Page 37 of Dancing With Distraction

“I’m required to be in London to ensure you follow through with your fucking commitments,” he spits.

I’m instantly irritated by the harshness of his words. I’m used to hearing them over the phone, but in person, they’re so much more aggressive.

I frown to give off the impression I’m confused and continue to make my way to my chair. “Father?”

“Vivian,” he snaps, and I inwardly groan. “Do I have to remind you of what your union will do for our empire? She should already have a ring on her finger, but I hear your attention has been focussed elsewhere.”

“Who’s running to you with tales of my private life?” I scoff angrily, taking a drink and slamming the glass on the table. “I’m more than entitled to have a whore on the side to suck my cock.” I hate each word as I say it, but I have to play this down or he’ll get suspicious. “When has the Volkov name ever meant that we’re tied to one woman? I’m following in your footsteps, Father, aren’t you proud?”

“Dmitry, do not test my patience,” he growls, slamming the door shut and approaching the desk. “You can fuck whoever the hell you like, but you will marry Vivian. I expect that to happen by the end of the month.”

I run my fingers through my hair in agitation. I can feel my mess closing in on me, and the thought of tying myself to Vivian forever makes me sick to my stomach. Because I want Victoria to be my forever. “Do I make myself clear, moy syn?” he yells as I stand to match his height.

“Crystal fucking clear,” I spit back.

He drops a card on the desk. “I’ll be staying here until you finalise the wedding.” Then he turns to leave without another word.

Anger radiates through me until I’m shaking with it. My fist connects with the drywall, leaving a hole in the plaster work, and I flex my knuckles as I inspect the damage. I need to find out who’s feeding information to my father.

Picking up my phone, I dial Roman. “My father’s in fucking London. Get back here now.” I disconnect the call, not bothering to wait for his response.

Tori

Karen has been a complete witch to me the entire day. She’s mad I called in sick yesterday, and even madder I wore a black button-up shirt that was not part of the uniform. I couldn’t tell her it was because my new wounds were still weeping blood which would show through a white blouse. Placing a glass of wine in front of Phoebe, I sip my own as I take a seat opposite her. “I was so glad you called,” I tell her. “I really needed a drink after the day I’ve had.”

“That bad?”

I nod, taking a larger gulp and closing my eyes in appreciation. “So, what have you been up to? It feels like ages since we had a catch-up.”

She fiddles with the base of her glass, avoiding eye contact, and an unsettled feeling whirls around my stomach. “It’s been manic at work,” she says. “I’ve had so much on.”

“Right.”

“And you’ve not been home much,” she adds, meeting my eyes. I frown slightly, wondering how she’d know that unless she’d called round, which doesn’t fit with the excuse she’s just given me. “Or you’ve been very quiet,” she adds quickly, like she’s realised I’m on to her.

“Am I usually so loud that you hear me?”

She forces a smile, shrugging. “Sometimes I can hear you walking about. The floors and walls are like bloody paper,” she jokes.

“Something’s wrong,” I say, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re hiding something from me.” I know that look she gets when she’s avoiding telling me things.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, laughing. “What’s going on with you? Update me.”

I feel the need to hold back on telling her about Dmitry, so I shrug. “Not much. You?”

“Same.”

“And Marcus?” Her eyes shoot to mine, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Has he asked you to meet me to get information?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that anyway. You asked me not to tell him shit about you, and I haven’t.”

I relax slightly. “But,” she continues, “I did want to speak to you about him.” I sit straighter, waiting for her to tell me she’s seen the light when it comes to the narcissistic bastard. A smile forms on her lips and a glow lightens up her eyes. “How would you feel if I told you I liked him?”

I let her words sink in and my heart rate speeds up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been spending some time with him?—”

“Time? When?” I cut in. I rub my hand over the fresh cuts, letting the rough cotton of my shirt scratch against them.

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