Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife #1) - Sienna Blake Page 0,36
my bedroom. “You will make yourself presentable and come downstairs immediately.”
“Edgar—”
“I don’t want to hear any fucking excuses. Do it or I will drag you downstairs myself.” He slams the door behind him.
I cannot escape Dimitri. As much as I try.
Later, I fuss with my hair one more time as I stand in front of the dresser. I tried to straighten it earlier but my hands were too shaky. The best I could do was to put some product in it that would tame the frizz. Even then, my hair tumbles around my head like a violent wind has gone through it.
I smooth my hands over my dress, a red silk Valentino gown that nips in at my waist and shimmers around my ankles. I take a steadying breath. This is your house, Alena. Don’t let him stop you from being comfortable in your own house.
I lift my chin and exit my room, the strains of the violins growing louder as I make my way through the hallway, my heels clicking against the marble. I stop at the top of the stairs to the ballroom, gripping the balustrade as I survey the room, steeling myself, my stomach doing flips.
The ballroom is the most beautiful room in Worthington Manor, the grand masterpiece. It rises two storeys, chandeliers drip like a crystal canopy from the vaulted plasterwork ceiling, the hundreds of light bulbs sparkling across the black and white Spanish marble floors which are now crammed with my husband’s friends, all in their finest. My eyes scan the room. Without meaning to, I know I’m seeking him out. I spot Mrs Bates hanging around the edges of the room near the entrance to the serving kitchen, surveying the crowd, making sure that every waiter is doing his job correctly, occasionally stopping one to straighten his tie or fuss at his tray. There is Terrance, by my husband’s side, looking too eager to please. He just needs a collar. I spot Emily, a pretty flower standing by one of the large windows, talking to someone who isn’t—thank God—Dimitri.
I spot various prominent men, men my husband knows, but not Dimitri. England’s finest are here to honour their new international friend, the wealthy, mysterious Dimitri Wolf. Only I know the truth. He’s not a wolf. He’s a snake.
I only hope that I don’t have to speak to him. Even better if I don’t have to see him. I’m not foolish enough to believe that is possible.
Like they do whenever he’s in the room, my eyes find Dimitri. They lock on him. Like I am a compass and he’s my true north.
God, he is stunning. I hate the way the sight of him fists in my gut. Every time. Every single time.
He’s clean-shaven tonight, showing off his wide, strong jaw and chiselled features, his dark hair flying about his head. His midnight suit has been tailored to fit snugly over his strong body, a bold, crimson shirt and matching tie underneath that brings out his eyes. He’s standing with a cluster of grown men. It’s like they’ve all been reduced to schoolgirls, all vying for his attention, all eager, mooning eyes. He just surveys his audience with a detached coldness, an apathy that makes him all the more unattainable and desirable. At least, it looks like apathy. I know Dimitri. He’s never been truly comfortable in these kinds of social situations. I can sense the suspicion underneath his studious stare, like he’s trying to uncover what all these people want to take from him.
I almost snort at myself internally. You don’t know Dimitri anymore.
The eyes of the wives and daughters standing nearby are all trained on him too, sly looks over shoulders, coy smiles over the rims of champagne flutes. Despite his beauty he seems to me like a creature from hell, his eyes glinting with blue otherworldly fire and brimstone. Like a vampire slipping through polite society looking for his prey, nobody noticing the evil that lurks within, except me.
Like he hears my thoughts, he looks up. Our eyes lock.
My heart squeezes with longing so painful it becomes difficult to breathe. My soul tugs me towards him. I clutch the balustrade lest I lose my balance and tumble down these stairs. Or worse, that I lose my senses and run into his arms. I hate myself for wanting him, despite the cruel devil he’s become. I hate my heart that still hopes, waits, for the real Dimitri to reveal himself.