Zoya
The hostess leads me towards a few closed doors in the upscale restaurant, then we stop at a mahogany door. She pushes it open, and I don’t have to look long. Immediately, I spot dirty blonde hair in wild curls, taking a shot. Well, that’s my favorite alcoholic and partner in crime, Yelena. That girl can drink like two grown men with beer bellies. I walk towards the table, and immediately Darcy sees me, her eyes widen.
“Ok, what the fuck! Is that you, Zo?” She asks, confused, using her two hands to clean her eyes. My other friends, Anya and Yelena, turn to look in the same direction as Darcy.
“Shit, look at you Miss Expensive. At least now we know you’re not giving it up for free like you did for your ex.” My foul-mouthed friend Anya chimes in.
I scowl. “And I thought you, of all people, would understand that at that time I was dating to survive. Matter of fact,” I sit down next to her, “care to explain how you are always broke but SOMEHOW, your rent is always paid?”
Anya grins and raises her glass. “To rich men with questionable morals and excellent credit cards.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I grab the champagne bottle and pour myself a glass.
Darcy is still staring at me. “But seriously, Zo, those are real pearls, right? And that dress?”
“Is that Valentino?.”
“Holy shit.”
Yelena leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Okay, but where have you been? You disappeared for three weeks. We thought you got kidnapped again.”
“Funny you should mention that…I was actually kidnapped,” I say deadpan.
My friends burst out laughing. Yelena leans in closer, her curiosity piqued. “Shit, what’s the story this time? Is this Stockholm syndrome? Wait. Don’t tell me you’re actually fucking your kidnapper.”
Anya grins, looking like she’s about to burst. “Yo girls! I texted her yesterday to find out what was up.”
Darcy and Yelena turn to her, leaning in. “And?”
Anya plays the room, dragging out the moment with practiced ease. “She was at her boyfriend’s place. Overnight.”
“No way.” Darcy’s eyes bulge. “Zoya doesn't do sleepovers. Not after the last disaster. I was half-convinced you’d been recruited by a cult.”
“Spill, you freaky bitch.” Yelena grabs my hand, her rings cold against my skin. “Whose dick has you acting this bougie? With your nasty attitude, he must be dropping millions on you.”
I take a slow sip of champagne, letting the bubbles settle. “You guys know I have a past I was running from, right?”
“Yeah,” Anya nods, her smile fading into seriousness. “We know.”
“Well. It was an arranged marriage.”
Yelena holds up a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “Hold on. Before we go any further, we need strong alcohol. I’m pretty sure we can’t process this shit with a clear head.” She starts pouring, filling four glasses to the brim. “Alright. Everyone take a shot.”
We throw our heads down in unison, downing it. The vodka burns a path down my throat, grounding me. I set the glass down with a heavy click. “It was an arranged marriage. My father and my fiancé’s father set it up when I was fifteen. I was twenty when I found out, and only because I walked in on a conversation Iwasn’t supposed to hear. My father had been parading me in front of the wrong man for years, and I never had a clue.”
“So you’re from a dynasty?” Darcy asks, her voice breathless. “Like, old money?”
“Underworld money,” I correct her.
Anya smacks the table. “I knew it! That’s why you’re so chill when people grab you off the street.”
“I’m not chill,” I mutter, pouring a refill. “I just know the protocol. Anyway, can I finish?”
Yelena zips her lips and nods frantically.
“He’s been stalking me for five years. I ran away when he came to collect me, but I wasn't smart about it. I moved to Russia without changing my name. I basically delivered myself back to him on a silver platter.”
“Zoya,” Anya whispers, her eyes searching mine. “Who is he really? Is he a high level mafia member?”