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Chapter 2

Everleigh

(Eighteen years old...)

Glancing around me, it’s still hard to believe I’m in Moscow.

I was supposed to take this trip with my parents, but they died in a car accident on New Year's Eve.

Next month will be a year since they passed away. The grief still comes in waves, especially when I see one of the sights Mom always talked about. We planned this trip for over a year, and it was meant to be my graduation gift. With them gone, I decided to honor their memory by going ahead with the vacation. Russia, Scotland, and Hawaii. We each chose a

destination, and right now, I’m on the first leg of the trip.

Sometimes I’m struck by a wave of panic. Honestly, it’s a little terrifying exploring a foreign country alone.

It’s terrifying being alone in this big world.

The only family I have left are Dad’s cousins, who live in Canada, but I barely have contact with them. There is Gillian, Mom’s best friend, and she’s offered that I move in with her, but she has four kids of her own, and I don’t want to intrude.

I inherited enough to live comfortably for the next ten years or so. Money is the least of my worries. It’s the fact that I don’t have my parents anymore that’s scaring the hell out of me.

I was going to study literature and played with the idea of becoming an editor, but that flew out the window when I lost my parents.

Actually, I lost more than just my parents. I lost my friends as well. They tried to be patient with me, but I was too consumed with unbearable grief, and one by one, they stopped interacting with me.

By the grace of god, I managed to complete my final year of school, and now, as I’m traveling through Russia, I have no idea what I’ll do once the vacation is over.

Do I study further? My parents are supposed to be here to help me make this decision.

Shaking my head, I draw myself out of my morbid thoughts and glance up and down the busy street. The city is alive, and my eyes land on three girls as they giggle. It looks like they’re heading toward a nightclub.

I used to be that carefree.

Finishing the last of the coffee I bought thirty minutes ago, I get up from where I’m sitting in a café. Instead of going back to my hotel, I follow after the girls at a slow pace.

Two girls are holding hands. I remember I used to be that close with Bernadette before they moved to New York because her father was transferred there for work.

The girls join the back of a long line of people waiting to enter the nightclub, and I stop behind them. They’re talking Russian, but from the excitement in their voices, it’s clear they can’t wait to get inside.

Wearing a pair of tight, black jeans and a cozy sweater over a white long-sleeve shirt, I’m not dressed for the nightclub.

All the other girls are glammed up for the night.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I lift my hand to my head and pull my hair free from the braid before placing the tie around my wrist. I tug my fingers through the strands and take a couple of steps forward as the line moves.

Are you really going into the nightclub?

I glance around me, taking in the happy faces, and I feel the excited vibe filling the air.

It’s better than sitting in my hotel room where my grief will overwhelm

me.

Two guys come to stand behind me, and I feel overly aware of my

appearance. Like any other girl my age, I notice boys, and for some reason, they seem more appealing just because they’re foreign. It’s weird.

My eyes sweep over the group of girls in front of me, and as we move forward again, I notice their high heels. My sneakers might not fit the dress code.

Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplate giving up on this silly idea, but something keeps me from leaving the line.

When we get closer to the entrance, I can hear the music coming from inside the nightclub.

A night out will do you good.

The girls ahead of me are allowed to enter then the bouncer’s eyes land on me. His stern gaze sweeps over my outfit then he shakes his head. “Net.” His tone is harsh when he says something else, and the guys behind me chuckle, which has my cheeks going up in flames.

From my limited knowledge of Russian, I know the bouncer said no.

As I let out a sigh and turn to leave the line, a gorgeous woman comes toward us, her eyes flicking from me to the bouncer. She says something in Russian, then hooks her arm through mine, a bright smile on her face. I notice the group of men behind her. They look like bodyguards, making me wonder who the woman is.

My heartbeat speeds up, and caught off guard, I listen to her rambling in her native tongue as we enter the nightclub before I think to say, “I don’t

understand Russian.” I pat my hand against my chest. “American.”

Her smile widens, and her eyes fill with surprise. “Really? So cool.” Her accent is thick, and as she tugs me toward the lower floor where people are dancing, she leans into me. “My name is Svetlana.”

Thank God she understands English.

A smile forms on my face as I meet her eyes. “I’m Everleigh…ahh… thanks for getting me into the nightclub.”

I glance at the orange and blue décor, the strobing lights, the bar counters, and sitting areas. Svetlana leads me up a narrow staircase, and at the top, we enter a much more luxurious area than downstairs.

“You come alone?” Svetlana asks in broken English.

I nod, conscious of the men still following behind us. “Are they your guards?”

“Yes, ignore them.” I’m pulled toward a bar counter, then she asks, “What do you drink?”

