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Don’t you see it, you stupid girl?
Unfolding myself from the couch, I see that my palms are wet. The crying has started. My fingers curl, trembling. The sight of my wedding ring brings a mix of sorrow and bitterness. Gripping it, I give it a tug. Either my finger is too swollen, or I’m not trying hard enough, but the result is the same.
It won’t come off.
My arm goes limp as I slump on the couch.
I’ve come to a more frightening realization than Arsen using me for his own gain—one that’s sapped my strength.
I can’t take the ring off because I don’t want to.
Rubbing my belly, I try to think only of my child. Instead, Arsen’s face flashes in my mind. My heart gives a sympathetic throb. As much as I want to loathe the man to the bottom of my soul …
I don’t.
And just then, another dirty memory enters my mind of a time when three dangerous little words unexpectedly slipped out of my mouth as he was buried inside me. Three words that became real somewhere along this twisting path of betrayal and confusing passion.
I love him.
41
ARSEN
The ground moves beneath me like I’m on a ship at sea. I sway right, then left, my mind sloshing in my skull all the while. It’s a miracle I don’t stumble over my feet and land face-first in the grass.
What have I done?
Galina’s eyes enter my memory. They’re darkened by heat … by the filthy way I tainted her. I let out weeks, maybe years, of pent-up anger back there. I couldn’t control myself. Fuck, I didn’t want to. I knew I was a sinner, but to force my corrupt desires upon her was too much. If I could waltz into hell right now, I would.
Instead, I storm past Kostya.
He eyes me nervously as I pass. “Pakhan,” he starts, but I keep going, not hearing the rest of his words. Like a zombie, I wander until I’m moving through my office door. The correct thing to do—what a man with some goodness left in his heart would do—would be to go back out and apologize to Galina.
She deserves that basic kindness.
But when I drop into my chair, head thrown back, closing my eyes, I know I’m not going to say I’m sorry. I have experience being a monster. But I don’t know how to make amends.
I’m a goddamn disgrace. I need her more than she understands. How do I make her understand? It’s like we’re speaking different languages lately. I thought we had a natural connection. Just another thing to add to the pile of things I’ve been wrong about.
Snatching the bottle of vodka from the bar cart beside my desk, I choke it by the neck. It’s easy to imagine I’m throttling Yevgeniy himself. Slamming a glass down, I fill it to the brim. I caused this mess. I did this to myself. I did this to her.
It would be wonderful to lay the burden on anyone else, but the wedge between Galina was placed there by me and me alone.
I drain the vodka with a toss of my head, wiping my lips on my forearm with a loud exhalation as I savor the burn of the alcohol. This won’t help. Yet I pour more vodka to the rim again. Once that’s gone, I decide to forgo the glass entirely.
Why bother when I can drink straight from the bottle?
My attention scrapes over my desk. Idly, I flip open my notebooks. My eyes glaze over the words I’ve written inside. The letters and numbers are perfectly formed in crisp ink, but my vision can’t make sense of any of it. Doesn’t matter, I tell myself sourly. Nothing in here can help. Galina believes I’m her enemy ... None of this can change a thing! Curling my upper lip, I slap the paperwork off my desk. It scatters all over the floor.
“Arsen?”
Spinning my chair around, I spot Ulyana at my door.
“What are you doing?” she demands, her voice getting higher pitched as she sees the bottle of vodka. “It’s not even one in the afternoon.”
“Out!” I snap. “Eto moi prikaz!”
She puckers her lips and remains where she is. “What happened?” Her voice is hard as iron.
