Page 38 of Dancing With Distraction

Her smile fades. “He said you’d be like this.”

I arch my brows in surprise. “You talked about this with him?”

“I mentioned telling you, and he said you’d take it badly,” she says with an attitude. “It’s a bit weird,” she adds, downing half her wine and slamming the glass back onto the table. When I don’t answer, she leans closer. “I get you’re protective towards him, and I know he isn’t blood-related, but he can’t spend the rest of his life single because you,” she glances around, “had feelings for him.”

I almost vomit, coughing until I gag. She frowns, a look of disgust on her face. “Seriously, Tori, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Happy?” I repeat, my face burning in anger. “You think he’ll make you happy?”

“He already does,” she hisses, “and I hate that you want to ruin this moment for me.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and when I try to blink them away, they roll down my cheeks. “You don’t know him like I do,” I whisper, pain cutting into my heart.

“Jesus, it’s like you’re obsessed,” she spits.

“He’s got into your head,” I tell her. “That’s what he does, Phoebe. I told you to be careful. I warned you about him.”

“You realise you can’t have him, right? He’s your brother.”

I scratch my wounds harder until the pain eases my aching heart. “I hate him,” I snap. “I fucking hate him and I wish he was dead.”

“Because you can’t have him?”

I stand and my chair falls back, making a loud crash and getting the attention of nearby customers. “What’s wrong with you?” I yell. “You know me, Phoebe, you’re my friend, and you really believe I’m in love with him?”

She glances around, her face reddening with embarrassment. “Sit down,” she snaps.

“This is what he wants, can’t you see that? He’s isolating me so I have nowhere to run, no one to tell.”

“You’re acting crazy.”

“You’re making a mistake,” I tell her desperately. “He’s a terrible man, and he’ll break your heart. He’s just using you to get to me.”

She also stands, slapping me hard across the face. “You’re not a good friend. If you can’t be happy for us, then stay the fuck out of my life because I want to be with him whether you like it or not.” She stomps out as I watch, clutching my cheek.

A doorman comes over and picks up my chair. The surrounding customers go back to talking, and he smiles kindly. “Are you okay?” he asks. “It’s just . . . you’re bleeding.” He nods towards where my hand clutches my cheek, and I pull it away to see blood under my nails. I glance down at my shirt and see wetness where I’ve ripped my cuts open. He hands me a napkin, and I grab it before rushing from the bar.

There’s no sign of Phoebe outside, so I take a second to gather myself before taking a slow walk home. Deep down, I knew Marcus was weaselling his way into her heart, as she was way too comfortable around him, but it’s still a shock to see how far gone she is.

A crack of thunder ripples through the air, and I shiver as rain begins to pour down. I don’t bother to speed up like the many people around me. Instead, I slow down further, letting the rain soak me through to the skin. I want to feel something other than this pain in my heart.

By the time I get home, I’m shivering. I step into my bedsit and stare at the screwed-up bed sheets from my night with Dmitry. I close my eyes, trying to find calm, and then I rip my wet shirt from my body in anger. I go into the bathroom and stare in the mirror at the bleeding wounds. The urge to dig my fingers in and tear them open is overwhelming, so I push away from the mirror and stumble back into the bedroom. I grab my bag, falling to my knees and emptying the contents onto the floor. I grab my mobile and, with shaky hands, open it and search for Dmitry’s name. I need him.

Dmitry

Vivian eyes my phone as a text message appears. I flip it face down, bringing her attention back to me. “As I was saying,” I continue, “we need to set a date for the wedding.”

Her eyes widen. “You haven’t even asked me.”

I clench my jaw before saying tightly, “You know the score, Vivian. This isn’t going to be the wedding of the century. It’s a deal we have to see through. So, a date?”

My phone begins to ring. and I lift it to see Victoria’s name flashing. It rings off and I open the text message.

Victoria: Distraction.

I stand abruptly. “I have to go,” I mutter, taking my wallet from my pocket.

“What do you mean you have to go? What’s more important than setting a date for our wedding, Dmitry?” Vivian demands.

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