hapter 177
Chapter 177
She’s outside my door, in full designer gear and a tight ponytail, snapping orders at two grown men who look terrified,
“No, no, no! That vase is vintage Murano – if you break it, I will break you. Do you have any idea how rare that colour pattern is? No? Then carry it like it’s your grandmother.”
One of the movers fumbles with a throw pillow and she hisses, “That silk is imported. If you smudge it, I’m billing you personally.”
I blink. Then blink again.
“What in the Real Housewives of Moscow is going on?”
The woman turns slowly at the sound of my voice, eyes sweeping over me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “Are you Tessa Orlov?”
“Yeah?” I snap. “Who the hell are you and what is going on?” I gesture wildly at the chaos unfolding in front of my apartment.
—
One of the movers reaches for my standing lamp – the one piece of furniture I actually like and I lunge like it’s a hostage situation. “Put that down! Don’t touch it! That’s mine!” I whirl on the clipboard girl, completely losing patience. “Why are there a million boxes in front of my door? Who are these people?! What the hell is all this?!”
The woman doesn’t flinch. She just steps up like she deals with panicked celebrities and toddlers for a living. “I’m Amanda. Ms. Vanderbilt’s personal assistant. She’s instructed us to begin renovations immediately-
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“Renovations?!” I practically shrick. “You can’t renovate someone else‘ s apartment! This is my home! You can’t just show up and start-” I nearly tear her clipboard in half. “I swear to God, if anyone so much as scratches my coffee table-”
“I’d calm down if I were you,” Amanda says, still maddeningly
unbothered. “Ms. Vanderbilt was very specific about the timeline. This is just phase one.”
I’m halfway through composing the kind of profanity–laced threat that would make a sailor blush when a voice behind me cuts through the noise – syrupy sweet, slow, dangerous.
–
“Actually…”
I freeze.
That voice. I don’t even need to turn around. My entire body recognises danger like it’s instinct.
I turn.
And there she is.
Diana Vanderbilt.
Dark brown skin, smooth and glowing like it’s been kissed by wealth itself. Light brown eyes, amused and ice–cold. Her hair is slicked back like she’s about to walk a runway, not commit a personal crime. And that smile – all pearls and poison – makes my skin prickle.
–
“I bought the building fast night,” she says lightly, like we’re discussing the weather. “So technically… this is my apartment now.”
She tilts her head. “Taisiya – oh, sorry, Tessa.” Her voice lilts on my name like it’s a joke I’m not in on. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet
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you. You’re even prettier than you looked on my phone screen.”
I blink. Once, Twice.
Then: “What the actual hell?”
LIAM
We’ve barely landed before I’m ducking away from the rest at baggage claim. In classic Cam fashion, just as my cab pulls up, he materialises out of thin air with a lopsided grin.
“You’re really just gonna ghost everyone? No ‘see you later,’ no group hug?”
I roll my eyes and slide into the back seat. “Bye, Cam,” I say pointedly, then give the driver the address to Emilia’s bakery,
To my eternal disappointment, the other door opens and Cam climbs in like he owns the damn cab.
I glare. “Can you not?”
“You’re going to see Emilia, right?” he says, far too smug. “Did you even tell her you were coming back today?”
“That’s the point of a surprise,” I deadpan. “I show up, take my
girlfriend somewhere nice, and ideally–ideally
sight.”
“Nice try. I miss Emilia’s cookies.”
“You’re on a diet.”
–
you’re nowhere in
“I’m also still technically drunk. Let’s not hold each other to impossible standards.”
1983
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I don’t dignify that with a response. The driver pulls off, and Cam’s already chatting like we’re on a damn road trip.
They all got plastered after the win. I couldn’t focus on anything but getting home to her.
I’m glad our next few games are on home ice. No more travel, no more hotels. Just Emilia. The way she curls into me on the couch. The smell of her shampoo. Her voice when she rants about the book I bought her
– she devoured it in a day.
–
Maybe I’ll bully her into wearing that dress I picked up for her.
I catch myself grinning like a lovesick idiot. Yeah. It’s good to be home.
“New York is as garbage as always,” Cam shamelessly declares to the driver. “But hey, at least y’all have a decent goalie here. Boston’s all mouth, no puck.”
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