Page 100 of Ivory Ashes

I blink and, all at once, I realize… I’m in Mikhail’s mansion.

I’m in a guest room.

I’m not in a warehouse trapped in a trunk. I’m not twelve years old. I’m not dying.

“Calm down.” Anatoly loosens his hold on me as I go limp with relief. “It’s me. You’re okay.”

The panicked tears shift to something else. Something soul-deep I’ve kept buried for a long, long time. I drop to the floor, sobbing while also trying to suck in deep lungfuls of air. I sound like a broken vacuum cleaner, heaving and coughing and weeping.

Anatoly kneels next to me, his hand firm on my back. He doesn’t say anything or do anything. He just sits with me until I can breathe again.

When I finally look over at him, his face is white. “What in the fuck was that, Viv?”

“Claustrophobia,” I croak.

“No.” He shakes his head. “That wasn’t a normal fear. That was—I don’t know what that was.”

And if I have it my way, he never will.

“Where’s Dante?”

There’s a long pause. I know Anatoly wants to push for answers. I can see in his face that he doesn’t believe me, that he’s worried about me. Finally, he pushes himself to standing.

“I think he forgot about hide-and-seek when Mikhail got home.” He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. “I was supposed to come find you. Dinner is ready.”

I swipe at my sticky cheeks. I am not ready for a formal dinner right now. I need a shower and Xanax and twelve hours of dreamless sleep.

Unfortunately, I’m at the beck and call of Mikhail Novikov.

I hold my arms out to the side. “Do I look okay?”

“No,” he drawls, studying me. “You don’t.”

That’s because I’m definitely not.

I grimace. “Gee, thanks, Anatoly. Is that how you catch all the ladies? Insulting them?”

Without waiting for a response, I shove past him for the door, suddenly desperate to get out of this frying pan and into the fire.

36

VIVIANA

Mikhail knows.

One look at him as I entered the dining room and I could tell he knew what just happened with Anatoly. He knew I was locked in a closet. He knew I freaked out.

Now, we’re thirty minutes into dinner and I’m positive.

What I’m not sure of is how exactly he knows. I haven’t seen him touch his phone since Dante and I sat down to dinner. I also haven’t seen Anatoly—or anyone else, for that matter.

And yet, Mikhail knows.

He slides my water glass towards me for the third time in half an hour. “Take a drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your voice is almost gone. Drink.”

---