I have to think my response through. There are so many ways I could answer this. “It’s been two weeks, Mar,” I say. “I can’t believe he’s still keeping this whole thing up fortwo weeks. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”
“Mmm,” I grumble. “It’s fine. I mean, I pick the lock every morning to raid the kitchen, so it’s not all that bad.”
“If you can pick the lock, you can leave.”
“And go where? The man found me in a strip club in Overtoom, Amsterdam. I don’t think there’s anywhere on earth that I can run to where he won’t eventually find me and drag me back here.No, I’m going to need a game plan if I’m ever going to leave this house again and stay gone.”
“That really sucks.”
“Yeah… but hey, maybe I can disappear for a few hours without him knowing. We could hit a club or something this weekend. What do you say?”
“Mmm, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If one of his guys sees you?—”
“Oh, they all want to fuck me. They won’t say anything if I flirt with them. Come on.”
She laughs. “I’ll think about it. Speaking of your father’s men, though, how’s the seduction plan going with Viktor?”
“It’s not, and it’s not looking like it’s going to happen,” I say sadly. “I’ve seen him off and on over the last few weeks, but I’m never alone with him. Not since the whole thing in the kitchen that one time.” I pause, remembering how good he smelled and the way he looked at me with those dark, iridescent eyes, like he was itching to keep me in line. “I’ll probably see him later today, though.”
“Oh?”
“My cousin is getting married and Papa was invited. I have to go in a very ugly dress, so…” I sigh heavily. It feels like my heart is weighing me down. “I guess there goes my shot to wow him.”
“Eek,” she says. “How ugly are we talking?”
“It’s got taffeta sleeves.”
“Okay.Yikes.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “It’s whatever. You were probably right all along. I shouldn’t mess around with Bratva men. They’re trouble.”
Viktor comes back to mind. I’ve only ever seen him half-dressed a few times in my life. Sparring with my brother in the backyard, wearing a tank top with his arms out, covered in tattoos, his dark hair wet with sweat and shining in the sunlight.
I’ll bet it’s all the same… except now there’s silver in his hair. Dammit, I wish I weren’t so fucking cursed.
“Did you get a picture of the dress?” Marla asks. “I kind of want to see how bad it is.”
I sigh and look through the pictures on my phone. The seamstress sent me a photo about a week ago when it was half-finished. I should have just faked a flu or something then.
I find the photo and send it to her. A few seconds go by and then she sucks air through her teeth. “Wow. That might actually be worse than what I pictured in my head.”
“It’s pretty bad, huh?”
“Yeah… but you know what? If it had a couple of adjustments, it might be pretty sexy.”
I pull the photo up of the dress. It hangs on the mannequin looser around the chest and hips than it does on me and the sleeves aren’t as puffy as they turned out, but it’s still pretty hideous. “I don’t see it.”
“Well, take off the sleeves and maybe a slit up the side. That could be pretty hot.”
I look at the photo and try to imagine that. Yeah. It could be smoking hot. “Marla,” I say to her. “You are a genius.”
I takea deep breath and open my eyes.
I’m standing in front of the mirror in the altered dress. The material is still snug on my hips and breasts, making it almost look painted on, but I’ve cut the sleeves off and cut the seam on the side of the dress, creating a long slit up to my hips.
Without the ugly sleeves, there’s nothing but the straps over my shoulders. My thick thigh sticks out of the dress, making my “short legs” look longer and more appetizing.
