Page 25 of Bloody Lace

“I’d rather just go home.” It comes out before I meant to say it, but as I do, I realize that I mean it. “If you don’t mind. I don’t really want to sit and pretend to enjoy dinner after—I’d rather you just drop me off.”

“You’ve got to be hungry.” Dimitri turns towards me. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. She made a scene, but we can still salvage the night?—”

“This isn’t a date.” I twist towards him, days of churning emotions and the embarrassment of the night churning in my stomach and making me angrier towards him than I probably really have a right to be. “This was a part of our deal. I show up on your arm to the gala, put on the front of your happy fiancee.I did that. Now I’m yourhumiliatedfiancee, and I don’t really want to ‘salvage’ the night. I want to go home. I want to take a hot shower, and I want to go to bed.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows rise. “You know,” he says wryly, his head tilting slightly as he looks at me. “Usually when I make a decision, everyone else falls in line behind me. They don’t argue with me.”

“You picked the wrong woman to marry, then.” I wrap my arms around my waist, still trying to shake off the lingering, crawling feeling of embarrassment from the party. “I’m not just going to do whatever you tell me to, Dimitri. You didn’t put that in the contract, anyway. And I already signed it.”

“Too late to add an addendum, I suppose?” There’s amusement in his voice, and I glare at him.

“Yes, it is too late.” I press my lips together, turning away from him. I feel him lean forward next to me, hear him tell the driver to take us to my address instead, but I don’t say anything else. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over me, and I lean back, closing my eyes briefly. I’m not saying that I want to go home to be difficult—I truly don’t want to do anything else this evening.

Dimitri lets out a long breath, and I feel a gulf open up between us. He’s clearly frustrated, and so am I, and if this were a real relationship, I imagine we’d try to resolve it. But it’s not. The only thing real about this is that we each have our end of the deal to keep up, and as far as I’m concerned, I did that tonight.

The car stops in front of my building, and the driver comes around to open the door for me. Just as I’m about to slide out, Dimitri’s hand wraps around mine, and I stiffen, glancing back at him.

“I am sorry about tonight,” he says quietly. “I can’t promise that it won’t happen again. Nicci moves in these same social circles, and I imagine the two of you will run into each other again. But?—”

“I’ll be prepared for it next time, at least.” I pull my hand away, sliding out of the car and out into the cold. “Good night, Dimitri.”

“Evelyn—” He starts to say something else, but I ignore it, walking briskly to the front door of my building. I slip into the slightly warmer interior, shutting the door hard behind me, my heart beating a quick patter in my chest in rhythm with the click of my heels on the tile as I head for the elevator.

When I’m back in my apartment, the warmth of it surrounding me like a cocoon, I lean back against the door. I hear Buttons running towards me from where he was asleep in the bedroom, feel the brush of his fur as he bumps up against my leg, and I lean down, scratching behind his ears as the familiarity of home eases the sick feeling that’s been in my stomach ever since I left the party with Dimitri.

Was this a mistake?It feels like one right now. I don’t belong in Dimitri’s world, that much is clear—and I don’t want to. I was able to come up with a quick answer for the question of how we met, but none of the people at that party were the sort of people I like to spend time with. And in this particular moment, with my emotions running high, the thought of leaving my apartment to move into whatever mansion or penthouse Dimitri lives in makes me want to burst into tears.

But it always comes back around to the fact that I didn’t really have a choice. This was my best option if I want to be able to rebuild Pearls & Lace, and that hasn’t changed. All that’s changed is that I’m reminded that if I’m going to make it out of this with my heart and my dignity intact, I have to rememberwhyI’ve agreed to this arrangement.

That means keeping my hands off of my husband-to-be. That means not letting him get under my skin. And it means keeping all my walls up, no matter how hard he tries to scale them.

If he tries to get over them, I’ll just have to add barbed wire on top. I can’t soften for him. I can’t let myself believe that this is anything but what we agreed to.

This is business. And I can’t allow it to be anything more.

