I peek over Katya's shoulder. I don't see Leo-or anyone else on the A-, B-, C-, or D-lists, for that matter. But I do see a veritable army of security guards herding straggling guests into the main ballroom.
As the crowd filters past our little hiding spot, I pay closer attention to the guests themselves. Some of them look like important, respectable businessmen, but the vast majority look more like what I'd generously call "hardcore criminals." We're talking thick golden chains, tattoos on necks, knuckles, or both, and the kind of furtive, aggressive side-to-side glances that all but scream, I dare you to fuck with me.
I shudder.
If this is the company the Kuznetsovs keep, it was a bad idea coming here today.
"Kat... We need to leave. These are not people we want to mess with."
She snorts. "I was wondering when Nervous Nat would rear her head."
I could slap her. I truly could. I love her, but I'm this close to cold-cocking her right across the face and dragging her limp body out of here.
Before I can, she doubles down. "Playing it safe is gonna take you exactly nowhere. Come on-don't you want to have adventures to look back on in your old age? Don't you want experiences to share with your grandchildren one day?"
"That's making the assumption that I even get to old age. Which, judging by the men outside this utility closet, is a stretch."
"You need to stop being so damn scared of everything," she says firmly. It's the same tone she used when she was trying to get me to go skinny dipping in her boss's pool that summer she was house-sitting for him. "You have to stop letting one tragedy be the crutch that keeps you from living your life!"
I should've hit her when I had the chance.
Because her words are as good as a slap across the face in their own right.
Tragedy-that's a funny word for what happened. It feels too clinical, too cold. Then again, what is the right way to talk about your parents getting dragged out of the car and murdered right in front of you?
I bite my tongue to keep the tears from spilling over. There's no way I'm gonna cry in front of her. "Low blow, Kat."
She sighs and clutches my hands. "I love you, you know that. And I just... I don't want to see you stuck in the past, Natalia. Life happens here. Now. In the present."
I'm still a little tongue-tied, but the opening chords of the wedding march coming from the ballroom save me from having to figure out what to say.
Katya squeezes my hands in hers once more. "We're just gonna sneak in there, find a couple seats way in the back, and judge from afar. Okay? Nothing risky. Besides," she adds, "if we leave now, we're only gonna draw attention to ourselves. Best to just blend with the crowd until after the ceremony and then we can leave."
"You promise?"
She makes a cross over her heart with her index finger. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Oh, you will die if you don't keep that promise. I'll make sure of it."
She laughs, grabs my wrist, and pulls me out of the utility closet. We join the last exodus of people streaming through the doors and find seats tucked alongside a looming onyx vase bursting with flowers.
Everyone settles into their places. The conversations slowly dwindle.
It doesn't take me long to spot Andrey Kuznetsov. He's standing at the head of the aisle, looking impossibly huge and impossibly gorgeous. A mountain in charcoal with eyes too bright to be real. My lips tingle with the flesh memory of his lips on mine.
"Damn, is that Viktor's brother?" Katya interrupts my guilty thoughts. "Forget Leo-I'll take one of those, please."
It's weird how instantly my hackles rise. I have absolutely no claim to that man. So why do I care if Katya is attracted to him?
I don't, I tell myself firmly. I don't care one little bit.
Luckily, Katya's quickly distracted by the bride's entrance. "Oh my God, look at her dress. My freaking grandma would've encouraged her to show a little more skin. Is she the bride or a nun?"
I shoot her a glare. "Hush!"
Katya rolls her eyes, but falls silent while the bride is walked down the aisle by her short, balding father. People rise to their feet as I try to make sense of the little lump that's forming in my chest.
What the hell is that?
It's only when my fingers reach instinctively for the locket around my neck that it hits me.
I'll never have this. A father to walk me down the aisle, someone to hand me off.
Tragedy. There's that word again.
I hate it more and more every time.
The bride looks like a shrinking violet. She's pale as snow, with strawberry blonde hair styled into a tight chignon.
"We're veering into pedophile territory," Katya jeers. "She looks like she's twelve years old."
Viktor looks bored as he accepts her hand from his soon-to-be father-in-law. Then the ceremony starts. Katya chews at her nails as the officiant goes through the blandest marriage vows in recorded history.
"Is it almost over, do you think?" Katya whispers.
"I sincerely hope so."
She nods once, her blue eyes glowing a little brighter. Up on the altar, the officiant plows into the home stretch. "Do you, Viktor Kuznetsov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Another nod, like Katya is preparing herself for something. It leaves a sinking feeling in my belly.
"Kat-"
Viktor opens his mouth, "I-"
"I OBJECT!"
I stare after Katya, my jaw hanging to the literal floor.
I'm not the only one. The crowd twists in their chairs.
And just like that, Katya has stolen the show.
All eyes are on her-including Viktor's.
"Katya...?" he stutters in disbelief, while his bride lists to the side as though she's in danger of fainting at any moment.
"Viktor Kuznetsov is a liar and a cheater!" Katya continues loudly. Rather than be deterred by the eyes on her, it's like the audience is giving her life. "He prowls the city at night looking for his next conquest. And trust me, he's made many!"
Andrey Kuznetsov is the only one who looks even remotely calm during this abrupt little detour the wedding has taken. His eyebrow flickers up as he regards Katya with pure, acidic disdain. Then he looks off to the left and gives a nod to someone I can't see. I'm guessing Katya has about ten seconds before she's hauled out of here like the crazy-ass intruder she is.
The thing is-and I know from experience-Katya can do a lot of damage in ten seconds. As it turns out, she doesn't even need that long.
"Viktor has a secret mistress," she cries out. "She's pregnant with his baby. And she's standing right over there!"
I blink over at Katya-who's pointing in my direction, for some inexplicable reason.
I actually glance over my shoulder to see this pregnant mistress she's apparently brought along to humiliate Viktor.
But there's nothing behind me except an onyx vase filled with calla lilies.
And that's when it hits me.
I'm supposed to be the pregnant mistress.
I'm the prop.
I'm the naive idiot who let myself get roped into Katya's revenge ploy.
Before I can jump in and correct her lie, Andrey Kuznetsov steps off the raised platform. He no longer looks disinterested or calm.
Now, he looks pissed.
Those ethereal silver eyes land directly on me and he growls three terrifying words into the microphone. "Security... grab them."
