Page 3 of The Red Room

She pouts her lip and pulls me toward the dance floor, but after some resistance, she eventually departs for the stage, Roman trailing her like a golden retriever.

What am I supposed to say? No, Courtney, I don’t feel comfortable enough sitting at the bar, let alone dancing in a dress I’d never be caught dead in? She wouldn’t understand. None of the friends I had growing up did. The constantreassurance they gave didn’t help when all I saw in the mirror was something vastly different. No, I’ll sit here and draw the least amount of attention I can. Even if it means nursing a drink I can’t manage to swallow.

A woman approaches the bar a few chairs down. Her long blond hair is straightened and falls gently over sun-kissed shoulders. A tight black dress flourishes around her ample hips and complements the matching Louboutins she taps impatiently. While waiting for the bartender’s attention, she curls a long strand of hair away from her face and behind her ear.

No. No, no, no.I turn my head and face forward, not daring to give her another glance. In the mirror I see my own reflection, and despite the makeup I spent way too long applying, now all I see on my face is panic.

“Natalie?”

Great. Just fucking great.Veronica Tate. I turn toward her, putting on what I believe is a friendly expression. “Hey …”

“It is you!” She closes the gap between us and wraps her slender arms around me. “Oh my god.”

The idea to shove her away, hell, to even bash her pretty face on the bar, tempts me. I settle for a few pats on her shoulder. “Yeah. It’s me. How have you been?”

Veronica pulls back and scans me, starting from my cherry-red heels to my dress, and finally settling on my bewildered face. I know what she’s doing. It was the same thing she did every day before first period. Tallying up all my flaws. Judging every single aspect of my appearance.

I don’t know what to do.

Christ, I don’t know what to say.

Had I imagined bumping into someone from high school, Veronica Tate of all people, I never would’ve left the loft I can barely afford.

“Me? Fantastic. Just got back from Italy. Have you been?”

I grit my teeth. “Nope. Can’t say I have.”

She flips her hair to the side and the long blond strands almost whip into my cheek. “The best food I’ve ever had. You’d love it.”

The jab knocks the wind from my lungs and strangles the words I wish to scream at her.There’s food,she was probably thinking.You obviously love food.Visit the Colosseum? No, no. Can’t you tell? I traveled thousands of miles for the food. I grab my glass, pushing aside all doubt whether or not I’d rather drink it or decorate Veronica’s face with it.

Someone approaches her from behind and places a hand at the small of her back. He’s tall, taller in fact than the bouncer outside, which seems impossible. His hair is long, close to mine in length, and drapes down each strong shoulder like chestnut streams. The jaw line under his thick beard is undoubtedly sharp and defined. What I take notice of the most though, the thing I can’t manage to look away from, are his eyes. They’re light brown, almost golden, and unnaturally bright in the shadows of the club.

“Who’s your friend,” he asks Veronica in a low, gravelly voice, the hint of an accent apparent. He doesn’t smile, only lifts his eyebrows curiously.

She brings her palm to his face and kisses his cheek. “Her? Oh, just a girl I went to high school with. We used to have a nickname for her. Ugh, I forget. What did we used to call you, Natalie?”

I clench my teeth and nearly crack the glass in my hand. “I—I don’t remember.”Of course, I remember.Sort of difficult to forget a thing you cried over for hours each day. How they wrote it on your locker in permanent marker and screamed it at you every time you passed them in the halls.Fatty Natty.Something I’d never forget despite multiple couch sessions andthe significant progress I made fighting off the skeletons filling my own closet. When it boils down to it, no matter how much I’ve changed, I will always beFatty Natty.

He leans forward, extending his hand in my direction. “It is nice to meet you, Natalia. My name is Nikolai Vostik.” When I give him my palm, he bends over and places a peck, his eyes never leaving mine. The spot where his lips meet my skin burns hot in an instant and cools equally as fast.

Blood rushes to my face and tremendous heat wraps around my neck like a large fist is choking the life from me. I can’t manage to break from this strangulation, not even enough to utter a single response.

He stands upright, a large grin showcasing a perfect row of teeth. “Alek,” he says to the bartender. “Day yey vse, chto ona khochet.”

He nods to Nikolai while pouring a large bottle into three separate glasses.

“What?” I mutter. “What did you say?”

Nikolai stares at me again, his intense eyes piercing through the darkness of the room. Another smile, this time wide and unusually bright. “Have whatever you’d like. It’s, how do you Americans say? On the house.”

On the house? As in, his house? His club?I try and ask but the words fumble somewhere between my stomach and throat. This chokehold, this thing I can’t quite seem to shake, only worsens the longer he stares. It has me bound to a barstool, unable to do anything but look back at him.

“It was nice to meet you, Natalia. I hope to see you again.”

I nod, biting my lip, while Veronica does little else than glare in my direction. Her mouth hangs open, and her eyes reduce to tiny blue slits. This is an expression I’ve never seen from Veronica Tate before. One I didn’t think possible. She’s actually fucking jealous. Jealous of someone she considersbeneath her in every way. Someone that dresses worse than her. Whose hair wasn’t combed to perfection. She is jealous all right. Jealous of …me.

“Come, Veronica,” he says and nods toward the stage. “We’re leaving.”

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