“I’m barely hanging in there. I’m doing my best, okay? I’m trying to convince myself to keep going no matter how much I want to stop and let my head get the better of me. I’m really, really trying, so please don’t push me, Ces.”
“Okay.” She strokes my shoulder.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I won’t pretend to know what it feels like to be in your shoes right now.”
“Thanks.” I release a long breath, but it does nothing for the knots inside me. “Should we get something to eat?”
Cecily agrees and opts to try the street food experience. We have hot dogs and lots of unhealthy soda and then I drive her to the airport.
Despite my attempts to invite her to stay, she’s bent on leaving and says this was an impromptu visit anyway.
She came in a private jet, so I escort her all the way to the plane.
“Don’t they have a car that goes with one of these planes?” I ask as we walk to the stairs. “Not that I mind driving you.”
“Uh, I didn’t think to ask. First time flying solo, remember?” She smiles forcibly and I stop pushing.
She’s probably embarrassed or she could have a fear of flying.
“I guess this is me.” I stop at the foot of the stairs.
“No, come up with me. I still have time until departure.” She grins. “We can have a drink.”
“Papa won’t like that, despite my attempts to prove my Russian ancestry.”
“Oh, come on.” She grabs me by the elbow. “I’m sure he won’t find out about one drink.”
“You say that because you don’t know my father.” I let her lead me up the stairs anyway. “He could find a fly in the Atlantic Ocean if he puts his mind to it. Jer inherited that trait, you know, and sometimes, I feel left out of the cool Volkov club.”
Cecily stiffens and I pause in the middle of the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“You went all rigid at the mention of my father and brother. Considering you never met Papa, and all the strategic disappearing you do when my brother is around, I guess this is about Jer?”
“Nooo.” She laughs awkwardly.
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“You know your brother is scary.”
“Didn’t scare you that time you defended me at the fight club.”
“Maybe I should’ve been scared,” she mutters under her breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She leads me up the stairs and we sit down opposite each other on the luxurious velvet seats.
A flight attendant brings us two flutes of champagne and we make a toast before we drink.
Or I drink.
Cecily watches me the whole time with a downward expression.
“This looks oddly familiar, as if I’m the one who’s going on a flight.” I grin, then pause. “Is it just me or do I sound drunk after just one glass of champagne?”
Cecily stands up. “I’ll be right back.”
I try to follow her with my gaze but even my body feels drunk.
Papa will kill me.
Unless I convince Mom and Yan to smuggle me inside.
I stand up and the plane sways off its axis.
Shit.
I’m thrown backward and I hit a wall.
No. Not a wall. Muscles.
A very familiar scent fills my nostrils, confiscates my breathing, and leaves me floundering and gasping for air. My body heats and my heartbeat picks up in recognition of this touch.
The same touch I fell asleep with countless of times.
I think I’m dreaming. Again.
Like those tortuous nights where I imagine myself snuggled in these solid arms. Where everything is back to before my world was ruined.
But his deep, rich voice sounds absolutely real when he whispers, “Did you think it was over, little purple?”
Yes, I want to say, but my tongue is too heavy. Too big. Too unnatural.
My words die in my throat as my vision goes black.
ANNIKA
Iblink and pause as the world comes into a blurred focus.
I expect to find myself in my room, but the walls that greet me are entirely different.
Elegant modern wallpaper, a sophisticated sofa, a nightstand, an extravagant lamp.
What the…
All sleep vanishes from my eyes as I jump up in bed and pull the sheet to my neck, flinching at the sound of rustling clothes.
Where am I?
The last thing I remember is having that glass of champagne with Cecily and then falling…
Falling…
Into Creighton’s arms.
No. Nope.
That one was a cruel dream.
Slowly, too slowly, I let go of the sheet and swing my feet onto the plush carpet.
I’m still in my dress, so that should be a good sign.
My gaze roams around the hotel-like room for some sort of a clue, but I still come up empty. No idea what this place is, but it reeks of money and an ominous feeling.
I search for my bag, my phone, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Even my smartwatch is gone.
Okay, don’t panic.
Don’t. Panic.
I open the door and step into an equally elegant hall filled with modern paintings. After walking a while, I reach a patio that overlooks a cozy living room downstairs.
My fingers latch onto the railing, using it as an anchor while I descend the glass stairs.
I don’t think twice as I head to the entrance. To my surprise, the double doors aren’t locked. When I open them, I slam into a hard chest.
For a moment, I think this is a continuation of the dream from earlier.
For a moment, I stop and stare as if I’m caught in a trance.
Gorgeous, absolutely haunting ocean eyes swallow me in their dark depths with a promise of complete destruction.
It’s been a long time since I last saw Creighton in person, and being in his presence right now is nothing short of being shoved down from a height that’s meant to kill.
It’s being thrust into the fog and having no hope of finding a way out.
It’s breathing but getting no air.
It’s crazy how everything can change in the span of a month. There were times when I found Creighton overbearing, a little bit frightening, a little bit assholish, but this is the first time he feels…intimidating.
Like the type you’d deliberately change paths upon seeing to avoid being smashed by his disastrous energy.
He’s in his usual jeans and hoodie. His now longer hair flops to one side, kissing his forehead.
I almost forgot just how tall Creighton is and how small I feel in comparison. How his broad shoulders block the sun and he becomes everything I see. Unlike the past, though, right now, the difference in height and physique feels downright threatening.
It’s in the aura. In the way he stares at me with enough dispassion to dry up the blood in my veins and watch me as I shrivel and die.
I blink twice, but he’s not disappearing. If anything, he gains more presence.
A real presence.
My heart beats wildly in my rib cage and I could swear he feels it through my skin and my clothes.
It dawns on me then.
At this moment where my breasts are crushed against his chest and my space is filled with his cologne.
This is not a dream.
It’s more real than the breaths I’m inhaling and the air that’s mixed with his distinctive clean scent.