Page 68 of Bloody Lace

“Next year,” I promise her. “And I don’t know if I’m going. Dimitri hasn’t said anything about it, and if he’s not?—”

I trail off, knowing Dahlia will get it. I see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but I know she understands. “I’ll miss you if you can’t go,” she says. “But trust me, I get it. Things are complicated right now.”

“They won’t be forever.” I feel an unexpected pang at that thought. When things are no longer complicated, it will be because Dimitri and I are divorced. Which is what I’m supposed to want. It’s what we agreed to.

So why does it feel like a fresh crack opens up in my heart now, every time I think about it?

—

As if theuniverse wants to torment me on purpose, Dimitri is downstairs when I come home that evening, standing at the counter eating a piece of pizza. It’s a prosciutto and fig pizza from what I can see, not Dominos, but it’s still startling tosee him eating so casually, in chinos rolled up at the ankles and a shawl-collared sweater, relaxed and at ease. It’s a sharp reminder of what our life could be if we had a real, normal marriage, and I feel that pang in my chest again.

“Evelyn.” He says my name, startling me as I shrug off my coat and boots. I look up, the urge to snipe at him welling up despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t pick a fight.

“What did I do this time?” I narrow my eyes at him, and he frowns at me.

“We have a party to go to this weekend. The gala at the Met. If you don’t have a dress already, you should look into getting one. You can use my personal shopper, and of course, my credit card.”

A flicker of guilt runs through me at how quick I was to say something biting, but I can’t take it back now. I know it’s a defense mechanism, and not a particularly healthy one, but it feels like I have so little to defend myself with, these days. Dimitri keeps slipping past every wall I try to fling up.

“I’ll make sure to get a dress, then.” I walk quickly towards the stairs, avoiding looking at him as I go past. I hear him say my name, as I reach the edge of the staircase, but I keep walking, not pausing to look back.

The next day, Dahlia meets me after work to go dress shopping. I managed to avoid seeing Dimitri all day, and I’ve found that it’s actually remarkably easy to avoid seeing one’s spouse if that spouse also wants to avoid you. We seem to have reached an understanding in that, at least, and it’s a strange kind of relief. I’m glad not to have to constantly confront the way he makes me feel, but at the same time, I feel that pang of disappointment every time I come downstairs, or come back to the penthouse, and he’s not there.

Gus is stiffer with me, too. Before the incident when I tried to slip out without him, we had a sort of friendly camaraderie, eventhough I wasn’t thrilled with having him around constantly. But the more days that pass, the more terse and tense he becomes, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because there’s danger growing that I’m unaware of. If there’s things happening behind the scenes that I don’t know about, because Dimitri hasn’t told me.

But I’m not about to go find him in his office to ask. And the result is that I don’t see him until Friday evening, when I come down the stairs to meet him before the gala.

The dress I chose was heavy red satin, with a stiff, structured bodice and full skirt, with a one-shoulder neckline that curves enticingly just over my breasts. Scattered from one shoulder across the bodice and down over the skirt are intermittent sprays of silver sparkles, like snowflakes dusted over the stiff red satin. I took Dimitri’s offer of unlimited use of his credit card seriously, and bought a pair of red-bottomed silver strappy heels to go with it, along with a silver snowflake necklace and a pair of diamond studs to go with it.

He’s waiting downstairs, in a black suit that’s tailored perfectly to him, his dark blond hair styled away from his face and the hint of his tattoos at the edge of his collar, swirling over the backs of his hands. He looks up as he hears the click of my heels on the stairs, and I see the way his eyes darken, filling with heat as he takes in the sight of me.

I swallow hard, trying not to think about all the possibilities that come with that heat, all of the things we’ve already done. Dimitri hasn’t touched me since he tied me to the bed that afternoon, has barely even come near me, and that’s done nothing to quell the desire I feel for him. I thought distance would help, but instead I feel increasingly on edge, my body craving what I’ve learned he can give me—what it seems thatonlyhe can give me. Or at the very least, if someone else can, I’ve never met them.

“The party doesn’t even start for another three hours.” I frown at him as I reach the bottom step, trying to veer away from any possibility of him saying something that might stoke the heat I can already feel flaring between us. “Why did you want me to get ready so early?”

“You’ll see.” Dimitri’s gaze sweeps appreciatively over me once more before he turns, gesturing to the door. “Are you ready?”

I follow him out to the waiting car, Vik and Gus trailing behind us. I’m curious as to what’s going on, my stomach twisting in knots as I slide into the car next to Dimitri, the door closing behind him as he follows me in.

This is the closest I’ve been to him in days. His juniper and woods-scented cologne fills the warm space of the car, making my heart beat a little faster, my pulse fluttering in my throat. It makes me think of his arm around me, catching me as I slipped on ice, of his hand pressing against the small of my back every time we’ve danced, his body leaning over mine as he thrust into me. I’ve come to associate that scent with safety, with pleasure, with feelings that make my heart race, just like it is right now.

I twist my fingers together in my lap, trying not to look at Dimitri. I don’t want him to see how being close to him again is affecting me, or how oddly nervous I am. I don’t know what he has planned, and after spending the week pointedly avoiding each other, I don’t want him to realize that all the distance has done is make my body miss his more.

And—I’ve missedhim, too. I’ve even missed the fighting. I’ve missed the way he brings every argument to a screeching halt by saying something so out of left field that it can’t do anything else, things that I shouldn’t like—like telling me he’ll kill anyone he needs to in order to keep me safe—but that I do, anyway. I’ve missed the way his confidence makes me feel as if everything willbe alright, even when it feels like things are falling apart around us.

But I don’t want him to know any of that.

We ride in silence until the car finally rolls to a stop outside of a large restaurant called L’Vin, the outdoor patio empty but strung with bright, twinkling lights and dotted with heaters, the interior warm-looking, dim, and welcoming. The driver opens the door, and I slide out after Dimitri, following him as he leads us into the restaurant.

“Reservation for Yashkov,” he tells the hostess, and she nods immediately, gathering a menu and motioning to him.

“Follow me, sir,” she says, her bearing making it clear that she’s aware that Dimitri is someone of some importance, and I can’t help enjoying a little how it feels to be with someone that others take note of like that. I’ve never been one to care about social status, but it is a nice experience, much like living in the kind of luxury that Dimitri casually enjoys has been. I don’tneedit, but while I have it—I don’t hate it.

She takes us up to the second level, up a spiral staircase of dark-varnished stairs, to a corner table with an incredible view of the city skyline. I frown at Dimitri as he pulls my chair out, still confused as to what’s going on.

“Did you just want to get dinner before the party?” I ask, as he sits down opposite me. “I didn’t realize?—”

“I wanted to spend some time with you.” He says it so plainly that it startles me, and I blink at him, momentarily thrown off-guard.

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