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  Tristan’s silence is answer enough.

  I grab a bottle of water from the nightstand next to me and chug half of it down.

  “Hey, that was mine,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I say, putting the lid on it and offering him the rest.

  “It’s got your germs on it now. You finish it. I’ll get another one here in a bit,” he says.

  “Good,” I say, then finish the bottle off.

  “I didn’t know what size you were, so I guessed,” he says, handing me a bag with clothes in it.

  “I don’t know what size I am in American clothing,” I tell him, looking through the bag. I groan as I pull out a pair of skinny jeans. “Really, Tristan. Skinny jeans. I hate these stupid things.”

  I look through and see a dress. I pull it out, deciding to wear it. It looks a little big, but it’ll be fine.

  “We can go get you some more clothes,” he says, holding up a brown wig identical to the one I’m wearing. “But first we have to get out of this town. You get a shower, then we’ll get going.”

  “Okay,” I say, standing up. My legs still feel like jello, but better.

  “When we’re in public, your name is Kate. You’re from London, England. And you are in America to visit your American boyfriend,” Tristan tells me.

  I frown. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re supposed to be my American boyfriend?” I ask, using my British accent.

  “Because I am,” he says. “Nice accent. I’m not from London, but if I didn’t know you were Russian I would think you were British.”

  “I am half British,” I say, going back to my normal accent. “And I have fooled lots of people in London. Eduard and I used to pretend we were British while there. We told everybody we lived in Brighton and they believed us. It was awesome.”

  “You’re starting to sound American,” he says. “Not your accent, but the words you say.”

  “I think I can do an American accent,” I say, attempting it.

  He laughs. “Not even close.”

  “I’ll work on it,” I say, then head to the bathroom to get a shower.

  Don’t break his heart.

  I refuse to get into a car.

  I’ve been scared of cars ever since Eduard died, but now that I just watch somebody get blown up in one, I am never, ever, ever getting into a car again.

  “No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and shaking my head.

  Tristan is getting annoyed, but I don’t care. There is nothing in this world that can make me get into that car.

  “Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

  “What is a Scooby Snack?”

  “I keep forgetting you’re not American,” he says, walking around to the passenger side. “Look, Katerina, you have to face your fears at some point. Might as well face them right now.”

  “Not happening,” I say stubbornly, turning away from the car.

  “I’ll let you call Damon if you get in the car,” he says. “I’ve got the number to a line that goes directly to him.”

  I look over at him and pout.

  He said the one thing that could make me get into a car.

  I want to talk to Damon.

  “Fine,” I say, slowing making my way to the car.

  Tristan stands there watching. He’s probably going to make sure I don’t run off.

  “Can you get somebody else to start the car first?” I ask. “Just in case.”

  He rolls his eyes and pushes a button on the remote. The car starts. No explosion.

  “Remote start,” he says. “Now get your behind in that car right now.”

  “Fine,” I say, getting in.

  But only because I really want to talk to Damon.

  I buckle up as Tristan gets in the driver’s seat. The knot on my head is a reminder that I should never be in a car with him unless it’s on. His driving is quite scary.

  “What is the number to his private line?” I ask Tristan, as we take off.

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. Tristan threw mine away at the bus station. “It’s just his cell phone number, Katerina.”

  “He gets to keep his? That’s not fair,” I say, whining. Because, seriously, it’s not.

  “Damon’s phone is a secure line. It’s not traceable. Yours is. I’ll get you a new phone. This one won’t be able to be trace by anybody—not Russian terrorists, not United States government, nobody,” he says.

  I scratch my head under the wig. I’m glad it’s cool today. This thing is making my head sweaty.

  “Does my phone really need to be that extreme?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he answers. “Your dad’s group is very powerful. What you’ve seen is just somebody gone rogue acting out. Your father has access to nuclear power.”

  I tense at his words.

  Nuclear power.

  That is not good. Not at all.

  “So what did you tell the school?” I ask.

  “Dean Bello knows some. She has low security access. She knows that your life is in danger. And obviously, the president’s son is top priority for the school,” he tells me. “I’m sure she will tell the school that since you two are dating you had to go into hiding as well.”

  “Dating?” I ask. “But we’re not. Not yet anyway. Now everybody is going to think we are and they’re going to stare at me. It’s really annoying.”

  “That’s the price of fame,” he says.

  “I don’t want fame.”

  “Then why are you dating the president’s son?”

  “I’m not,” I say.

  “Sorry. Then why are you almost dating the president’s son?”

  “I like Damon,” I tell him. “I don’t see him as the president’s son. I see him as a person. Which he is. And I like who he is. He’s a sweet guy.”

  “You two don’t have a lot in common,” Tristan says.

  “But he’s trying,” I say. “Damon has started running so he could spend time with me. That’s really sweet. And he’s a kind guy. Plus, he puts up with me. What more could I ask from a potential boyfriend?”

  “Sometimes I forget you’re only sixteen,” he says. “I mean, you usually don’t act like it. But then you go and say something like that.”

