Page 10 of Emerald Malice

I whimper and cover my face with my hands for a three-second pity party. It’s all we have time for. “We have to get the hell out of here. Now!”

Katya has the audacity to look puzzled. “But the ceremony’s about to start!”

I feel insane. Am I? Or is she?

“For fuck’s sake, Kat—you seriously wanna watch your ex-boyfriend get married to the woman he cheated on you with?”

“Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Call me a masochist, but I wanna see it and I can’t do it alone.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided everything’s more fun in twos,” she explains dismissively. Like that just about settles things, she opens the door a crack. “Look at all those rich assholes… Is that Leo?”

“As in DiCaprio?”

“What other Leo matters?” she sighs as if I’m a lost cause. “Wouldn’t it be just a terrible tragedy if he and I met and we fell in love and got married in a ceremony twice as expensive as this one?”

I roll my eyes. She’s joking—mostly. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re almost twenty-eight now. You’ve aged out of Leo’s dating pool.”

“Have you seen my ass?” Katya counters, sticking it out for my benefit.

What I’d prefer to see instead of my insane best friend’s posterior is some hope that we can get out of here unscathed.

I peek over Katya’s shoulder. I don’t see Leo—or anyone else on the A-, B-, C-, or D-lists, for that matter. But I do see a veritable army of security guards herding straggling guests into the main ballroom.

As the crowd filters past our little hiding spot, I pay closer attention to the guests themselves. Some of them look like important, respectable businessmen, but the vast majority look more like what I’d generously call “hardcore criminals.” We’re talking thick golden chains, tattoos on necks, knuckles, or both, and the kind of furtive, aggressive side-to-side glances that all but scream, I dare you to fuck with me.

I shudder.

If this is the company the Kuznetsovs keep, it was a bad idea coming here today.

“Kat… We need to leave. These are not people we want to mess with.”

She snorts. “I was wondering when Nervous Nat would rear her head.”

I could slap her. I truly could. I love her, but I’m this close to cold-cocking her right across the face and dragging her limp body out of here.

Before I can, she doubles down. “Playing it safe is gonna take you exactly nowhere. Come on—don’t you want to have adventures to look back on in your old age? Don’t you want experiences to share with your grandchildren one day?”

“That’s making the assumption that I even get to old age. Which, judging by the men outside this utility closet, is a stretch.”

“You need to stop being so damn scared of everything,” she says firmly. It’s the same tone she used when she was trying to get me to go skinny dipping in her boss’s pool that summer she was house-sitting for him. “You have to stop letting one tragedy be the crutch that keeps you from living your life!”

I should’ve hit her when I had the chance.

Because her words are as good as a slap across the face in their own right.

Tragedy—that’s a funny word for what happened. It feels too clinical, too cold. Then again, what is the right way to talk about your parents getting dragged out of the car and murdered right in front of you?

I bite my tongue to keep the tears from spilling over. There’s no way I’m gonna cry in front of her. “Low blow, Kat.”

She sighs and clutches my hands. “I love you, you know that. And I just… I don’t want to see you stuck in the past, Natalia. Life happens here. Now. In the present.”

I’m still a little tongue-tied, but the opening chords of the wedding march coming from the ballroom save me from having to figure out what to say.

Katya squeezes my hands in hers once more. “We’re just gonna sneak in there, find a couple seats way in the back, and judge from afar. Okay? Nothing risky. Besides,” she adds, “if we leave now, we’re only gonna draw attention to ourselves. Best to just blend with the crowd until after the ceremony and then we can leave.”

“You promise?”

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