how the hell a person ever gets over a man like Konstantin.
Chapter Fourteen
Bohdan
“The opera?” Damen stares at his wife as if she’s grown another head.
“Yes, darling, the Paris Opera is famous, and I thought it would be fun if we all went. I bought us tickets.”
“All of us?” Damen says, looking around the room at us big, tattooed men, and clearly thinking the same thing I am.
We’re not the sort of people who go to the opera.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “It will be magical. I want to go, and I want Cassie to go too. She deserves something magical, a treat, and I think she’ll love it.”
Cassie isn’t here. Konstantin only appeared twenty minutes ago, and it’s past ten. They were fucking. My room is next to theirs, and I heard them. The girl might not look like much, but she’s clearly dynamite in bed. Maybe that’s why K has lost his head over the little mouse. I see the way he looks at her when she’s not aware of his scrutiny. When she isn’t looking back, and he lets his guard down, K looks at his mouse like he wants to see nothing but her face for the next hundred years. Man has it bad. Trouble is, he can’t admit it.
“Don’t you think it will be nice for Cassie to have a magical memory, Konstantin?” Maya asks with a winning smile. “She’s been through so much, from what I’ve gathered. Sick grandfather, and then the awful nonsense with the Armenians.”
I see K’s face when she says nonsense. It’s a fucking picture. Now, Maya’s appeal, I understand.
She’s not my type, but I get it. The woman is dynamite glamor, sexiness, and an ability to talk to anyone all wrapped up in bows of silks and jewels. I bet she fucks like a champ too.
Then again, so does the little mouse. I would not have put Cassie down as a screamer. Last night changed my views on that. Girl is noisy when she comes. I had to put fucking earplugs in after a while and listen to a meditation tape through my Bose headphones on top of that to drown them out.
“Yes, she does deserve it, Maya; you’re right,” K says. Then he looks around to us and shrugs. “Seems we’re going to the opera.”
“Are the logistics even safe?” I ask.
“It’s the opera,” Maya says as if I’m dense. “I hardly think whoever it is who wants us all dead will turn up at the Paris Opera to do it. It’s not an ideal place to take someone out.”
“Still, we can’t pack,” I say.
“Yeah we can,” Damen says. “I can make it so we can. Don’t worry about that. There’s not much of a threat here in Paris, from all the intel I’ve got.”
I shrug, and then realize I can’t go. Thank fuck. “I can’t go.” I feign great disappointment. “I only brought casual clothes.”
“Oh yes you can.” Maya claps her hands in excitement. “I’ve got a tailor coming today with some ready to wear options, which can be easily altered.” She frowns. “You’re all so tall and big; I hope he has enough larger sizes. There’s a lady bringing twenty different dresses for myself and Cassie to try.”
Cassie appears at the doorway and frowns. “Dresses for what?”
“We’re going to the Paris Opera,” Maya tells her.
I half expect Cassie to not want to go, little mouse that she is, but she does the same clapping thing Maya did a bit ago and jumps up and down on the spot like a child.
“Really?” She looks to K, not Maya, when she asks. She stares at him as if he hung the moon and stars for her. The way she looks right now, flushed, happy … I get it a little bit more.
“Yes, really,” he says.
Then he takes out his phone and places a call. “Dee, hello. How are you?” he says in English.
Cassie’s face falls at his next words. “Do you still work at Ophidias? Good. Yes. No, thank you. Listen, can you bring a selection of bags and shoes over? Thanks, great. Mostly Chanel, but Ferragomo shoes are fine too. No fucking cheap shit, okay? Only the best.”
He hangs up, and I watch as Cassie’s excitement fades. She’s a strange one. Most women would be more excited about the bags than the Opera.
“I can’t take a Chanel handbag,” she says.
“You can,” K argues.
“Do you know how much they cost?” she holds her ground.