  “I’ll be seventeen in two months,” I tell him, feeling the need to defend myself. “I’m not a child, Tristan.”

  “I know,” he says. “Trust me, I know.”

  “My older brother, Dimitri, is engaged to a girl who is only eighteen. Our age gap is the same as theirs. So you can keep talking to me like you’re so much older and wiser,” I say to him. “I don’t want to talk about the accident, but you know what happened. You know that my brother died while I held him and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I grew up that night. I went from being a normal sixteen year old girl to the person I am today. And I like Damon because he reminds me of the girl that I used to be. I’ve never seen him as anything more than just a normal teenage boy.”

  “I’m glad you have Damon,” Tristan says. “That boy is crazy about you. Don’t break his heart.”

  “I’m not planning on it,” I say, pulling up Damon’s contact in Tristan’s phone.

  I dial the number and it only rings once before he answers.

  “Tristan,” Damon answers. “How is Katerina? Is she okay?”

  “Damon, hey. It’s me,” I say.

  “I was so worried about you,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How are you? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll live,” he says. “I can’t believe West is… you know…”

  West died.

  And maybe I was complaining about not liking the guy, but really, he was all right. He didn’t deserve to die.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Damon, knowing he’s probably spent a lot of time with the guy. He was, after all, his bodyguard.

  “Do you remember what happened?” he asks.

  “Vaguely. I was kind of out of it. Tris
tan had to carry me,” I answer. “I remember seeing one of your bodyguards carrying you.”

  “I passed out when I hit my head,” he says. “I wish I could’ve had time to say goodbye to you. Who knows when I will see you again.”

  “Hopefully soon,” I tell him. “Kazimir can’t hide forever, right?”

  “Right,” he says, but his voice says otherwise. “I just wanted to dance with you at homecoming.”

  “We still might get to,” I say, assuring him. “And if we don’t then we will dance later. And we won’t have to do it in a room full of people either—just you and me.”

  “That sounds better anyway,” he says. I can tell he’s smiling, and I wish I was there to see it. “I miss you, Katerina.”

  “How can you miss me? You just seen me earlier today,” I say.

  “I just do,” he says. “All of this is crazy. I hate it.”

  “Me too. I just hate that I dragged you into this.”

  “You didn’t. I was in this already. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to run from a crazy person,” he says.

  “I know, but this time it’s my dad’s terrorist group. Well, technically somebody who went rogue,” I say. “It’s still happening because of my dad.”

  “Are you still falling in like with me?” he asks.

  My frown quickly turns into a smile. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” he says. “Because I plan on making you fall in more than just like with me.”

  I am not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t.

  “I want you to meet my dad,” Damon says. “After Kazimir is caught.”

  “Your dad? As in the president?”

  “Yeah,” he says, now sounding unsure of himself.

  “Won’t he hate me? I mean, considering who my dad is,” I say.

  “No, he won’t hate you. It doesn’t matter if does anyway, because I like you more than enough for the both of us.”

  I laugh. “Whatever you say, Damon.”

  I hear somebody talking in the background.

  “I’ve got to go,” he says. “My plane is about to take off.”

  “Okay,” I say, wishing I could be with him. He hates riding on airplanes. “On take off, just imagine I’m there with you, holding your hand.”

  “I will,” he says. “Bye, Katerina.”

  “Bye.”

  I end the call and hand the phone back to Tristan.

  “I’m kind of glad I was a dork in high school,” he tells me. “Back then, I hated not having a girlfriend, but now I’m kind of glad I didn’t have one. You two are so sweet that it makes me sick.”

  “Ha ha,” I say, no humor in my voice.

  I hope that wherever Tristan and I are going that we will be safe.

  Brunette.

  “We’re almost there,” Tristan says, gently shaking me.

  I guess I feel asleep again. Nearly dying is exhausting.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Tennessee,” he answers.

  “I have no clue where that’s at,” I say. “Is that in the United States?”

  “Yes,” he answers.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “About eight hours.”

  “Eight hours?” I ask, feeling panicked.

  “Maybe you got a concussion when you fell down during the explosion,” he says, sounding concerned.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to sleep if you had a concussion,” I say, feeling my head. There aren’t any sore spots except the bump on my head from Tristan’s crazy driving on Tuesday. “Maybe it’s exhaustion.”

  “You’ve had a rough few weeks,” he says.

  “So where are we going?” I ask, as we exit off the interstate.

  “My house.”

  “Your house?” I ask.

  “Well, my parent’s house.”

  “I get your meet your parents?” My mouth falls open, because he told me I was never allowed to ask about his family. Meeting them is kind of a big deal.

  “They’re not there. Don’t sound so excited,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say, feeling disappointed. “They don’t mind that we’re using their house?”

  “Nope.”

  I know that’s the only answer I am going to get from him, so I decide not to question it any further. If I’m going to be alone with him, I’d rather not make him mad. Especially since he’s the one with the cell phone.

  “Has Tristan called?” I ask.

