Page 32 of Ruthless Dream

“Oh, sorry, did you want to go and share it with that guy over there?” I cross my arms and lean back. I’ve got a quiz I could be studying for.

The next half hour is spent in tense silence. The Irishman is handsome, but his brow is perpetually pinched together, a permanent frown on his lips. I’m a pawn in his game, but at the very least, he could try talking so we don’t sit in stony silence.

I’m sucking down wine when Ciaran hands his credit card to the waiter, his eyes still trained on the man behind us.

I sigh when the waiter leaves. “Just go over there already.”

Ciaran startles, blinking at me.

I toss back the rest of the wine. “Go.”

“I can’t just⁠—”

“How many more times are we going to have to come here?” I hold up my glass. “How many more bottles of cabernet will have to be drunk before you get the nerve to go talk to your little man crush.”

Ciaran’s tell-tale growl begins. “He’s⁠—”

“Some super important businessman you’ve got a hard on for. And the only reason we came here.”

He opens his mouth, but I’m not in the mood.

“I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking.” You shitty fake boyfriend. “I survived an assault and was almost killed, but I’m all good now.”

My muscles clench, the ghost of Jack’s hand brushing against me. I don’t let myself think about it—how he touched me.

My outburst only elicits a grumpy look from Ciaran, his thick brows becoming one. When he stands up, I’m aware of the disappointment in me. He doesn’t care enough to even respond to what I just said.

No shit, you dumb bitch.

I grab the wine bottle, sad to see it’s empty, when a shadow falls over me.

“Hello.” Yelena Zimin’s ice blue eyes pierce into me. It’s when I notice just how lightheaded I am from the wine. “How are you, Adeline?”

I’ve known Yelena all my life. I think of her husband as Uncle Lev, but there’s never been an ounce of auntie love from the woman. My sisters and I think of her as a Siberian cold front, her beige clothes and blank face nothing but glacial.

It’s the complete opposite of my mom, the domesticated Italian goddess who knows how to have fun. She and Yelena have been at war since, well, forever.

I know Yelena’s calculating stare is searching for information.

I straighten in my chair. “I’m great. How are you?”

She nods to affirm she’s okay. “And school. How are your studies?”

She’s still got a soft Russian accent, despite her years in the US, and for some reason her question grates against my skin. It’s even worse than Nat’s griping.

I swallow, my mouth feeling like a cotton ball. “They’re going well. I like all my classes.”

“Are you here by yourself?” she asks.

“No.” I turn my head before I can stop myself. Her gaze follows, eyes narrowing on Ciaran. He’s now shaking hands with the guy. Apparently he can be friendly and easy to get along with when he wants to because both are laughing.

“You are here with Cain Murray’s son?” she murmurs.

“Cain Murray,” I mumble, and when her attention is drawn back to me, I feel small. Like a child being tested by a teacher. How does she just know people?

“Adeline. . .” Her voice is softer, and I don’t know why I suddenly wish she’d sound like her usual bitchy self. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Ciaran and I just stopped for lunch.” I smile, tossing hair off my shoulder.