And I have no idea how to digest that—as if I even had the bandwidth for it right now, with a certainsomeonetaking up my every thought.
I have every fucking right to be furious at him. Fuck whatever “favor” he thought he was doing me the other day, setting it up so that Dasha would walk in on us.
That wasn’t a favor, it was humiliation. My identity and my sexuality aremineto share how and if I choose to do so at all.
Making that decisionfor meby arranging for Dasha to see me on my fucking knees sucking a guy off was…
Fuck.
I hate that the rage that boils inside me is tinged with a throb of desire that pools low in my stomach and sends a tingle right to my cock. I hate that even now, after that fucking psycho stunt, I can’t force myself to feel anger toward him.
I mean,yeah, I’m angry. For one, he’s not psychic. Maybe he had a good idea how Dasha would take it, especially since he knewabout her apparent love affair with Maks. But the way shedidend up reacting wasn’t guaranteed.
She could have run out and gone directly to her father about it. Or mine.
The cold dread that claws its way through me just considering that scenario is paralyzing.
Or what if she’d demanded even more money? I mean, eight million isn’tnothingto me, but it’s not going to break the bank either. It just involves dipping into some funds, and Iknowthat’s going to get back to Stepan at some point, which means I’m going to have to lie to him, which I hate doing.
But, bottom line, it could have cost mezerodollars, and what he pulled still wouldn’t be okay.
Who and what I am is formeto obsess, self-flagellate, and agonize over. Not him. Not anyone else.
“Your glass is looking a little light, Bull.”
I close the door on any thoughts of Val and lock it up tight before I turn to glance at The Stag as he looks down at me.
“Do I sense an imminent worried comment about my health and well-being?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, brother,” he says quietly. “Not tonight.” He clinks his glass to mine and holds up the bottle of vodka. “I was actually going to ask if you needed a refill on your prescription.”
The towering antlers on his own mask swivel as he shakes his head again and sinks into one of the chairs across from me.
“Nope, no lectures tonight,” he growls, leaning over and pouring a generous splash into my half-empty glass. “Not with what you’re dealing with.” He exhales. “Look, arranged or not, I’m sorry about Dasha running off with some other guy.”
It’s been a week since that day, and I gotta hand it to the girl: she didn’t hesitateat all. We met once more after that, just the two of us. She confirmed she’d received the money, thanked me, and hugged me, telling me she hoped I’d find my own happiness.
After that, she and Maksdisappeared.
Obviously, this hasn’t happened in a vacuum. The Lukashov family is inchaos, with Bogdan apparently on the warpath. It goes without saying thatmyfather is losing his fucking shit probably even worse, since this means he’s back to square fucking one when it comes to trying to get cozy with Cosimo Sangrini.
I couldn’t give less of a fuck, as long as the secondhand limelight from Dasha’s escape doesn't shine anywhere near me.
“I think we both know hownotbroken up about that I am,” I shrug.
The Stag nods his head. “I know. But still.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Arranged marriages in our world are as common as vodka. But Dasha was a good one. Smart, sexy?—”
“If you feel like tracking her down and heaping this praise on her yourself, Romeo,” I drawl, “you have my blessing.”
He chuckles, raising a middle finger. “I’m just trying to cheer you up, or if that fails…” he raises the bottle in his hand. “Numb you up?”
“Well, if you insist,” I murmur, extending my glass for another splash of vodka. After I take a sip, I glance up at him again. “You gonna tell me who this mystery girl of yours is?”
“There is no mystery girl.”
“Mysteryguy?”
I swear, I can see his furrowed brow even through his mask. Then he shakes his head. “Eh…nah.”
