Page 58 of Twisted Prince
“I’m going out for some fresh air. Call me in when it’s my next number,” she says, her long neck curved so she can look back at the girls behind her.
She’s already wearing the outfit for her next number—the innocent white satin corset and feathery wings contrasting with the lacy garter belt that holds her thigh-high, lace-trimmed pantyhose in place. If I had any doubt that she’s supposed to be an angel, the down-covered halo suspended above her head by a thin wire confirms it.
She’s draped a cream-colored trench coat over one arm, though I don’t see how she’s possibly supposed to use it to keep herself warm with her wings firmly in place between her shoulder blades.
Someone gives Mel an indistinct answer, and she turns, taking three long steps down the hallway before her eyes land on me. Then she freezes. Eyes widening, her head snaps left and right, searching the empty space with near desperation—like she’s ready to bolt once she finds an escape.
“I just want to talk,” I say softly, keeping my voice low and my hands visible as I step toward her cautiously.
“Are you crazy?” she hisses. She storms toward me with a ferocity that hadn’t been there a second before.
Grasping my arm with considerable strength, her natural nails pressing into my flesh, she pulls me toward the exit. And because I overheard her say she’s going for some air, I follow willingly. But as we get to the door, she shoves me against the wall and into the corner.
“Stay,” she commands quietly, shoving a finger in my face. Then she collects herself and pushes the door open. She blocks me with her body and considerable wingspan as she leans outside. “Vik, Harper needs to speak with you. Now, he said.” She says it with enough authority to be quite convincing.
I catch the grumbled complaint—something about breaking protocol and how Vik will somehow have to pay the price—then my behemoth of an older brother slips inside the club and storms down the hallway toward an unmarked door. Without a single glance in my direction.
As soon as he vanishes through the doorway, Mel grasps my wrist and hauls me outside, closing the door into the alley firmly behind her.
“What are you doing here, Gleb? You shouldn’t be here.” Her eyes flick toward the closed door behind me as anxiety flashes across her face.
Concern twists my stomach. Does she think she might get punished for my return?
“No one saw me,” I state calmly to put her at ease. “I couldn’t leave things the way we did last night.” I study her delicate features as Mel’s onyx gaze flashes to mine.
She presses her lips together, a hint of guilt threatening to take over her expression. Then, it’s gone behind a mask of defiance. “I have nothing left to say.”
“Then just listen, okay?” I step closer, bringing our bodies within a foot of each other, and her intoxicating scent fills my nose. My pulse quickens as her lips part, and it takes all my willpower to remain focused.
Seeming stunned by the intensity of my plea, Mel looks up at me without a word.
“I know I handled things poorly last night,” I start. “I let my emotions get the better of me. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know you have a right to do whatever you want with your life. Your body. But I still want to take you back to New York with me. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that if you don’t want it to be. But I can’t leave you here, Mel.” I shake my head. “Not here. Deny it all you want, but I can see this job is wrong for you. It’s crushing your spirit. Making you compromise. And you shouldn’t have to do that. Not when I can help it.”
Her head dips, her eyes dropping to the cement as she shakes her head mutely.
And it wrings my heart. With every ounce of restraint I possess, I reach up to gently trap her chin between my finger and thumb. Then I guide her face up until she has to look at me.
“Why won’t you let me help?” I murmur, bringing my head down until we’re at eye level.
“I c-can’t be with you,” she stutters, the words sounding almost painful to confess.
They cut like a dagger through the heart. But I suppress the pain, trying to understand—even if I know it will only hurt worse. “Why not?”
Mel shakes her head, a tear rolling down her high cheekbone, and when she tries to drop her gaze, I force her to keep looking at me.
“Please, just tell me. It can’t possibly be worse than this agony of not knowing.”
“I’m scared of you,” she breathes, her words so quiet, they’re barely audible.
I was wrong.
This is definitely worse.
I swallow convulsively, trying to dislodge my heart from my throat, and I drop my hand as I take a step back.
After the life she’s led, after the things she’s seen—endured even—I still scare her?
I know I’m not a good man.
