Page 4 of Twisted Prince
And suddenly, I can’t help the giddy excitement that bubbles up inside me. I want this modeling opportunity so bad. It’s the first thing I’ve dared to dream of accomplishing for myself. And the only thing that stood in my way of being ecstatic about it before was worrying that my decision might cause more trouble for Gleb. He’s already under enough stress.
Overwhelmed by the sudden and intense relief that floods my chest, I release a girlish squeal and fling my arms around Gleb’s neck to say thank you. Only, in my excitement, I don’t think it through.
And rather than just the hug I’d intended, our lips meet in a full and entirely-too-enthusiastic kiss. A jolt of attraction blasts through me, leaving my lips tingling as if they’d been zapped with an electric shock.
But what I feel more powerfully than that is the way Gleb stiffens, his shoulders tensing beneath my arms as his back becomes an iron rod of discomfort. I’ve completely crossed the line. In my excitement, I didn’t think twice about how my unhealthy crush might make me act foolish in front of him.
And now I’ve gone and kissed the one man who’s shown me nothing but respect and consideration. Shame and remorse flood my chest. Tears sting my eyes as I step back, feeling ridiculously rejected by Gleb’s response.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my skin heating with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just…” God, I’ve ruined everything.
I can’t even bring myself to meet Gleb’s eyes, and my horror intensifies as I realize I’m starting to cry. What is wrong with me?
I don’t stick around to find out what stupid thing I might decide to do next. Turning tail, I flee so I don’t have to face Gleb. After that rash, adolescent display, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to look him in the face again.
“Mel!” he calls after me, confusion and conflict in his tone. He’s probably reluctant to explain why he doesn’t want me or why I shouldn’t go around kissing him like that.
I dash from the kitchen, making a beeline for the stairs, intent on reaching my room before Gleb can see the tears streaming down my cheeks. I slam my bedroom door behind me and lean against it for good measure. Not that I think he would chase me all the way up here. Hell, he’s probably just grateful we don’t have to have that awkward it’s-not-you-it’s-me conversation.
I can’t believe I just kissed him.
And though I’m mortified, now that I’m alone, I can’t help but press my fingers to my still-tingling lips. He’s the first man I’ve actually wanted to kiss, and the experience was so different from any of the other kisses I’ve had in my life; it doesn’t even fit in the same category.
Now that I’ve done it, now that I’ve shattered that boundary Gleb has so carefully enforced, I don’t know that I can go back to the way things were.
Despite my overwhelming embarrassment at his rejection, I want to kiss him again.
I can hear the muffled sound of Gleb and Igor talking, then the door closes as Gleb leaves. A hint of disappointment works its way into my belly. A small part of me had hoped he might follow me upstairs and tell me he changed his mind. That he does want me.
But it would seem not.
Why is unrequited love so painful?
Maybe it’s part of what they call growing pains. But at eighteen, I would think I might be past the worst of life’s hard-learned lessons. Then again, because of my past, I suppose I’m a late bloomer when it comes to romance or crushes.
I was too young to care for boys when my dad sent me to Colorado to live with my uncle. And what I experienced there made it very hard to look at boys the same way. So, my feelings for Gleb are a first. I feel like I’m back in that awkward tween space where I don’t know how to behave.
But crying over his rejection won’t make me feel any more mature. So, taking a deep, steadying breath, I wipe the tears from my cheeks and determinedly refocus my attention. I can keep myself busy to take my mind off the mortifying scene that just happened. Since my next serving shift isn’t until tomorrow morning, I can get some work done around the house.
Heading to my closet, I pull out my plastic laundry hamper and prop an edge onto my hip. Then I head back out of my room, toward the stairs and the laundry room one floor below.
Through the wooden spindles of the railing, I spot Igor, the handle of his gun casually protruding from the back of his pants as he stands guard near the door. He has his phone pressed to his ear, listening, and after a moment, he answers in muted Russian.
Then, a rap comes at the front door.
My stomach drops, my heart rate picking up as I hope for a fleeting moment that it might be Gleb coming back, that maybe he’s had a minute to think about the kiss I sprung on him, and he’s reconsidered what he wants to do about it.
Igor raises his voice, speaking in Russian to the person outside, his lips curving into a smirk. But when no one answers, he quickly gets off the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. A moment later, his brows press into a frown as he stares more pointedly at the door.
My steps falter as he says something with a tone of clear warning this time, his hand moving to his gun in his waistband. The moment of silent stillness that follows makes my heart skip a beat. Then, an ear-splitting report of machine gunfire fills the entryway.
Holes blast through the wood door, obliterating the lock and traveling upward in a quick line that pummels Igor before he can move. His body twists and jerks with the force of the bullets impacting his chest.
He stumbles back, blood bursting from his lips, and I cover my mouth to muffle the scream that threatens to escape. Annie and Tif don’t seem to consider the danger of making their presence known, though. Both let out terrified shouts somewhere down the first-floor hallway.
Then a foot slams into the bullet-riddled front door, smashing it open so hard that the damaged knob puts a hole in the wall behind it.
I have mere seconds to act before whoever the intruder is finds me in the stairwell. It takes all my willpower to tear my eyes from the devastating sight of Igor slowly sliding down the wall, a last gurgling breath escaping his lips.
