The dining room was eerily quiet except for the faint clinking of utensils against porcelain. The long mahogany table stretched between us like a chasm, yet Judas's presence made it feel as though he was seated right beside me. He didn't force me to sit with him today. My pulse hadn't settled. His hands. His voice. His stare.
Everything about him bothered me.
He looked serene now, if that were even possible. His crisp white shirt was open at the collar, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing strong wrists and a watch. That goddamn gold watch. It did tug at my heart-strings but I ignored. He was eating methodically, his gaze focused on his plate, but I felt his cognizance haunting me. Watching.
He was aware of me.
I picked at my food, barely able to lift my fork without my fingers trembling.
Chester had settled on the chair beside me as his tiny paws rested on the edge of the table, looking at me with his soulful eyes. I found some comfort in his presence and stroked his fur absentmindedly.
"Eat." Judas's voice cut through my thoughts.
I glanced up, startled, and found his dark gaze pinned on me. "I am," I muttered, though my plate remained mostly untouched.
He looked at my plate and then at me.
"You've been staring at your fork for the past five minutes," he muttered.
I took a small bite, just to appease him, though it felt like swallowing sand. His eyes lingered a moment longer before he returned to his meal.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was casual, but the words made my stomach twist. "Get ready after breakfast. We're leaving for Moscow."
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. Moscow? "Why?"
"There's a party."
I frowned, setting my fork down. "A party? Why me?"
Judas looked up, and for a moment, the edge that curled his lips was both dangerous and intoxicating. "I need a date," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"A date?" My voice came out higher than I intended. I scrambled to find a reason to decline, to detach myself from whatever game he was playing. A date? Like one of those parties he had taken me to often and humiliated me. "Why not bring Veronica? She seems more... fitting."
He raise his brows, and put the fork down as his gaze pinned me in place. "Let me explain something to you, ptichka. Women like Veronica serve a… very different purpose, and they're not the kind you parade."
I swallowed hard and my cheeks burned under his predatory gaze.
"I... I don't think I'm the kind you parade either."
He leaned forward as his elbows rested on the table as he studied me. "You think too little of yourself."
I couldn't look away, even as my heart pounded painfully in my chest. And I couldn't tell if he was taunting me or trying to unravel me.
"Fine," I said, breaking the silence. "I'll go."
"Good." He leaned back in his chair, the smirk returning as if he'd won some unspoken battle. "Be ready in an hour. Wear something fitting."
I nodded, unable to muster a reply, and pushed back my chair, gathering Chester in my arms as I left the dining room.
The second I was alone, my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Leaning against the wall, I clutched Chester tighter and tried to calm the storm raging inside me.
He wasn't just a man. He was a damn force. A freaking hurricane. And I was caught in the eye of the storm, too fucking powerless to escape.
******
An hour later, I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the emerald green dress I'd chosen. Ruffles on the bottom that left a train behind and off-shoulder. A slit reaching the thigh. It was sleek, elegant, and understated-just enough to blend in, I hoped. But as I stared at my reflection, doubt crept in.
Would it be enough for him? Would I be enough?
I wore matching velvet heels and a sleek neckpiece. And brushed my hair in delicate soft waves when a knock at the door startled me.
I gasped, momentarily tripping over myself before turning to find a guard standing on the door. His eyes swept over me and then he bowed. "Ms Rosewood, Mr Romanovski is waiting for you."
Calming my breathing, I nodded and touching up before following him. I was sure he'd embarrass me today too, probably throw money at my face and ask me to pick it. I shook my head. Maybe he wouldn't. He was unpredictable. And understanding how his thought process worked was beyond me. He was the type of man to put salt on someone's wound just because it'd amuse him to hear their screams.
So, it wouldn't be a surprise if he did something similar.
Soon we were on the roof where helicopter was already waiting. And my eyes immediately landed on him. Standing there with his back against me, and the helicopter blades blowing his hair, soft bouncy waves. One hand in pocket and other holding the phone. He was talking in fluent Russian and my stomach did the somer-sault as he ran his hand through his hair and fixed his tie.
He turned slightly. The tailored dark suit clung to him in all the right ways as the dark fabric frame his broad shoulders and trim waist.
As if sensing my presence, he turned around and whatever he was saying, he stilled. Eyes a blaze that burned through me, touching me everywhere and then taking a deep breath. Piercing gaze locked onto mine, the kind of gaze that could command armies and crumble defences.
The wind teased the loose strands of his hair, and carried the faint scent of his cologne.
I cleared my throat and stepped towards him or my demise. Every inch of him screamed danger, dominance, and control, and yet I couldn't look away. It was maddening-the way he moved, the way he looked at me, like he already owned every breath I took.
When I reached him, he swallowed and slipped his phone into his pocket. "Green suits you well."
His hand reached out. I stiffened and his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. The intensity in his eyes made my heart race.
"Is that a compliment?" I whispered.
He chuckled and shook his head. "More like admiration."
I opened my mouth to reply, but the words wouldn't come. His grin widened, and he stepped back, offering his arm.
"Shall we?"
Swallowing hard, I nodded and slipped my hand into his. We settled into the helicopter and he said something to the pilot. The rhythmic hum of the helicopter blades filled the cabin as we soared through the sky. I sat stiffly beside Judas, my hands clenching the armrest as I gazed out the window.
Snow stretched as far as my eyes could take and something in me told me I'd miss this snow in Moscow.