2.

“Come on! They’re all in here!  I think Gurav will seem a lot hotter now he’s a competition winner,” Jules babbled, leading my tipsy ass down the street. Ouch. 

“I don’t want to see all those guys-”

“Stop worrying about today! Start planning for LA! And show this dress a good time, it’s waited way too long to get some eyes on it,” gesturing with one long talon of a nail downwards. My cherry-red hair is a mass of tangled, glossy waves. 

It has long, split navy blue sleeves, leading up to a high necked, floating, top. But its the way it ends just below my ass that makes it a winner tonight. My long, toned legs are on full display and the jeweled sandals are perfection.

Even so, whilst alcohol makes me overthink, it only makes Jules louder. Gilded wasn’t a bar for poverty-riddled students. And we’d already split a bottle of wine at our first dark and cozy bar

“It’s not a good idea… ”

“It is tonight. Come on, live a little!”

“I live plenty. I can show you my bank balance if you don’t believe me?” 

“Oh no, we’re both poor as fuck, that’s totally true…good job I don’t care! We’ll sort it out when we get to LA and I crash at your apartment.”

I laugh, knowing full well she isn’t joking. Hollywood works for her too. She’s got dreams to be a social media queen after all. Jules is manic energy personified. Her blonde hair and blue eyes leave every man intrigued. 

I have the kind of green eyes men don’t find attractive. The really pale, cold shade. Especially with the red hair, permanent scowl and obsession with playing piano. 

“I still can’t believe that guy today…I’ve never played like that before.” muttering mainly to myself as we entered the Gilded bar. 

“I thought you couldn’t feel an audience when you were playing, or some artistic crap like that. Like how I turn off the comments when I upset a few people,” Jules laughs as we slink our way through to the bar. Gold, silver, every other precious metal imaginable had been splattered into a venue. 

It’s not my place of choice but if you were wanting to feel like the princess of a middle eastern country, this would be a good place to start. Within five minutes Jules has two cocktails bought for her on a golden tray, the waiter politely bowing and gesturing towards an older man at the bar. 

“He seems very nice,” Jules purred into the straw, handing me the other.

“He’s wearing sunglasses inside. At night. He’s either a gangster or an idiot,” I snap, holding but not sipping my drink. I’ve got a wedding to perform at, I need to be relatively hangover free.

“Speaking of gangsters, isn’t that your man over there?” and with a nudge of my elbow I fall straight back in to this afternoon. Trapped, staring into gray eyes. Chiseled cheekbones and dark, still perfect hair. Time slows.

“He’s not my man,” I snap back quickly, sipping away at my cocktail. 

“He watched every second you were on stage,” Jules murmurs.

He’s reclining in the corner of a booth. Two blondes and another two men in suits in his company. One of the women, a platinum-haired ice queen, notices our shared moment and puts her hand on his thigh, demanding his attention. Mr Russia’s gaze snaps away from me and back to his group.

Like a spotlight being turned off, the world feels a little colder, a little harsher. Champagne corks and laughter riot behind me. I can see Jules, her media friends and a busload of fellow music students all gathered into the back half of the bar. She waves at me to join. 

Gurav is there, he’s fetched the trophy. Standing it on a table like he’s won a Nobel Prize. I’ve definitely drunk too much because all my emotions are bubbling up to the surface. 

Toying with my nails, I’m so pissed I made mistakes today. I could have won that trophy. Plus, I’m annoyed at Toby. Why make me read that email before I went on? Why couldn’t I have performed perfectly and then found out the good news?

Most of all, I’m annoyed that this stranger is getting under my skin. He has a girlfriend, or someone dying to be his, judging by the way she grabbed at his leg. Sneaking one more look across she’s the one eyeballing me now, not him. And that bitch can glare.

I’m going home.

Placing the cocktail back on the splashy gold bar I gesture towards the door to Jules. Across the bar we silently communicate with points and silent words. 

You stay. I’ll go. Its fine. I’ll message, I promise. Love you. Be safe! Be good!

Heading back onto the street the cool air hits me. I don’t drink for a good reason. I’m a lightweight. I’m no size four but alcohol undoes my senses so quickly.

Just as I motion for a cab a deep, husky, accented voice makes me pause on the edge of the sidewalk. “Excuse me.”

Without turning,  I know it’s him. His gaze is unique. It prickles the nape of my neck, down my legs. He’s sizing me up all over again. Well I’m not in the mood now. Stalkers aren’t my thing. I turn, one hand on my hip, the split of my dress showing off half of my bright ink down my upper arm.

“Yes, do I know you?” 

Suddenly grateful for the high heels, I’m almost on par with this guy for height. He’s still got four inches on me but I make up for that pure bitchiness.

“No. You don’t.”

I’m left waiting. He can’t think that’s a decent answer? He interrupted me after all. Except now we’re close up I would say Jules was right. There is a danger about him. It’s not just the eyes. The way he stands, taking up so much space yet unbothered by the noise of revelers around us. 