  “No. They landed in a secure location,” he says. “They’re safe. But you probably won’t be hearing from Damon for a while. For safety reasons.”

  “Right,” I say, not hiding my disappointment. “Since we’re in Tennessee, can I take this stupid wig off?”

  “Better not,” he says, looking at my wig. “Just to be safe. But you can take it off around the house. It’s really weird seeing you with brown hair.”

  “Do I not look good as a brunette?” I ask.

  “You kind of look like your cousin Jade. It looks good, it’s just… not you,” he says.

  I look at myself in the mirror.

  He’s right. I do look like Jade. After this is all over, I’ll have to show her a picture of me in the wig. She’ll probably get a kick out of it.

  If this ever ends.

  As we drive through the suburban neighborhood, the houses keep getting bigger and bigger. Finally, he turns into a cul-de-sac and pulls to the biggest house in the neighborhood, the one right at the dead end.

  My mouth falls open as I look at the huge house in front of me. I only thought Kaiden’s beach house was big. This thing is huge. Like, mansion huge.

  “Your parents are rich,” I say. It’s not a question.

  “You’re one to talk, Miss My Dad’s A Billionaire,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “The stores are probably closed tonight, but we can go get you some clothes in the morning. There’s a mall close to here.”

  “Okay. But I’m not wearing those stupid skinny jeans,” I say. “Can I wash this?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I have some pajamas you can borrow.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I guess there is no way for me to get around wearing pajamas today for some stupid reason.”

  “What is the deal with you not wanting to wear pajamas in front of other people?” he asks. “You’re legit crazy.”

  “I wear them in front of Savannah,” I say.

  “Weirdo,” he says, getting out of the car.

  I follow him up the front sidewalk to the house. Everything here is well maintained. There is even a fountain with water spraying out of it. Not as big as the one at the school. And this one has cement mermaids with water shooting out of their mouths. It’s kind of… weird.

  Tristan catches me looking at it.

  “My mom has a thing for mermaids,” he says, opening the front door.

  I walk through the double glass doors into a huge foyer. There is a staircase on the left and right, both leading up to a balcony on the second floor. There is a huge chandelier hanging down that looks impeccable.

  “Wow,” I say. “I’m going to be scared to touch anything.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “What if I break something?”

  “I’ve never seen you break anything in your life. You’re the complete opposite of clumsy,” he says.

  It’s true. Eduard was the clumsy one.

  “It could happen,” I say. “I seem to be fainting a lot lately. I mean, I’ve always fainted at the sight of blood, but that doesn’t happen that often.”

  “It’s just anxiety,” he says. “And this is a happy house. Nothing bad is going to happen here.”

  “Famous last words.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, nobody knows we’re here.”

  He’s right. I don’t have anything to worry about here.

  SIX

  Twin Thursday.

  Today, Savannah and I were going to dress alike for Twin Thursday. It’s shocking that her and I could actually come t
o an agreement on an outfit, but sadly I was going to be missing the rest of spirit week. And most likely, homecoming.

  I just wish I could be at homecoming.

  Better yet, I wish I could see Damon.

  I wake up extra early on Thursday morning, probably because I spent most of the day yesterday sleeping. So I put my dress in the dryer, hoping that it’ll be dry before Tristan gets up. Surely he’s extra tired from driving all day yesterday.

  I get a quick shower, blow dry my hair and start to fix it. Then I remember the stupid wig that I have to wear. I am not sure why I have to wear it since we’re so far from New Hope. I forgot the name of the state we’re in—Ten-something. I don’t know.

  I put the pajamas Tristan loaned me and head to the kitchen to get something to eat. I am starved. When I walk in there, Damon is standing by the stove.

  Huh.

  He cooks.

  Well, of course he does. He’s an adult. It’s pretty much a requirement for all adults to know how to cook. And I can tell by looking at him that he doesn’t eat much take-out. Because American take-out makes you fat, and there is not one ounce of fat on his body.

  “Were you just checking me out?” Tristan asks.

  I start to lie, but know I shouldn’t. I hate lying.

  “Hey, I’m sixteen. I’m stuck in school with guys who are almost as skinny as me,” I say, stealing a piece of bacon off the plate by the stove. “You’re kind of hot.”

  “And what do you think Damon would think if he heard you say that?”

  “He’d probably agree with me,” I say, knowing that I’m right.

  “Don’t call me hot,” he says. “It’s really weird.”

  “Whatever,” I say.

  I walk towards the laundry room to see if my dress is dry. Right as I walk in, the buzzer goes off scaring me half to death.

  “Geez,” I say, holding my frantic beating heart. “I’m paranoid.”

  I grab my dress and go to the bathroom. I quickly change my clothes and put Tristan’s pajamas into the laundry hamper. I walk back into the kitchen where Tristan has set two plates on the bar along with a couple glasses of orange juice. I take a seat beside him.

  Now that we’re sitting here, I’m feeling thoroughly awkward about calling him hot. I mean, he is. But I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s weird. I don’t want him thinking that I have a crush on him or something.