In the twenty-five minutes it took Austin to arrive and practically bang down Dimitri’s front door, I managed to clean up. After carefully covering the now bruising bite mark on my shoulder with concealer usually reserved for the dark circles under my eyes, I used it there too in a desperate attempt to hide the swelling.
Depending on how I turn in the light, my reflection in the mirror reveals the gashes in various stages from mildly noticeable to what the fuck happened to you. I pull my cardigan as high up as possible, calm my nerves with half a Valium from my purse and a cognac from the bar, prepared to lie my ass off. After using several drops of Visine to cool the redness in my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and fill my mind with visions of Gaby, reminding myself why I’m doing this.
When I meet Dimitri in the foyer, my father is beside him. After several more loud bangs on the door, Alexei lets Austin inside. The two men exchange a narrowed glance, seeming to take a renewed interest in sizing each other up.
When Austin’s steel-gray eyes meet mine, I have to look away, doing everything I can to keep from running to his arms or collapsing on the floor.
Austin doesn’t step toward me. For the long eternity of a minute, he stares at me. His voice is low, controlled, and commanding as he says, “Come here, Evie.”
I don’t hesitate, though a part of me nearly looks to Dimitri for approval. A second later, I’m standing before Austin, fixing my eyes on his chest as a tremble takes hold of my body.
Without a word, he lifts my chin, forcing my eyes to his. But it’s his turn not to make eye contact, focusing instead on the throbbing between my neck and shoulder.
Swallowing the dread lodged in my throat, I tug my cardigan a little higher and meet his gaze with a confidence I’m not sure I possess. “Go, Austin. You have to know I could never marry you. Never love you. I need someone in my life who can give me all the things I want. That I deserve.”
With my sleeve, I wipe away the hot stream of tears and pray he doesn’t hold me. Just having him this close is too much.
His eyes bore into mine, searching for a piece of my soul that’s barely alive. I suck in a breath, relax into the lull of Valium and booze, and say what I know I need to say. “I deserve more than the likes of you.”
His gaze floats to my lips, then my eyes, before dropping to my hand. He takes it and holds my ring high. “Well, nice to see old habits are hard to break.”
“Austin, plea—”
“Don’t, Evie. I get it now. I was a good time. A distraction. A way to get what you wanted from your fiancé. But I got something I wanted too. A lukewarm body on a cold night. An expensive whore, ready and willing to spread her legs, letting me see how the other half lives. Just another fuck until the next one comes along.”
When he tosses my hand aside, I curl my fingers, digging my nails into my palm.
Helplessly, I watch him bolt for the door, bumping into Alexei with so much force, it looks like all three hundred pounds of the Russian bouncer might topple from the assault. When the door slams shut and an engine roars before vanishing down the drive, I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
I startle as Dimitri’s hands smooth over my shoulders. “You did good, Evelyn. And he’s right, you know. You’re not just any whore. You’re a very expensive one. Will you be ready and willing to spread your legs for me like you did with him?”
More tears stream out, and my arms cross tight over my chest as his finger tugs down the cardigan, letting him admire his marks on my skin.
“Wedding night jitters?” he asks, delivering both a threat and a few hours’ pardon in the same depraved tone. “You’ll be my own wedding gift. I can’t wait,” he says, tracing a finger down my neck. “Can’t wait to break whatever fight there is left in you.”
When his fingers viciously pinch the wound, the pain pushes a wave of nausea so strong, I bend over and unleash it with all my might, square onto his Dormeuil slacks and Brunello Cucinelli shoes. Both the despicable man and his atrocious clash in luxury styles are an affront to all my senses.
“Fucking bitch!” He lashes out, grabbing my arm in the vise grip of his hand.
My cries are loud and pleading. And pointless.
“Antonov!” My father’s voice surprises me, booming with a strength I was sure he’d lost.
Somehow, the bastard managed to grow a pair and speak up. And as much as I hate every bone in his entitled, elitist body, hearing that is a relief.
“Let her go, you idiot,” he says as he moves with remarkable speed toward us.
Dimitri snarls at him. “Did you just call me an idiot?”
“I believe I did,” he says, pushing his way between us to meet Dimitri eye to eye. “I’m not sure what sort of media will be here for your nuptials, but take it from the TV man, your wedding will have the latest in high-definition coverage. Haven’t you heard the term ‘ugly in HD’? All those fancy cameras will capture everything from beads of sweat to tooth decay. This little number you did on Evelyn could be seen from the goddamn space shuttle. How about we work on less bruising and more makeup for her big day, eh, comrade?”
