Page 123 of The Darkness is Calling

But my heart tightens.

“Dima!” I call out just as he opens the door.

It is the moment I switch to Russian, hoping that, besides the two of us and Oksana, no one else in the room knows the language.

“Is he here too?”

He knows who I mean, and my voice betrays my desire to see him again, at least one last time. Even though I know seeing him again would only hurt me more and it would be a big mistake. Especially today.

Dimitri draws in a deep breath and lets it out heavily. “He was not invited. But his father should be in the cathedral, if you wish to speak with him.”

My shoulders sink under the weight of a silent pain, and I shake my head. “It’s fine. Thank you for everything, Dimitri.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He hesitates for a moment, but this time he leaves, immediately followed by the two bodyguards I had no idea would be entering the picture this soon.

“Oliver didn’t tell you?” Oksana asks, coming to stand beside me.

We both remain staring at the white door of my room.

“No. I didn’t know anything.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“I’m going to miss that grumpy bastard. I never got to ask him if he knows how to smile.”

“I don’t think he ever has.”

“Probably he is doing it only when he is torturing someone,” she jokes, though we both know her scenario is very likely.

“Katya...” comes the pleading voice of one of the stylists behind me. “We still haven’t finished your hair.”

He points a finger toward the half of my hair that is curled, while the other half is still straight. I would like to tell him exactly where he can go with all his brushes, because I’m in no mood for any of this. But instead, I manage to show him a false smile and apologize for the interruption.

Everyone resumes their work, buzzing around me like bees, while my friend gestures toward the bottle of prosecco.

“I’m not planning to get drunk this soon,” I say, holding up the glass I’ve barely taken two sips from.

“Maybe you should. But you’re right. I don’t want to overdo it either, in case I need to help you run. Just so you know, my car is parked in front of the cathedral.”

Thank God our conversation is in Russian and no one else knows the nonsense we are discussing.

I’m surprised when she immediately sets the bottle farther away from herself and places her glass on a small table beside the armchair she is sitting in.

“I was right about what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to. I know exactly what needs to be done.”

I start laughing. “I think you’re already drunk, because what you’re saying makes no sense.”

“It does, it does. You’re just pretending not to understand,” she says with a smirk.

The stylist interrupts our conversation by spraying what feels like half a can of hairspray into my hair, making us cough from the sticky mist.

The door opens again, and I startle, hoping this time I will get a more pleasant surprise.

In a way, I do have one. I genuinely smile when I see Olivia Prescott, my fiance’s sister.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Her voice is gentle, as it always has been, her gaze matching it.