Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Sofia Vasilieva]

Sofia Vasilieva

The dancing was perfunctory, but it was his favour bestowed in view of everyone here that mattered. Clandestine rumour tied the Ascendancy to the American politician Evelyn Avalon, and while she didn’t know the truth of it, if Brandon ever chose marriage it was always going to be a political arrangement – something that brought something significant to the Custody’s table. 

And Sofia had zero interest in ever being relegated to a powerful man’s mistress.

The conversation was polite. He was distant, which was acceptable, but also seemed on the edge of distraction, which flamed her chest with something less tolerant. Ultimately, though, she played the part, as did he. When he released her, Sofia’s first thought was to seek Colette, but the sharpness of her gaze found another trajectory entirely. Calculation spun behind her eyes as she watched the path Brandon took. Dmitri was oblivious to the look he received, but Sofia was not.

He still had his hands on Noémi’s hips, though the music had ended, paused in anticipation of the guests gathering for the Ascandancy’s announcement. His head was bowed, pressed close to her as though in lover’s intimacy. Even at this distance Sofia could see the soft obsession in his gaze. Her attention landed hard on the whore who courted his affections, only to see Noémi slip backwards, extricating herself from the embrace and turning to weave deftly against the tide of people.

After a moment in which his expression flickered in abject hurt, her brother stalked less elegantly after her.

Sofia caught Dima by the arm as he passed. It looked pleasant enough, but her nails dug deep into the skin. “The fuck are you doing?” she hissed. “And what the fuck is she doing here?”

“She came back,” was all he said, somewhere between pain and possession. Then Grisha was there, sans mask and jacket and bowtie, his shirtsleeves pressed up over his tattooed arms. He gave a lazy smile, but there was a spike of worry in the glaze of his eyes as he wrapped his arm around Dima’s neck to pull him away. He whispered something in his ear, which Dima didn’t seem particularly keen to listen to.

“Don’t, Sofka,” was all he said to her. It was more plea than warning. Sofia’s eyes narrowed, but around them the chimes were sounding, and she couldn’t be absent. Not yet anyway.