, I stand there and watch him back. And when he doesn’t come after me, I realize he’s still asking for my forgiveness. That the look on his face says he understands, and he still has my back.
I snatch my gaze away from him and leave the party, headed for the one place in this house where I don’t feel trapped.
Bowl hangingfrom my left hand, I claw at my corset as I trudge down the dark tunnel.
It won’t come off. It won’t budge. Won’t let the air fill my lungs.
Heat skitters across my skin, from my tingling fingertips to my ears and cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut, gravity dragging me down, down, down with every step.
I don’t even know when I’ve made it to Mikhail’s cell, but the words leave my aching chest before I can stop them.
“T-Take it off.” I claw at the piece of fabric again. “Take it off. Take it off?—”
Chains shift and rattle. Every passing second feels like a punch to my gut, like someone cast a curse on me this evening, and I’m trapped in an hourglass with no way out.
The sand is swallowing me, entering my mouth.
Clouding my vision.
Squeezing my throat.
Before I cry out again, the sound of the bowl shattering reaches my ears. An invisible force drags me to the iron bars until I zero in on the strong hands that did it.
I’m spun around with my back to the cage—to the monster that lies within—and I gasp when he begins ripping the lace of my bodice.
Gentle but hard.
Controlled but efficient.
“Breathe for me,” Mikhail says above my ear, his voice dancing through the strands of my hair like fog in a winter evening. “In and out,Lastochka.”
I think I’m nodding, gripping the cold bars behind my back. Mikhail presses a hand to my abdomen while the other snakes around my chin, keeping it up. His skin is warm, his touch patient yet demanding—it’s pure, unfiltered danger colliding with my body for the very first time.
