Page 63 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"It's complicated." I release her hands and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The position makes me feel smaller, more protected. "They think I might be in danger. Or that I might be involved in whatever happened at that warehouse. I don't know which is worse."

"Jesus." Sharon shifts beside me, tucking one leg beneath her. The afternoon light catches in her blonde hair, making it shine almost white. "This is insane. A week ago, your biggest problem was writer's block."

"I know."

"And now you're trapped in your cottage with three Russian mob bosses who think you're either a spy or a target."

"I know."

Sharon is quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then she asks, "Are you scared of them?"

I open my mouth to say yes, because that's the logical answer. These are dangerous men who operate outside the law, who carry guns and have people beaten and probably worse. I should be terrified. But the truth is more complicated than that.

"Sometimes," I admit. "But Sharon, when I'm with them, I feel..."

"What?"

"Safe." The word comes out barely audible. "I feel safe."

Sharon stares at me for a long moment. Then her expression shifts, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh my God. You're sleeping with one of them still." She shakes her head. "I mean, I kind of suspected that when I saw you earlier, but then with all the drama going on, it completely slipped my mind."

Heat floods my cheeks. I look away, focusing on the pattern of the quilt beneath us. Tiny blue flowers stitched into cream fabric.

"Marla." Sharon's voice drops to an urgent whisper. "Which one?"

I hesitate, my heart pounding. Through the door, I can still hear the low rumble of male voices.

"All of them," I whisper.

For a moment, Sharon just stares at me. Then her mouth drops open, and a sound escapes that's half gasp, half squeal.

"All three?" she hisses, her voice rising. "At the same time?"

"Shh!" I grab a pillow from behind me and shove it toward her face. "They're going to hear you!"

Sharon clutches the pillow to her chest, but her eyes are sparkling now despite the worry still lingering there. The shock on her face shifts to something else. Fascination... or disbelief. And underneath it all, a hint of vicarious excitement.

"Marla Paddington," she whispers urgently. "Three Russian mafia bosses?"

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that." She leans closer, the pillow falling forgotten between us. "Are they good? Please tell me they're good."

Despite everything, despite the danger and the fear and the absolute insanity of the situation, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. This is what I've been missing. This moment of normalcy, of being two friends gossiping about boys like we're back in college instead of trapped in a cottage surrounded by armed criminals.

"They're incredible," I admit quietly.

Sharon grins. "All three at once?"

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ." She fans herself with one hand. "Okay, but seriously, are you safe? Like, emotionally safe?"

Before I can answer, someone knocks on the door.

The door opens, and Alex stands in the doorway. He looks at me, then Sharon. "Sharon, we appreciate you bringing us this information. However, this just emphasizes the danger. Unfortunately, you have a choice: stay here in the cabin with Marla or be our spy at the Ivory Wolf.

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