Page 17 of Valentine's Miracle

Silas takes the check, crumbles it in his hand, and forces it in the woman’s advancing hand to him. She freezes, fear clustering on her face while her caterpillar fake lashes flutter in shock as if she can't believe what she witnessed.

It’s just a glare. Everyone has had that thrown at them at least once in their life. I happen to have more than the average human being because Silas has always been that uncooperative and difficult young boy.

“I will break your fucking arm.”

I swear I hear cooing from the sea of women. This is not supposed to be a turn-on for someone, and it’s definitely not appropriate for this type of event. Not to mention, this is a public place where we are surrounded by gossiping influencers who like to use every bit of gossip and drama to get more fame.

Talking to the media is not an exception; they love the camera and the eyes of millions on them.

“Silas, please.” I try to calm him. I wish he would just politely tell her to go away, but that wouldn’t be Silas’ style, and there is not a single bone in him that makes him nice.

“We’re leaving,” Silas commands, leaving no room for me to object.

The woman is about to open her mouth when a flash of panic clouds her eyes. Oh my goodness, she really wants Silas for whatever reason. I understand that the influencer industry is a cutthroat business, but she doesn’t need to be that desperate for one bodyguard as there are hoards of them walking around on this planet.

Well, I can’t cross out the suspicion that she wants Silas’ face as a selling point in whatever content she pushes out.

“My lovely ladies, please don’t give my dear beloved a difficult time.”

My eyebrows shoot up at the familiar voice, smoother than baby oil and the tongue of silver. There is no way anyone can mistake that voice for anyone other than that philandering man that makes the news spin with his weekly adventures of new women.

It’s not Sebastian. Fyodor Prostakov makes Sebastian tip his head in defeat. Shame is not in that man’s vocabulary; in fact, he bathes in the distressing irk of people who judge his lifestyle.

He is a friend, and it’s sad to say that it doesn’t bother me when I see him with a different woman in his arm every week. Sometimes two, but who am I to judge him for having fun as a consenting adult.

“Ah, simpleton, what is so interesting that you ascend into the mortal grounds?”

“Oh, you know,” Fyodor humors me with a grin while the ladies partway for him as if he’s Moses. “My throne is lonely, and my love, please stop it with ‘simpleton’.”

“That is the meaning of your family name, is it not?” I counter back.

My eyes focus on the other man, and my eyebrows shoot up quickly. Well, this is surely going to be interesting.

“Sebastian, I thought you were guarding a princess.” I tilt my head.

He cracks a grin after nodding at Silas who is a frozen statue next to me, from the women and the presence of a new face that he’s never seen before.

Sebastian sighs, shrugging his shoulders while more women part ways. “I can’t skip the chance of guarding the Fyodor Prostakov. A princess has no power over me as a king does.”

I cast a look at Fyodor who shines me a bright smile. The women near him swoon and I hold back a shudder that pinches the lower part of my spine.

I have been friends with this man since freshman orientation, and I still get affected by that ghastly flirtatious behavior, but we’re still close friends for some reason. We’re practically the opposite, and we remained friends throughout the years, but opposites attract fits in platonic relationships too.

“I can’t ever see him as a romantic interest because I’m not interested, but I have also seen him run through the university women’s population in two years. And that’s without a shortage of transfer students and international students.

“Tori, you know him?” Sebastian gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been dying to meet him.”

“Now you have,” I reply. “Disappointing, isn’t it?”

“I’ll have you know that Sebastian and I are becoming very good friends; our interests are atrociously similar.”

They’re talking about women. It’s obvious, and I think it’s why Fyodor caught my attention while we stayed friends for so long; he reminds me of Sebastian yet so different too.

Fyodor is the smooth snake while Sebastian is the crass talker.

“Why am I not surprised,” I deadpan with a laugh.

Fyodor offers a hand, but Silas stops me from taking it. “Allow me to treat an old friend and new friends to dinner.”

---