Page 70 of Arseni
What?
My mouth doesn’t open.Relief doesn’t unwind my chest.
This feels too easy.
“As long as you can assure me she won’t go to the police, I don’t see what the problem is.”
What the problem is?
She could tell a friend.She could hold onto this for years before coming out with her story.If he lets her go, it’ll behimletting a witness go.The Bratva will kill him as easily as they’ll kill me.
And Luka has seen her… What happens if they run into each other?What happens if any person at last night’s party sees her, and they decide to talk?
This is too problematic for him to say yes right away.
“She won’t.”
“Good.”He lounges back in the seat, resting his arm on the door.He gestures toward the road.“Should we get on with it?I’m sure Margot is anxious to get home.”
Home.Now.
I tighten both hands around the steering wheel and pretend that didn’t just make my heart race.That the idea of her leaving brings me just as much remorse as it does relief.
I’m not ready for her to go.
“Tomorrow,” I say, putting the car in reverse.“You and I have other things to do today.”
He chuckles like he knows.After a sigh, he clicks the overhead bin for his sunglasses.“That’s what I figured… Tonight, I’m having dinner with Sophie.I’ll stay over so you can have the house to yourselves.”
He slides the glasses onto his face, a satisfied smile lingering.It occurs to me that maybe he wants this as much as I do.Maybe he wants to have something to hold over me.He probably thinks all he’d have to do was threaten Margot’s life to get me to fall back in line.I’d never be able to walk away from him, truly this time, and maybe that’s exactly what he wants.
But maybe not.
“Why?”I can’t help but ask.
He looks toward me with a smile that shows sharp canines.“I already told you… I’m a romantic.”
25
MARGOT
The taste of burnt chicken rests on my tongue like it was cooked there, charring my taste buds along with it.Every sip of wine I take splashes at the taste like it tries and fails to put out the fire.
Still, I ask for seconds with a smile on my face, and when Arseni delivers it to me—looking strange in a pair of khakis and a red, button-down shirt—I’m quick to dig in.It’s terrible.It reminds me of my mother’s cooking and all the times my father grumbled on the couch, refusing to eat it.Twice I can remember him tipping over the pan in the kitchen when it wasn’t to his satisfaction.
“You don’t have to eat it,” Arseni says.He’s said it at least five times throughout this back patio dinner.Even me asking for seconds hasn’t fooled him.
“It’s good.”
He frowns like he isn’t convinced.“I swear to God I followed the instructions.”
I smile and put another piece in my mouth.Chewing keeps me from answering.
He pushes his plate away and runs a hand through his soft, brown hair, looking away from me like he’s nervous.He’s been like this the entire evening, ever since he came and got me from his room claiming he made dinner for me.There’s a long stick candle lit in the middle of a white tablecloth that would be romantic if this wasn’t so awkward.All I can think about is how this is the same table he made me spread myself on for his entertainment, the cold biting into my naked bottom.I’m sitting in the chair where I burned him.
It’s weird.And reassuring.And confusing as hell.
When I woke up this morning, I felt nauseous about last night.Arseni was already gone, the weight of his arm around me replaced with a pillow that was soft and disappointing.I kept thinking he regretted it.That any time today he’d throw me back in my dungeon like it meant nothing.Like I hadn’t fully opened myself to him, revealing everything inside.
