Page 50 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

And she downplayed it for Whitaker’s camera. Never in it for the glory.

I had half a mind to grab that lens and tell the world exactly how selfless this woman was. Instead I waited until they took a break from filming.

“Come here for a second,” I pulled her into the bathroom and maneuvered her around, so she stood with her back to me. The mic pack was fastened to the inside of her sequined pencil skirt, and I forced my thoughts to stay on task as I reached past her zipper to flip the switch. The little green light died, indicating that we had some privacy.

“I feel a little manhandled, not going to lie.”

“Trust me, you’ll know when I’m manhandling you, zhizn’ moya.” The words were out faster than I could think them through. I had to blame it on the close proximity, and her sugary sweet scent clouding my senses.

“Why are we hiding?” she asked without reacting to my words.

“I have to attend my cousin’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Here, take this.” I pulled a small slip of paper from my pocket. The yellow Post-It held no information besides a phone number. Hopefully inconspicuous enough for nobody else to pick it up - but I had used one of the glittering gel pens from Cordelia’s craft boxes in the basement, so it should be specific enough for her to remember what it was among the mountains of paper on her desk. “It’s my cousin Luka’s number. You trust him only as far as you can throw him. Don’t volunteer any information. This is just for emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies?”

I flexed my jaw, trying to decide how much I could tell her. My absence was already making her uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to make it worse. There was a reason I hadn’t told her about fighting yet. If she knew that I was putting my health at risk, she’d spiral. I couldn’t tell her, and I couldn’t stop, because nobody walked away from Piotr.

When I didn’t reply right away, Cordelia kept pressing: “Victor, what kind of emergencies?”

“It’s a family event. A lot of criminals in one place at the same time.”

“Do you think there could be a raid?”

“No, but you never know who thinks they have something to prove in front of the boss.”

“Okay.” She breathed deeply and folded the note up, slipping it into her blouse’s pocket. “Are you bringing a date?”

“I tell you that I’m going to a Russian mob wedding and you’re worried about my plus one?”

She crinkled her nose at me. “Well, I have priorities. If you put yourself in any danger, I will kill you myself. Case closed. If you bring some random Tinder girl in a polyester dress as your date…”

“It’s a silk dress.”

“Victor!” Her cheeks turned bright red. Cordelia was actually jealous of some nonexistent girl she’d made up in her mind.

“Why the fuck would I bring a date?”

She pulled her shoulders up. Her neck was beginning to look like a modern painting, splotched in pink embarrassment. For once, she didn’t say anything.

“Cordelia?” I folded my hands around her flushed cheeks and guided her face up to look at me.

“What?” she spat the word like a petulant toddler.

“There’s no one else. You’re it. End of story.”

“Except I’m not, am I?”

“Patience,” I leaned in, overpowered by the urge to keep touching her, hold her, lay my lips to her skin - and stopped myself when she squeezed her eyes shut. Right. She’d asked me not to touch her. My hands dropped to my sides.

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” she huffed and switched her microphone back on before slipping out of the bathroom. “Please don’t die.”

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