Page 65 of Twisted Prince

“Please, Gleb,” I whisper, my eyes flashing toward the door of his room, as if someone might come storming in at any moment. They monitor these rooms closely to ensure our safety. Someone’s bound to recognize him.

“Why, Mel?” He steps close to the glass so our faces are mere inches apart. And his voice is deep and calm, urging me to trust him even as his green eyes sear with unspoken pain.

“If I tell you, you’ll go?” I ask, desperate to see him safe.

“Once you answer my questions,” he confirms.

Licking my painfully dry lips, I dig deep for courage and nod.

So many hard truths to tell him. I’m not sure I can, but if it will save his life, I have to try.

“I didn’t meet with you because I couldn’t trust myself to tell you no,” I murmur.

“No, you’re not coming to New York with me?” he presses.

I nod, tears stinging my eyes, and I look at my feet, pressing my forehead to the cool glass as I fight the urge to cry.

“Why not?” he rasps, a hint of emotion trickling into his perfectly composed voice.

It makes me lift my eyes, and the hurt and confusion in his steady gaze tears at my heart. “Because I’m terrified of being controlled by men. It’s happened too many times—even with you.”

Gleb opens his mouth as if to argue, then clamps it shut, silently urging me to continue.

“That’s why I ran away in the first place. After you told me I couldn’t model—that I had two choices, to stay in the house with the girls or move back in with Pyotr and Silvia.” I shake my head, fighting off the feeling of suffocation that closes around my throat. “It wasn’t a choice at all in my mind. I couldn’t stay inside that house. And I didn’t want to stick around and find out what you might become. I didn’t want to watch you turn into one of those men I trusted mistakenly in the past.”

Gleb swallows hard, his eyes closing, obscuring me from the one window I have into his emotions. My heart hammers, and I lean closer to the glass, my breath fogging against it as I will him not to shut me out.

He nods, as if he might have heard my thoughts. But rather than open his eyes for me, he turns and stalks across the open space behind him. Walking away from me.

It’s like a dagger to the heart.

And though I know he needs to leave, it takes every ounce of my self-restraint to stop myself from calling him back to me.

He reaches the door, but rather than exiting, he turns to prowl back toward me. His eyes are predatory, his angular features like a panther’s as he pads silently across the floor. And though I know we’re separated by bulletproof glass, my heart still flutters nervously as he triggers my flight instinct.

Gleb stops just before the glass once more, and his eyes are tortured now. “I’ve gone back to that day a hundred times in my mind. I knew I screwed up almost as soon as I said it—definitely by the time I walked out the door. I should have turned around and finished the conversation right then and there. I just thought…”

He swallows convulsively, his eyes flashing with pain. “I thought I would have more time. I came back that night, ready to be reasonable. To talk things through.” He shakes his head, letting it fall forward as he braces a fist and forearm against the glass. “But you were already gone.”

My heart shatters at his confession. At the thought that maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe I left without giving him the chance to prove he’s different from the other men who ruled my life.

“I’m so sorry, Mel,” he rasps, his features twisting into a look of devastation that takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him so transparently emotional.

It’s shockingly impactful, ripping me open and leaving me entirely too vulnerable.

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” I plead. And where I was grateful for the glass separating us only a moment before, I suddenly hate that I can’t touch him.

Our eyes meet as he composes his features, and it’s as if he only just realized he exposed his true feelings.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he states. “I don’t know how to do it right. Hell, aside from Pyotr and Silvia, I’ve never even seen what a healthy relationship might look like. But I swear my intention was never to control you. And I don’t want to own you,” he adds, addressing the accusation I flung so virulent at him the other night. “I’ve only ever wanted to set you free, not trap you.”

His eyes follow the lines of my glass cage, and in his gaze, I can see a depth of understanding that rocks me to my core. I haven’t said it out loud to anyone before. I’ve scarcely dared to think it for fear that it might make my experience worse. But without a word between us, Gleb knows what this enclosed space must be to me.

My heart throbs as it hits me full force—just how horribly I’ve underestimated Gleb. I read the signs so quickly that I didn’t stop to think about the motivation behind his words. I never gave him a chance.

I wanted to.

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