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I disconnect the call without another word, turning on my heel and sprinting at full speed toward my car. My thumb frantically taps her number into the screen, praying to God she picks up.

28

Cora

The rooftop is strung with glowing fairy lights that turn every woman’s face warm and golden. There’s a long table piled high with delicious food and a private bartender mixing cocktails. The twinkling city is spread out below us in every direction, and overhead, the full moon shines bright and clear.

Mila is wearing a woven crown of white flowers that Katia placed on her head an hour ago, and she hasn’t taken it off since. Anya is telling a hilarious story that has everyone leaning in over their drinks. I’m on my second glass of something pink and sparkling, my cheeks hurt from laughing, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt this carefree.

So this is what it feels like to be liked just for who I am. To be happy and safe among friends and enjoy the company of other women.

I’m sitting between a woman named Petra who designs handmade jewelry and knows all the good local gossip, and a shy woman named Sasha who turns out to be Mila’s cousin. Sasha enthuses over the spread on the table and steers me toward the grilled lamb skewers. She’s right, and they’re delicious. When I tell her so, her face lights up with delight that she was able to be helpful.

A short time ago, I pulled Mila aside, bracing myself for the awkward conversation I’d been dreading about Zevran checking up on her, but she waved me off before I could even finish my first sentence.

“Cora, please,” she’d said, smiling warmly as she refilled my glass. “It’s only natural that Mr. Komarov is protective of you. I wasn’t offended in the least.”

The relief was so complete that my knees went soft, and I had to sit down, a foolish smile plastered across my face.

Maybe I really do deserve this happiness. Maybe there isn’t a dark shadow waiting just around the corner to ruin everything.

Looking around the rooftop, I think how much I love being in the company of other women. I fall into an easy conversation with Katia, Petra, and Sasha about their studies and careers. Katia is working as a personal assistant while looking into university courses in social work and psychology. Petra is considering opening her own boutique florist shop, and Sasha runs a baking blog that she hopes to turn into a published cookbook one day.

They all turn to me in expectation, warm smiles on their faces. It takes me a beat to realize they’re waiting for me to jump in and share my own passions.

“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaim with a breathless laugh. “I could do something too.”

I could pick something simply because I enjoy it. I could turn it into a hobby, or a trade, or a real career. Zevran wants me to be happy, and I know he’d be thrilled for me if I told him I wanted to take classes in pastry decorating, or floral arrangement, or photography, or any of the hundred things I’ve thought wistfully about over the years but never had the freedom to explore.

“What would you choose if you could do absolutely anything?” Katia asks, leaning in.

I open my mouth to answer just as I become aware of the entire rooftop falling silent.

It doesn’t happen all at once. The silence ripples out in a cold wave. Laughter dies. Conversations fade out mid-sentence. Heads turn.

Through falling silence, Zevran strides forward.

He’s dressed just as I left him, in all black with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to reveal muscular forearms, every brutal line of his massive frame coiled tight with urgency. He doesn’t look at the table, the crowd, or the fairy lights. He hunts me down from across the deck and comes straight for me like a storm on a single trajectory.

Ruslan and Demyan fall in behind him like shadows. They’ve been present on the perimeter this whole time, but I was enjoying myself so much that I’d forgotten they were even watching me.

Panic spikes hot in my chest. Is he hurt? Has someone attacked him?

My hands are already moving, reaching for my clutch to pack my things. My heart hammers against my ribs as my eyes sweep over his dark clothes, searching for blood, a tear in his shirt, any sign of a fight. I’m already pushing my chair back, ready to do whatever he needs me to do.

“We have to go,” he says, his voice pitched low and urgent.

The entire table is watching us. Mila. Katia. Anya. Sasha. Twenty people I’ve been laughing with for hours are now staring in stunned silence at the tattooed man looming over our table like a warlord.

“Has something happened?” I ask, my fingers wrapping tightly around my bag as I stand to meet him. “Are you okay?”

His jaw is set like granite. “Cora. Now.”

The command snaps over me like a whip.

I freeze in place, my throat instantly constricting. I was already standing. I was already collecting my bag. I was completely ready to follow him anywhere he asked. He didn’t need to bark at me like a dog that needed to be brought to heel.

A flush starts at my throat and rushes upward, burning hot behind my ears. Everyone at this table just heard Zevran talk to me like I’m a disobedient child.