—

By the next morning,I’m starting to feel a little better. The dress I bought for the party is banished to the back of my closet, where I don’t have to look at it and remember how humiliated I was. Dimitri sent me a text, checking in on me, and I replied with an abruptI’m fine. He hasn’t replied since, and I managed to remind myself that’s for the best.

When I wake up, outside is a snowy wonderland, my corner of the city remarkably quiet for a Saturday morning, the trees covered in icicles and the sky a heavy grey. Buttons is running in excited circles by the time I get out of a hot shower, looking up at me with soulful eyes, and I decide that the best thing for my lingering malaise is to get out of the apartment and go get a bagel for breakfast.

I get Buttons’ sweater and snow booties on, buckle him into his harness, and bundle myself up into a coat, beanie, mittens, and heavy boots. The cold air slaps me in the face the minute we walk outside, but it’s surprisingly refreshing, and Buttons is dragging at the end of his leash, thrilled to be out in the cold and the snow. As always, his excitement cheers me up, and by the time we make it down to the bagel shop, where my favorite egg, Gouda, and maple bacon breakfast sandwich is on the menu, I can feel all of the remaining embarrassment and anger from last night slipping away.

It’s fine, I tell myself, as I dash a little hot sauce onto the sandwich and fold the wrapper around it, looping Buttons’ leasharound one hand so I can eat as we walk back. I’ll throw myself into putting together some semblance of a wedding for us within the month, as agreed to when we signed the contract, and then I’ll throw myself into renovating the shop. I’ll keep myself busy so that I don’t think about the way Dimitri’s hand on the small of my back feels, or how good he smells, or how it makes my heart race when we banter, throwing jabs back and forth that are really, deep down, some kind of verbal foreplay that I never knew I wanted with a man until I fell into it.

And eventually, the shop will be restored, and Dimtri’s father will pass away and leave him his inheritance, and we’ll sign divorce papers and go our separate ways. And if for some reason Dimitri doesn’t keep his word, Dahlia has promised me her family lawyer, who deals with politicians and billionaires every day, and can handle even the leader of an organized crime family.

I’m marrying into the fucking Bratva.Every time I remember it, it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like a thing that actually exists, and it certainly doesn’t feel like something I should have agreed to. But as long as I don’t pay attention to Dimitri’s business, and as long as I keep my distance from him, I’ll just be his wife. Nothing he does will touch me, and I won’t know anything I shouldn’t. And once we divorce, I’ll put it all behind me.

I take the last bite of my sandwich, stopping to toss the wrapper into the trash, and as I do, Buttons barks suddenly, a sharp, abrupt sound that ends in a growl. I see a flash of something black out of the corner of my eye, and I turn, my heart leaping into my throat as I see the back of what looks like a masculine figure in all black clothing ducking into a nearby alley.

There’s boot prints in the snow. The street is all but empty where I am now, a few people getting in and out of cars, but I’m back near my apartment. Buttons is still growling low in histhroat, his fur puffing out around the edges of his sweater at his neck as his hackles rise, and I grip the leash tighter as my chest tightens with fear.

“Come on, buddy,” I whisper, swallowing hard as I start to walk faster towards my apartment building. My muscles feel wound tight as I listen for the crunching of snow again, trying to hear if there are other footsteps besides my own. My heart is beating hard in my chest, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

Buttons is still making that low growling sound as we walk, his ears back as he pulls at the leash, and I feel sure that I hear someone walking several yards behind me. But I can’t bring myself to turn around and look. What would I do, if there was? How would I protect myself? I have pepper spray on my keychain, like probably every woman living alone in Manhattan does, but suddenly that doesn’t feel like all that much protection. I think of the Crow who came into my shop, the bulge of a gun at his back, and I think of what might happen to Buttons if someone attacked me and he tried to defend me.

I walk faster, fighting the urge to break into a run. I’m sure I hear footsteps now, getting closer, but I can see my apartment building just ahead. I’m close enough that if I pick up my pace, just a little?—

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