Page 128 of 10 Days to Ruin

ARIEL

I’m zipping up my knee-high boots when the knock comes. “Hold on!” I yell. I clomp like a horse to the door and pull it open.

Sasha is standing on the other side. He’s winter incarnate. Snowflakes cling to the inky waves of his hair like diamond dust. The black cashmere scarf does nothing to soften that razor-blade jawline, only amplifies the brutal symmetry of his face. His coat—tailored, wool—hangs open, revealing a thick black sweater that looks like a really nice place for me to nuzzle my face for a while, if he’d let me.

“I said dresswarm,” he tells me with an amused glance.

I scowl at him. “I’m wearing boots and a peacoat, and I brought gloves. What’s not warm about that?”

He shrugs. “Paris is cold this time of year.”

My hand freezes on the doorknob. “Paris, as in…?”

“Surprise!” Mama pops out from behind Sasha wearing a beret she definitely just bought at the bodega downstairs. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Road trip!”

“Plane trip,” Sasha corrects. “Belle said she wanted to see Paris again.” He shrugs a shoulder, but his eyes track my reaction like a hawk. Under his breath, he adds, “Leander took that from her. I’m giving it back.”

I cross my arms and give him a feisty glare. I’m putting on a front because if I gave him a real glimpse at what this gesture is doing to my insides, we’d never make it out of my apartment. Mama would have to stand in the hallway while I showed Sasha just how much I appreciate his thoughtfulness. From my knees.

“You must think this is winning you a lot of brownie points, sir.”

Sasha laughs. “If I wanted points,” he purrs, stepping into my space, “I’d have gone about this in a much different way—and it would certainly not involve your mother.” He kisses my forehead. “Besides, I’m getting something out of this, too. Paris has excellent champagne.”

Something twists behind my ribs. Dangerous. Delicious. “What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll fly there alone and drink it all myself.” He tweaks my bottom lip with his thumb and grins. “But we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up.”

I’m still looking back and forth between the two of them, utterly baffled. “I just… I mean…Paris?!”

“Yes, Ariel. Paris.” He steps inside to loop one arm around my waist and pick up my woefully inadequately packed duffel bag. “Hope you packed your thermal underwear.”

At that, finally, I can give him a wicked grin. “Joke’s on you,” I tell him as Mama goes skipping down the aisle ahead of us, the sheer glee turning her into someone fifty years younger. “I didn’t pack any underwear at all.”

Sasha’s strangled groan is exactly what I’d hoped for.

The plane hums all around us. Sasha is sprawled across from me in a cream leather seat, ankles crossed, flipping through a Russian architecture magazine like this is all just another day in his impossibly charmed life—which, I suppose, it is. At my side, Mom’s glued to the window, tracing cloud shapes with her finger.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy.

Sasha looks up. “If you’re cold, Ms. Ward, there’s a blanket beneath the seat right there. I could also have the attendant bring us tea, if you’d like a drink…?”

My mom laughs giddily. “Tea time at forty thousand feet sounds delightful. Thank you.”

Nodding, Sasha rises and goes to talk to the cabin crew. As soon as he’s a step away, Mama clutches my elbow and does thesqueeeenoise she’s been emitting at regular intervals since we went wheels up. “This is so magical, Ari. Leander never?—”

I can’t help but wince. “Let’s not compare them, Mama. Better yet, let’s leave Baba out of it altogether.”

“Why not?” She nods at Sasha, who’s engaged in a rapid discussion with the flight attendant on how Belle takes her tea. “He listens. Leander just… took.”

The plane lurches. My stomach drops faster than my common sense.

Six hours later, we’re landing. Paris unfurls below us in a mille-feuille of ivory snow and amber streetlights. Wild curves, elegant streets, sugar-spun ice dangling from arches and spires. Mom still has her nose pressed to the window as she gasps again and again.

Sasha’s hand finds mine, squeezes once, and lets go.

We step from the plane right into a waiting van, and from the van into the Four Seasons Hotel George V. Our suite occupies the entire top floor. Belle drifts through rooms trailed by soft “ohs,” her fingertips brushing silk wallpaper and gilded door handles. When she disappears into her bedroom to unpack, I corner Sasha by the marble fireplace.

“What’s this costing you?”

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