I use the blow dryer attached to the bathroom wall, and by the time my hair is dry, the mirror has unfogged. I stand in front of it and spin around, annoyed that the dress fits so perfectly and that, despite the revealing nature of it all and my lack of makeup, I look good. Damn good.
This is further confirmed when I walk out and Yuri can’t even look at me. He takes one look and then turns his head to the door, his eyes drilling holes through the wood. “You ready?”
I nod and am grateful that he had the strength to look away. Because I can’t.
He’s wearing dark gray trousers that highlight his muscular legs and a white button-down rolled to the elbow. He looks like he just stepped out of a cool guy’s formal-wear catalog. When we walk out of the elevator, all the women in the lobby, both single and taken, notice too. He draws eyes like he’s walking through the room naked, and I would wager a guess that almost everyone wishes he was.
He cuts across the lobby, walking me around a fountain with dolphins spitting streams of water, and presses a hand to my bare lower back as we step into the hotel’s bar. Most hotel bars are a sad affair, filled with businessmen drinking alone, trying to kill time until work starts again, and gooey couples on anniversary trips and honeymoons. But this bar could go head to head with any of the clubs I frequent with my friends downtown. It’s a little less rowdy and a bit more formal, but there’s still a DJ in the corner, a multicolored dance floor, and dinner tables with fine linens and waiters in tuxedos carrying expensive wine in gold buckets.
Yuri doesn’t talk except to order us both the red snapper and a pinot noir. We eat in silence, and although it’s awkward, I don’t mind it. I’m not sure what to talk to him about anyway. Not after what we just did. In the shower, I imagined us bantering back and forth. Maybe I would offer him some tips on how to better please a woman, as though he didn’t thoroughly rock my world. He would brag about his stamina and his size and mention that I wasn’t complaining about his methods while I was biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
The memory makes me feel flush, and I take a long sip of wine to try and cool off.
Suddenly, Yuri cranes his head towards the door, and before I can turn around to see what he’s looking at, he stands up and offers me his hand. “Care to dance?”
I frown at his hand and then at him. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to agree to that.”
He snatches my hand out of the air as I reach for my wineglass again, and I whimper. It feels like he’s crushing my bones. My fingers still held prisoners in his viselike grip, he leans forward and kisses my knuckles tenderly, sweetly. To anyone watching, he’s being the perfect gentleman. But I know the truth. I see the shine in his eyes, the threat of what he’ll do to me if I disobey.
I smile up at him, my lips laced with poison. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you, dear. All you had to do was say so.”
Yuri helps me to my feet and places his hand once again on my lower back. It feels like his finger is wrapped around my central nervous system. I can feel his touch everywhere and it’s making me feel more unstable than the wine. He spins me into his arms when we reach the center of the dance floor, one arm wrapped around my back, the other holding my hand high. The DJ is on break and has been replaced with the piano player I saw in the lobby when we arrived. The music is slow and romantic. Under normal circumstances, this would be a great first date. As it is, I want to stain the front of Yuri’s shirt with my wine and storm out of here.
“Smile.” Yuri is grinning down at me.
“Excuse me?” I raise an eyebrow.
He sighs, his annoyance breaking through the façade. “At least try and look like you don’t want to kill me.”
“That’s difficult since it’s all I can think about,” I snarl. “Do you mind moving a few feet to the right? That way, if the disco ball miraculously falls, it will shatter over your head.”
He glances up, and his smile looks genuine. “Did you organize a hit on me with the party planner here?”
“Sadly, no, but I’m just preparing in case God finally decides to smite you.”
He pulls me tighter against his chest, and I can’t help but look up at him. There’s nowhere else to look. “You’re a firecracker, did you know that? I can’t imagine you with a good guy. I don’t think a good guy could handle you.”
“You don’t know anything about good guys, Yuri.”
He inhales sharply, and I wonder whether I didn’t somehow hurt his feelings, but before he can say anything, a tall blond man in black pants and a blazer taps him on the shoulder. Yuri looks up at him and smiles.
“Mind if I cut in?” the man asks, tipping his head to me.
I feel like a woman in an old-timey movie. Men can’t just “cut in” during a dance. How does this guy know we aren’t a couple? How does he know he didn’t just make a move on another man’s wife? The idea of Yuri and I being married—or Yuri being married to anyone at all—almost makes me laugh.
That laugh dies in my throat, though, when to my astonishment, Yuri drops my hand and agrees. “The dance is yours.”
I’m still standing there, stunned, when the man wraps his hand around my waist where Yuri’s just