Dimitri takes the suggestion in stride, simmering his snarl to a lethal grin before he looks down to assess the damage to his shoes and slacks. “We both know what media will be here for the nuptials, don’t we, Garrett?” His dark expression meets mine. “See you at the altar.”
As he steps past the puddle of puke, the snap of his finger has Alexei following behind.
My father wraps his arm around me, steadying my shaky knees. His renewed strength is the only thing holding me up at the moment. “A little fresh air will perk you back up,” he says, leading me down the hall, through the library, and outside through a back door I’ve never used.
Gray clouds crowd the skies, and the breeze reminds me of Austin. I stumble down the grand stairs separating the stately mansion from the vast grounds. A few more steps, and I’m being lowered on a stone bench as Garrett, the man I’ve only known as my father, sits beside me.
His fingers lift my chin, giving him better light as he turns me and takes his time examining every line of my face and neck. “Here,” he says, tugging the white cotton handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes what has to be vomit from my face.
In disbelief, anger, and hurt, I stare at him, harboring so many feelings at once, there’s no way for them to release except through the burden of warm, heavy tears.
“We don’t have much time, Evelyn,” he says, not really looking at me, but past me back toward the mansion.
For what? Too exhausted to say a word, I merely sit and listen.
“You have to know, I never meant for it to go this far. I—”
“You’re what? You might not be my father, which explains why to this day you’re still pimping me out to save the Banks name, but I do know you. Have known you for twenty-seven years. And whoever the hell you are, you’re not the type of guy to suddenly grow a conscience. So, spit it out. What does he have on you? Bribes? Hookers?”
“Worse.” Garrett sucks in a breath as the tips of his fingers trace through my hair.
It’s something he’s done for a very long time, as long as I can remember. Sometimes, it was the only way he could calm a hysterical child. But looking in his eyes, I can see how much it’s calming him too.
“Alan killed a man,” he says in a strained voice.
Wide-eyed, I say nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“A hit and run. Back then, I had enough money and clout to make it vanish. But somehow, Antonov found it. Dug it up. Between the bribes and the cover-up—”
“He’s looking at life?” I say flatly, for no other reason than I’m drained of absolutely everything except the lawyer shouting out from deep in my head. Garrett’s sullen nod means his own lawyers have told him as much. “When?”
“When what?”
“When did this happen?”
“Why does that matter?”
He’s stalling, probably because he knows no matter how he strokes my hair or pats my hand, or wipes my face like an infant with spit-up, I’m not letting go until my cross-examination is over.
Wrinkling his brow, he tosses out his recollection with the indifference of reciting the weather. “I don’t know. You were fourteen. Maybe fifteen.”
“Alan would’ve been turning eighteen. The year his grades went down, and his scholarship to Yale teetered in the balance. I could never figure out why one day, my brother is wild and carefree, and the next he’s distant. Unreachable. Growing more dependent on drugs by the minute, for no reason at all. But there was a reason. And now I’m getting the big fat fucking picture.”
“Must you be so crass?” Garrett says with a patriarchal tone that’s purely out of habit.
“You two went out one night. That male bonding you threw in my face. But Alan came back different. Unable to remember anything. Well, except what you probably told him.”
“Now, Evelyn—”
“My turn,” I say, stringing together the chain of events so effortlessly, I can’t believe I never saw it before. “Alan was with you when this happened. In his car, his Beamer that mysteriously became a Mercedes. And he had no idea what happened, did he? Maybe because of a head injury, or maybe from the trauma of watching it all unfold. Or maybe both. But I know this. Alan wasn’t the driver.”
Garrett’s lip twitches, unable to hold the facade of a dismissive smile. “And what makes you think that?”
“Because if you were with him, and we both know you were, you’d never let him drive. You always called him incompetent. Worthless.”
His face sours in response. “Look at you, Evelyn. The man who raised you is giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, and all you care about, once again, is saving Alan.”
“Maybe it’s because I’ve always known he has a soul worth saving. And you’re framing him for embezzlement too, aren’t you?”
“Well, if you want to save him again, Evelyn, I suggest you wipe that smug look off your face and take a good look at your new life. Despite a bloodline that probably traces to an underpass, those expensive little degrees of yours tell me that you’re smart. Stop using your few working brain cells digging up conspiracies where none exist, and focus on not pissing off the wealthy billionaire about to marry you. No good can come of it, Evelyn. Not for you. And not for your boy toy or his daughter.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Garrett pushes himself to his feet, dropping his handkerchief to my lap before straightening his suit. “I know exactly who I am. I’m the man who will be walking your trashy ass down the aisle.”