Page 21 of Stolen Beauty

An hour later...

I bolt upright from a restless sleep and squint at the wall clock, my vision gradually focusing on the numbers. It’s six p.m., and I haven’t even taken a shower.

I dash into the living room and check my phone—nothing from Arman but six missed calls and a message from Morgana.

WTF are you doing?? I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.

The last time I saw my fiancé, he was on the verge of taking my virginity. How on Earth am I going to maintain my composure?

I strip and step under the flowing water, eager to wash away the lingering traces of his touch. I’ve yet to gather most of my belongings but have some clothes here, so I slip into a black strapless dress with a high-low hem, wincing at the stiff tulle.

Urgh. I wish I didn’t have to dress up. Although I look the part, I’m so uncomfortable all the damn time.

I weave my still-damp hair into a loose fishtail braid. With a touch of makeup and a spritz of perfume, and I’m ready to go.

It’ll be fine. It’s just dinner. I can put on a smile and play my role, but Arman has awakened something within me that neither he nor I can ignore, and I can’t help but resent myself for it. He was my trusted protector, only for me to realize he was merely biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make a move. That kind of cynical betrayal should be enough to put my attraction to him on ice, but it isn’t. One gaze into his eyes, and I forget he’s stealing my life.

Arman has no recollection of what transpired between us last night. Then today, I provoked him, and his calm, controlled demeanor disappeared instantly, leaving raw desire in its wake. It was terrifyingly hot. I want to make him do it again.

Morgana messages me, informing me that she’s waiting outside. As I approach the car, my phone chimes once more, and I retrieve it to check the message—it’s from Arman.

I’m already here. Come straight to me.

15

Arman

Tonight's crowd is made up of fairweather friends and genuine allies. Many Kislev associates come and go, some nodding deferentially at Vlad, secretly harboring ambitions to either steal his glory or bring it crashing down. Lilyana's freedom to live her life as she pleases is constrained by them. Personally, I'm only here because my father fell victim to the conflict between Sergey Kislev and an unknown adversary. Without the Kislev bratva, my true family would still be intact.

I should despise this world and its treacherous games, but I can't. The bratva has shown me kindness in various ways, and if not for their archaic traditions, I wouldn't have the leverage to insist on keeping Lilyana for myself.

Vlad sits at the head of our table, flanked by Avel and some of the komissiya old guard. I noted when I arrived that there was no chair for me at his side but decided not to draw attention to it.

When Vlad agreed to let me marry his little sister, it was on the understanding that it would be a marriage in name only. I didn’t want to see Lilyana shacked up with some disgusting old man, but it wasn’t until I got what I wanted that I realized I hadn’t thought it through.

She's playing with fire, unaware of the consequences, but I have no excuse. She gave me her wide gray eyes and a glimmer of flirtatious defiance, and I nearly lost my damn mind. Her virginity won’t stay intact for long if she pulls a stunt like that again.

With me, Lilyana is less safe than ever. I'm obsessed with her, and it's glaringly obvious.

The atmosphere at the table is stifling, and I head to the bar. Sasha emerges from the kitchen and gives me a hearty pat on the back.

“Dobryy vecher, bratan.” he says. “Raul dropped by with a memory stick for you." He retrieves it from his apron pocket and hands it over. "Where's Lili?"

"She'll arrive with Morgana. I had matters to attend to."

Sasha tilts his head and flashes a wry smile. “You couldn’t have put on a decent shirt? I know your game. You bailed on Lili because you’re having trouble keeping your cool around her.”

I sniff and adjust my collar, avoiding his gaze. “You on something?"

Sasha narrows his eyes. "Don’t joke about drugs with me. You're just trying to change the subject." He moves behind the bar and grabs a bottle of Russian Standard from the cooler. "Vlad may be in denial, but I can see right through you."

Fuck off, Sasha. I don’t say it aloud, settling for a look of benign confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sasha sets some glasses on a tray. "Yes, you do. You were Lili's bodyguard, but you want to do more with her body than just guard it. You've been brooding and irritable ever since she started seeing that kid Seb." He scoops ice into a chrome bucket and nestles the vodka bottle within. "Even before that, actually. Whenever she needed you, you were always there, with a look in your eyes that was anything but brotherly."

"I'm not her brother."

I shouldn't have uttered those words, but they’re out there now, the loaded meaning all too clear. Sasha pushes the tray toward me, raising an eyebrow.

---