Maria
Something about Mikhail has changed.
There’s something different in the way he looks-no, glares-at me. He seems to go out of his way not to be around, like I’m chasing him out of his own home. Ironic since I’m not allowed to leave. I feel him drifting away from me, and I don’t know why. His reluctance to share what’s happening in his head is frustrating, and it scares me.
Mikhail sits across from me in the living room, and his eyes focus on something outside the window. It’s late afternoon, and he hasn’t been out. He looks good in just a button-down shirt with no tie and gray pants. I stare at him until he looks, and then I quickly look away.
“Hey.” My voice squeaks with doubt. “Is everything okay?”
Mikhail hesitates for a moment before turning to face me. His icy stare sends a nasty shock through my system, and I lean back hard against the couch. “Yes,” he replies coolly.
“Are you sure?” I ask impatiently.
“Maria, it’s fine,” he insists, though I see blankness in his eyes.
One awful thought keeps gnawing at me. Is Mikhail finished with me because he’s no longer interested in me? Because I’m not a virgin anymore? It can’t be that. I hope.
I keep telling myself he’s not that shallow.
But I can’t deny that something has changed. I bite my lip, debating whether or not to confront him. I need to know, and I won’t find out by keeping silent.
“Then why are you so distant?” I demand.
Mikhail runs his hand through his hair. And I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something … anything.
“Maria,” he finally says. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“Can’t you tell me?” I push despite the cruel look on his face.
“Let’s go out to eat.” Mikhail stands, rolling up his sleeves, and a faint grin crosses his lips. “You don’t need to change.”
Wait … what?
When I don’t move, he takes me by my arm and walks us both to the elevator. “Let’s go.”
Mikhail drives us himself in the Mercedes, and now I know something is wrong. Mikhail doesn’t seem to take foolish risks, and leaving without his driver is a huge red flag. I try to relax as the car races through the streets, but I grip the seat for dear life when Mikhail cuts off a speeding cab.
Soon, I recognize Times Square ahead of us. And then the Mercedes stops in front of the Somewhere Bar. My heart drops to my stomach when we arrive.
Oh no …
“Here?” I ask in horror.
Mikhail grins like the devil, pleased that I’m in a state of shock that’s turning into panic.
“Are you above slumming it?” he asks. “Besides, Larissa said you wanted to come here.”
I hold my breath as we walk in. The place is quiet for a Friday night. The mahogany bar stretches along the wall with worn leather stools in front. An antique mirror reflects vintage New York sports team photos and memorabilia on the wood-paneled walls. An odd smell of beer, sweat, and burgers fills the room, but it’s not unpleasant. And a brightly lit jukebox plays classic rock and R&B in the corner, the only music the regulars can agree on.
I pray rapidly that Mercy is off tonight.
She isn’t, but luckily, she spots Mikhail first.
The atmosphere in the bar instantly changes, and the chatter stops as patrons turn to look at us by the door. Mikhail walks toward a table in the center of the room as if he owns the bar and looks over at the bartender.
“Table for two,” Mikhail says. “Anywhere.”
The big bald bartender nods, his eyes narrowing on Mikhail as he finishes wiping down the bar. He exchanges a look with Mercy, but they don’t say a word. She walks around the bar and grabs two menus, heading to our table.
“Welcome to the Somewhere Bar.” Mercy hands a menu to Mikhail and then to me, her voice uncharacteristically squeaky as she talks. “The best burgers in town. It’s always five o’clock somewhere.” Mercy stares at Mikhail. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A bottle of Killian’s,” replies Mikhail, emphasizing the kill.
Mercy looks at me with no sign of recognition on her face. “And you, miss?”
Mikhail watches Mercy, who ignores him with determination while my tongue swells in my mouth. Fear has wiped my brain of all its capacity to think, and I can’t seem to figure out what to do.
“I’ll come back when you decide,” Mercy says before walking away.
“What’s wrong?” Mikhail smirks at me. “Cat got your tongue?”
I sit there miserably, trembling as Mikhail calmly scans the menu. I don’t know where to look or what to say. I don’t know what to think. Did Larissa tell him about the bar? What is he playing at? Does he know about Mercy? That she’s my cousin? Is that why we’re here?
Is he going to hurt her? Is he going to hurt me?