He’s so composed it's unnerving. It’s making my mind jump around trying to work him out. I try a different angle. “Did you mean to call at someone else then?”

“No.”

My patience runs thin. “Look I’m leaving, any other words you were planning to thrill me with will have to wait-” forcing myself to turn away. Cabs don’t hail themselves.

“You weren’t at your best today Mina.”

He might as well have launched a knife in my back. “I’m sorry?”

“Your performance today. It was a shame.”

My lips tighten. It’s hard to hear the truth sometimes. I’m already savaging myself over it, he doesn't need to pile on the pain. Unfortunately I’m all fight, no flight tonight.

“Well now you’ve so politely brought it up I’ll be flawless next time.”

“You’re never flawless anyway.”

His words are all rasped in the same brisk, Russian tone. He’s holding a flamethrower to my pride like it’s nothing. He probably orders a sandwich in the same way.

“Good job you’ll never hear me play again. The course is over.”

“I know.”

“Maybe request Gurav’s tour dates if you want flawless, he’s just in there celebrating,” unable to help myself, pointing just over his shoulder, back towards the bar. He doesn't turn, doesn’t move. He’s just…there. 

“No thank you,” I swear to God he is mocking me now. My head tilts to the side, the finger I had pointed at the bar now points straight at his nose.

“Well you… are not welcome to any more of my performances.” 

That sounded a lot cooler in my head.

He cocks a dark-haired eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because I wouldn’t want to subject you to anymore of my mediocre efforts. And you’re rude.” is the best I can do. I can’t help wanting him to talk some more. That accent is so different, pure manliness distilled into a rasping darkness. 

His serious face cracks just a bit, enough to show that he finds my anger amusing. Shoving his hands into his pockets, the heavy, expensive gold watch on his wrist glints under the streetlights.

“I was not insulting you. It was only the truth.”

It’s not cold but I can feel my skin prickling up the long this strange conversation goes on.

“Well, I happen to have tutors, professors and a job offer that suggest otherwise. So thank you for your random, unwanted opinion but-”

Mystery man steps forward, batting away my still-pointing finger. His cologne, rich and spicy, hits my brain. His stormy eyes set against jet black hair have me hooked all over again. “Listen, wittering lastachka. Flawless is boring.”

It must be the wine but I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. Is he actually being nice? Is this flirtation and I’m missing the whole thing. My eyes widen in shock. “Wittering? You don’t know anything about me!”

“That’s not strictly true.” 

Oh lord. This is the bit where I get abducted and realize my useless junkie parents were actually high-up gangsters and he’s my sexy new bodyguard? Captor maybe? Sadly not.

The original plan to get a cab, put on a onesie and go home. The brain cells in charge of me now only wants to make the worst kind of decisions. Especially when his eyes quickly drop to my lips and back up again. The air is charged with decadent possibilities.

“I know your name is Mina Nighting. You are twenty-one. You play-” but when a cab swerves way too close to the curb, all hell breaks loose. I shriek, jumping like an alley cat only to feel his solid arms grab my waist. It’s a blur but he’s spinning me around, clutching me tight so his back is facing the busy road. 

One hand lifts as he shouts something furious to the driver who simply flips him off. I’m pressed up against him like a kitten, my eyes just peering over his shoulder, his hard chest against mine. He looks, feels, even smells like pure temptation. Is this fate? 

“Good?” he checks gruffly.

“Good.” I drop the anger and try talking in a sane, normal voice as we slowly move apart. “So, why do you watch me play?”

“What else am I meant to do Mina?” he asks quietly and I’m only just realizing how my name rasps in his accent is practically indecent. His head drops a little lower, his fingers tighten, not letting me move any further away.

“You didn’t watch Gurav play today. He won the whole competition.”

“If I wanted the radio version, I’d play that,” shrugging with indifference.

“‘I’m not radio quality either?” my anger melting into teasing. I’m smiling up at him. I think I need him to kiss me. His fingertips brush gently up my spine whilst he shakes his head. 

I think I’ve taken a step forward. Somehow this collision is happening. Slowly, tentatively, his dark voice and stormy eyes are forcing their way well beyond my imagination. He’s all too deliciously real. Something powerful waits underneath this gift-wrapped exterior.

“Sacha! She’s here!” shouts a female voice. It’s the platinum-haired pitbull from earlier.

Turns out my mystery man is named Sacha. I know that because he immediately releases me, steely eyes narrowing with a muttered, “Apologies. Please excuse me for a moment.”

I don’t wait. There’s a woman waiting for him and another glaring down at me with a death wish.  Whatever spell he held me under shattered. Or maybe the wine wore off. Either way I’m colder and lonelier than I want to be right now.

The instant he vanishes back inside I dive into the first cab I can hail. Blowing out my cheeks I can’t decide if I’m filled with regret or relief.