Page 15 of Claim

“Wait, tell me.” I pull my arms from the fluted sleeves carefully so I don’t get stabbed inadvertently. “Who?”

Stella shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Ivan is using you as bait. You think you’re the only young pussy in Russia?Think about it.” She drapes the white fabric over her arm before rapping hard enough on the door that the guard lets her out.

Great. Now I’m aloneandconfused all over again.

Maybe she’s right. Because I really don’t understand who would be hurt by me being Ivan’s choice.

Is it the mystery man that’s fed Momma money and food all this time? It’s been over five years that she’s been cared for by someone new, ever since Papa died.

A pang shoots through my chest.

I can’t believe it’s been that long already. I hadn’t seen him much since I was little, but he was always reliable about visiting or staying in touch.

An even more painful squeeze tightens, making it difficult to breathe.

What about Momma?

I’ve been trying so hard not to think about her since I was taken. How she must be feeling.

But what if they hurt her when they took me?

Or killed her?

Fuck.

The thought sends me face down on the mattress, sobbing into my pillow.

I can’t lose her. She’s everything to me.

Maybe I can ask Ivan how she is? If I act like a lady, and not be cruel?

Yes, I might be able to pretend to tolerate him, if he can give me a tidbit of reassurance that she’s safe.

I miss her so badly.

The need to blow my nose pushes me from the thick comforter to the ensuite where I catch a glimpse of my red eyes and messy curly dark hair.

It’s just like Papa’s.

I used to hate it, because it tangled so easily. Momma would spend so many days when I was younger brushing it out for me until it was smooth and shiny like hers.

Only for it to twist again the next time I got it wet.

I wish I could wince under her comb again while she quietly cursed at me to stay still. But she’d always follow with a gentle kiss and thank me for being patient while she straightened it.

Please be okay, Momma.

A splash of cold water helps the puffiness in my cheeks go down.

Perfect timing. The heavy knock on the door signals it’s time for my appearance with Ivan.

One last shudder of disgust, then I pull my shoulders back and make sure my features are neutral before going down the grand staircase to the dining hall.

“My lovely fiancée, here to impress me with more derisive remarks?” Ivan is sitting at the far end, his lavish meal already laid across the ornate oak table.

The heady smell of meat and pastries makes my belly rumble.

It must be a new form of torture he’s devised. All of that wonderful food sitting just a few feet away, and he feeds me nothing but a plain meal of salad and boiled chicken.

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