Getting a good look at her face, I have to admit she’s stunning. Her hair is a couple of shades lighter than my light brown strands, and her blue eyes are downright mesmerizing. She’s wearing tight leather pants, a silk blouse, and a three-quarter-sleeve jacket. Paired with high heels, the woman looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I almost decline a drink but remember the drinking age in Russia is eighteen. Shrugging, I sit down on a stool. “I don’t drink much. You can get anything.”

Svetlana also takes a seat, then asks, “Are you visiting Russia?”

I nod, and slipping the strap from my shoulder, I set my backpack down by my feet. “Russia is beautiful.”

“How long will you be here?”

The bartender interrupts her, and Svetlana holds up two fingers without saying anything.

“Just another week.” My eyes dart between the bartender and her, then I ask, “Do you come here often?”

She nods, and when the bartender places two shot glasses down, she picks up one.

“Why did you help me get into the nightclub?”

“My father is owner, and it looked like you could use favor,” she answers. We clink glasses, then she adds, “Welcome to Russia, Everleigh.”

That explains the bodyguards. Svetlana’s father must be wealthy.

We drink the shots, and the alcohol tastes like dishwashing liquid. My body shudders, and I struggle not to cough. “God,” I chuckle. “It’s bitter.”

She lets out a burst of laughter, and a moment later, her face lights up, and she waves excitedly. “My friends are here.”

I follow her line of sight and see two men and four women approaching us. Svetlana stands up and hugs each of them.

While I’m watching the group interact, I think about the random encounter with Svetlana. It’s not in my nature to talk to strangers, but she looks the same age as me, so I don’t think there’s any harm in socializing with her.

Also, the energy pulsing through the nightclub is a nice change of pace.

I’m tired of watching TV in the hotel room every night.

Svetlana gestures for me to follow them as they head toward a luxurious sitting area. Picking up my backpack, I join the group, and while they’re all sitting down, Svetlana pats the seat next to her. “Come. Sit down.”

She waves a hand at me while saying something in Russian. I make out the word ‘American,’ and everyone smiles at me.

Feeling out of place, I shift on the seat, doing my best to return their smiles.

This is the most awkward and impulsive thing I’ve ever done.

One of her friends says something I don’t understand, and it has Svetlana glancing over my clothes. She replies to her friend before she gives me a wide smile. “I want to ask favor.”

My eyebrow lifts, and I feel a tinge of apprehension. “What?”

“You come to bathroom with me and exchange clothes.” She shoots a glance at her guards. “We will go to dance floor, and you pretend to be me.”

Frowning at her, the apprehensive feeling grows. “Why?”

Svetlana lets out a chuckle. “I want to escape guards for one night. Do me favor. Please.”

Yeah, I’m not so sure about this.

Svetlana has guards protecting her for a reason. “I’ll get in trouble,” I state the obvious.

She waves a careless hand. “No. You just wear my clothes and dance. Nothing will happen. You can leave after I’m gone.” She gives me a pleading expression. “I just want one night. Please.” She takes hold of my hand. “My life is ahh… suffocating. I want normal.”

We’re just swapping clothes.

Feeling sorry for her, I give in and nod.

A bright smile spreads over her gorgeous face, and I’m yanked to my feet as she gets up. “Thank you! Let’s go.”

I quickly grab my backpack. The other girls join us and surrounded by their giggles and Russian words, I’m ushered to the restroom.

“Thank you,” Svetlana says again when she shrugs off the jacket.

We begin to exchange clothes, and while I put on her high heels, I think about the long walk back to the hotel.

Hopefully, I can get a cab.

Svetlana fluffs my hair out, her eyes perusing me. “Good. This will work.”

Honestly, her guards are stupid if they don’t notice the swap.

I’m already regretting my decision to help her. I should’ve told her no and gone back to my hotel.

“I’ll carry backpack to dance floor,” she says while shoving her purse into my hands.

Hooking her arm through mine, she gives me another smile. The other girls walk in front of us, and I notice they try to block our faces as we head to the stairs.

The two men who are waiting at the table get up and follow us to the lower level. Svetlana quickly pulls me into the dancing crowd.

“Wait ten minutes before leaving,” she says right by my ear. She sets my backpack down by my feet and takes her purse from me.

“Let’s go,” one of the guys says while nervously glancing around.

The other guy and four girls stay with me while Svetlana makes her escape. I dance so I don’t look like an idiot and keep giving Svetlana’s friends awkward smiles.

Okaaayyy…this is not weird at all.

It’s only been five minutes when one of the girls waves at me, and the group leaves to join Svetlana. I feel a flutter of nerves and continue to dance while glancing around me. I try to see where Svetlana’s bodyguards are. I didn’t get a good look at them, though.

Ugh, I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.

Sweat starts to bead on the back of my neck as I wait another ten minutes. Feeling the urge to make a run for it, I grab my backpack and rush toward the exit.

I hear Svetlana’s name being called behind me and shove my way through the dancing crowd.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I make a beeline for the exit.