Page 8 of Claimed in Sin
MARINA
The Sphere is so loud and full of half-drunk idiots who keep bumping into me every time they order a new drink. I'm so nervous. Sneaking out of the house to meet up with a complete stranger isn't like me. My father usually doesn't let me out of the house without at least a driver and sometimes a bodyguard too. But when Stepan messaged me and asked me to show up, it was too tempting.
Getting here was its own performance. I told my father I needed to start looking at dresses for the wedding, that Elira and I were going to browse some shops in the city center and grab dinner afterward, and he didn't question it. The wedding is real to him—the most real thing in his life right now—and any sign that I'm participating willingly makes him happy. Though, I can't be gone long because the dress shops close around eight and it’s already ten p.m. He'll start calling me to wonder where I am soon.
The music is deep and pulsing, a bass line that vibrates through the bar and up through my stool. Bodies move on the dance floor beyond the bar area, lit in flashes of blue and purple and white. I wish Elira were here to help keep me company and calm mynerves. She helped me sneak out by giving me a ride to the city center, but after a quick cup of coffee, she was off to dump her boyfriend with plans to go home and binge television afterward.
I felt bad leaving her to grieve that on her own, especially knowing what I'm doing tonight, but I really don't want a tagalong for this. I'm not sure what he has in mind, but Elira would ask too many questions I can't answer yet, and meeting up with Stepan is a really risky move, anyway. The fewer witnesses to my stupidity, the better.
A man slides onto the stool next to me. He's in his late twenties, well-dressed, and he's wearing heavy cologne that doesn't smell that great. He leans his elbow on the bar and angles his body toward mine confidently. "Can I buy you another one?" he asks, nodding at my glass.
"Oh, no, thank you." I smile politely, flicking my eyes up at the door to see if Stepan is coming yet. This man is handsome, but he gives me the creeps. The way he looks at me is predatory, not comfortable at all.
"You sure? You look like you could use the company."
"I'm waiting for someone." My cheeks burn, but not in the good way. When I spoke with Stepan, they were hotter than the sun, but it warmed my whole body. This man makes me cringe and want to squirm away. And I can't even put a finger on why.
He looks at the empty stool on my other side, then back at me. "Doesn't look like they're here."
"He's on his way," I tell him, a little less politely this time, and the tone hits the target.
The man holds up both hands defensively and slides off the stool without another word. I appreciate that. Some men take rejection as the opening line of a negotiation, and I don't have the energy for that. I've not had the pleasure of refusing too many of them, but from what Elira has told me, some can be very arrogant.
I turn back to the bar and pick up my glass and finally see Stepan walk through the front entrance. It's like the whole atmosphere of the room shifts around him. He's wearing a dark jacket over a dark shirt with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the black tattoos scrawled on his arm plainly visible. And the way he walks with his chin high and his chest out is different. He acts like he owns this space.
His eyes find me at the bar before he's halfway across the room and my pulse picks up. I set my drink down because my hand's not entirely steady and I don't want him to see it shaking. And the closer he gets, the higher my body temp rises. God, he's so attractive. He puts all the men in this bar to shame.
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a flicker of a smile like the other night at the fights and he settles on the stool next to mine and signals the bartender without looking away from my face. "What are you drinking, Marina?" I love the way he says my name, like it's poetry in motion. And his tone is so pure it almost resonates, no rough edges or gravel to it.
"Vodka tonic," I mumble, momentarily distracted by how perfect he looks. I can't believe I'm here at a night club after sneaking out and a man at least ten years older than me is honestly taking interest in me. It feels so surreal after being so sheltered for so long.
He orders two and turns back to me, resting his forearm on the bar. "So," he says. "Marina, what do you think of the place?" He's such a gentleman too, not leaning in and being pushy, though my God, I'd love it if he were a little more forward. I'm here for an adventure, not a slow burn.
"It's uh... different," I say, smiling. I pick up my drink and sip it slowly to distract myself from the flurry of butterflies in my belly.
"You look nice. Did your uncle come tonight too?"
The compliment makes my cheeks burn. "God, I hope not." I laugh, snickering. "He'd ruin everything." Letting that comment slip makes my face hotter and my lips throb. He has no idea the things my body is doing. I don’t know why his attention is making me so flustered, but I love feeling this way.
Stepan doesn't respond, but I see the hint of a smile on his lips again, like he's pleased I'm so flustered that I can't keep my mouth shut. I don't know what went through his head when I said that, but I'm trying not to sound too desperate.
When the drinks arrive, he slides mine across the bar and I take it. It's a comfortable silence as I take a drink of the fresh glass and smile at him over the rim. When he sucks in a breath, my heart flutters, then he starts talking and it calms again.
"What kind of music do you listen to?" he asks, swirling his drink before taking a sip.
"Mostly pop. Some old Russian rock when I'm in the mood."
He makes a face. "Rock?"
I shove his arm. "Don't. Kino's untouchable." I grin at him, realizing maybe I'm more sheltered than other people my age,but he's enough older than me that he and I should have this in common.
"I didn't say anything." He's grinning now, his elbow on the bar, his body turned fully toward me. Our knees are almost touching.
"Your face said plenty." I pick up my glass and take a drink. "What do you listen to?"
"Whatever's on. I'm not picky."
"That's a non-answer." I like that he's a bit playful. I didn't gather that by his demeanor at the fights, but it's relaxing me.
