Page 132 of Konstantin
My teeth tug at my bottom lip as I take a step back toward the stairs, hurrying up, feeling the heat of his gaze burning into me the entire way.
As soon as I make it to the bedroom, I remove my phone, finding a text from Riley.
Riley
Hey! I miss you! Call me so we can catch up!
A knot tightens in my stomach. Of course she doesn’t want to catch up. It’s all code forcall me ASAP because I have news.
Heading for the bathroom, I start the water, hoping it blocks out the conversation as I dial Riley’s number.
She answers on the second ring. “Tessa?”
The instant urgency in her voice is all I need to know that something’s not right.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“We need to meet. Can you get away?” Riley’s words are quick, almost frantic.
It’s worse than I thought. She’d never ask to meet unless it was an emergency. I hesitate for a moment, like I don’t want to know. What if this thing with Konstantin, this strange little bubble we’ve built, is about to pop?
“I can’t today. We just got back from a surprise trip. What abouttomorrow?”
It’ll be much easier to pretend I need to go shopping tomorrow instead of today. Konstantin won’t think much of it.
“Yeah, fine.” A rush of an exhale leaves her, and my anxiety only increases.
“I’ll text you when and where.”
“Okay,” Riley replies, softer now, like she’s trying to mask the tension. “Talk then.”
As I hang up, the sinking feeling in my stomach grows, and I can’t shake the thought that whatever Riley’s going to tell me will bring everything crashing down.
The bell above the door jingles softly as I step into the boutique where I told Riley we’d meet. When I step inside, Maksim and Dmitri behind me, their large frames cast shadows across the polished floors.
But I don’t need them on my tail right now.
I turn to them. “Stay by the door and don’t follow me around.”
They exchange murmurs in Russian, but they know better than to argue. With a muttered response, they settle onto the velvet sofa, their eyes still trained on me.
I give them a smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes, before turning my attention to the racks of clothes in front of me. Pretending to shop is easy, though my thoughts are elsewhere. The adrenaline running through my veins is cold and the uncertainty in my chest won’t fade.
I spot Riley moving to the back, her head down, focused on what she’s grabbing from the shelves. She’s doing the same as I am: blending in, pretending to be here for something else.
A saleswoman comes over, asking if I need any help. I shake my head politely, then gather a few more things, making my way toward the back.
I find an open door and slip inside, locking it behind me, and find her already waiting for me.
Time stretches on before she finally sits on the bench, pulling out a small notepad and pen, scribbling furiously. I stare at her, trying to keep my composure, but my body betrays me with its growing stiffness.
Finally, she peers up, her face pale and shows me what she wrote.
And her words? They’re like a kick to the gut.
One so hard, it blows the air from my lungs.
No.
