Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife #1) - Sienna Blake Page 0,6
attire here in traditionalist Russia. She must be foreign. She has dark hair coiffed into a stylish twist, so complex and perfect that she couldn’t have possibly done it herself. Foreign, and too pompous to do her own damn hair.
My steps are surer as I wind my way towards them, taking a languid route through the glossy tables and chairs so as not to appear to be aiming for them. As I near, I catch her voice and a lilt of an accent. She’s speaking Russian with what sounds like an American accent.
Dimitri catches my eye over her shoulder. He pulls the woman closer to him and lowers his mouth to her ear as if to whisper something. A stab of jealousy goes through me. I shove it down. Dimitri is just acting. He’s pretending to want her. He’s not drawing her closer, he’s drawing her farther away from her purse, a fat white leather clutch, sitting forgotten on the bar stool behind her.
The bar stool I am almost upon.
My steps are light and quick. Dimitri says something to her. She laughs loudly, her hands all over his chest, forcing me to fight another stab of pain. This was my plan, after all. Dimitri was always better at being charming and distracting. She’s totally distracted. I am barely breathing as I hold my coat beside me to hide my actions. I reach for her purse and—
A large, firm hand grips my upper arm, sending a jolt through me. I let go of the clutch. It falls to the floor with a clatter.
Everything seems to stop. Even the music. I look up. A huge man in a suit with hair cut close to his skull is gripping me, glaring at me.
Oh my God. I’ve been busted.
“What’s going on?” the woman says in her accented Russian as she turns her back on Dimitri.
I suck in a breath as her eyes lock onto mine, her irises as dark as crows’ feathers. Her skin glows with the perfect amount of blush, her lashes thick and lush. Her deep red lipstick matches her perfectly manicured nails. I can smell her expensive woodsy perfume wafting seductively in the air, not too light, not too heavy. Her ears drip with diamond chandelier earrings that brush against her collarbones. Her fingers glint with more jewels, all costing more money than I’ll ever know in my entire life. I’m filled with a sudden hateful rage, my fingers digging into my palms. She’s everything that I want to be but am not. Why does she deserve to have everything while I have nothing?
Behind her, another large man in a suit grabs Dimitri by the elbows, locking them behind his back. Dimitri is strong, but he’s no match for the overfed bulldog holding him.
She has bodyguards? Who the hell did Dimitri pick as a mark?
The woman says something in English to the man holding me hostage. From what little I’ve learned in school, I pick up the words “purse” and “thief”.
Shit. We’re so screwed.
I attempt to appear indignant, like I’m just another rich, entitled princess, as I demand to be let go. I claim it was just an accident that my coat caught the edge of her purse, knocking it over.
The woman doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the way she narrows her eyes at me. Dimitri demands to be let go as well, but it’s not helping.
“Both of you shut up or I’ll call the authorities,” she commands in Russian.
Dimitri and I fall silent at the word authorities. We catch each other’s gaze and when I look back, the woman is looking at me, nodding slightly. She knows Dimitri and I have been working together. She waves off the hotel manager, who has rushed over to see what the problem is.
“I have this under control,” she says, and refocuses her eyes on me.
Her look suddenly changes. She studies me, eyeing me up and down my entire body. I feel stripped. I’ve never felt so scrutinized. She hums under her breath. “You have real potential. Even in stolen rags you are…” she lifts her onyx eyes up to drill into mine, “stunning.”
I feel a chill settle down my spine. A series of thoughts runs through my head.
How the hell could she tell that my dress and coat were stolen?
Potential? For what?
She flicks her hand towards the bodyguard holding Dimitri. “Take him outside,” she says. “I want to have a word with her. Alone.” Her eyes remain steadily on me.