Page 76 of Brazen King

“Thanks, you too,” I say, smiling at my sister even as I resign myself to playing second fiddle to her in the beauty department—a position I really don’t mind.

There’s only one person whose attention I crave anyhow. And he’s about as off-limits as a man can get. So, tonight, I’ll domy best to play my part and be the Russian Bratva princess the world thinks I am.

“You ready to go?” Tatiana asks, pushing off from the doorway and turning toward the hall.

“Yep.” Rising from my vanity chair, I join her, looping my arm through the crook of her elbow.

I’m grateful to Tatiana. She’s a good older sister. Without needing to be asked, she’s been more present for me this past week. While we haven’t spoken about Killian again since she brought me to my senses, I know she’s worried about me.

And possibly reconsidering our conversation in the larger context of my emotional fallout. Because quitting Killian cold turkey has proven far more challenging than I ever could have imagined.

Without our late-night visits, I find the world a much colder, less welcoming place. As if the humor was somehow sucked out of it overnight. And I know Tatiana’s keeping a closer eye on me both to ensure I don’t relapse and do something stupid as well as to ensure I’m okay.

And I appreciate that she lets silence linger between us as we descend to the main living space of our family penthouse.

Mother and Papa are already waiting for us in the entry, our father looking dapper in a black tux while our mother is as elegant as ever dressed in a modest yet chic wine-colored long-sleeve mermaid dress. They’re both smiling, and I work up the effort to fake a smile back. From the way my mother’s lips droop slightly at the corners, I know I must not be very convincing.

Together, we head down to the ball as a family, riding the elevator in near silence, except for Mother’s sporadic reminders of which donors are most likely to be talked into a more generous mindset.

Then it’s time to mingle and entertain our guests as they filter in the grand ballroom of Central Park Tower where ourfamily regularly hosts events just like these. It’s a steady flow of New York celebrities and high-society folk, all here to enhance their image through elaborate displays of generosity.

It’s a mind-numbing procession of one plastic face after another, and I take a back seat, letting Tatiana take the lead. Smiling and nodding, I pretend to be the quiet, younger Sokolov daughter who struggles to make eye contact for long.

And then, all at once, I feel the room’s gravity shift as the scent of eucalyptus and leather fills my nose. I breathe deeply on instinct, dragging the scent further into my lungs as it effortlessly awakens my soul.

My eyes lift, my head turning as I sense a looming presence behind me.

Then strong fingers brush the inside of my elbow, and goosebumps burst to life across my skin. “You look beautiful, love,” Killian murmurs so close to my ear that only I can hear.

I gasp, my attention snapping to the man who owns me, body and soul. And when I meet his laughing green eyes, warmth floods my core.

“Natasha,” Tatiana says severely, bringing me crashing back to reality.

“Excuse me,” I say breathily, my flight instinct triggered because I can’t stand and fight right here in the middle of a crowded room.

My sister’s gaze turns concerned, her eyes flicking in Killian’s direction. But I’m not ready to face him. I can’t. Instead, I spin on my heel and make a beeline for the restrooms.

Heels snapping sharply against the marble floor, I practically run in my desperation to get away. And I weave in and out of the growing crowd, ignoring people’s enthusiastic greetings as I narrowly avoid brushing shoulders with several of them.

As soon as I reach the ladies’ room, I yank the door open, slip inside, and despite the fact that there are several stalls in thebathroom, I bolt the door behind me. Then I make my way to the row of sinks. Planting my palms on the cold stainless-steel counter, I breathe heavily, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen like I’ve just surfaced from the depths of the ocean.

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, and I hardly recognize the face that looks back at me. My eyes are feverish, my cheeks flushed. I look like a woman possessed. And I feel like it.

How can Killian have such an effect on me, even now?

He barely touched me, and it set my soul on fire.

I’ve spent the last week trying my best to forget about him, to crush the feelings he awoke in me. And with a handful of words, he obliterated all my hard-won efforts.

I feel like I could cry.

How did things get so completely out of hand?

I’ve completely lost control of my life, my emotions. And it terrifies me to think that one man could so thoroughly shift the very ground I stand on, my reason for being. But Killian has. I can feel it in my bones.

Tonight is going to be excruciating because now that I’ve had my first reminder of him—the deliciously masculine smell of his cologne, the rasping lilt of his deep voice—I want another taste. Not just that. I crave the sweet oblivion he provides like an addict seeking his next fix.

And this is the last place I should be falling apart like this.

---