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“Arsen?”
“I hate this,” I mutter.
She tilts her head. “The whiskey, or having to let Galina go?”
“What do you think?” I ask callously. Spinning, I stalk back into my office. Ulyana follows, but she remains at a distance. Setting the empty glass on the cart, I debate refilling it. Brushing my thumb over the cork, I carefully consider my options. Make her stay ... or let her go. Is that really what this boils down to?
Without looking at Ulyana, I begin to speak in a low tone. “You didn’t tell me how the van was involved in all of this.”
“Galina has a friend. Someone with connections who can place Galina and her mother in witness protection. I helped get that friend onto the property so they could talk and make their plans.”
“Chyort vozmi,” I whisper. “She’s serious about this.”
Ulyana nods sagely. “Yes.”
A grim smirk passes across my lips. “I guess she had to be, to convince you to help.”
“Please don’t take it personally.”
“How can I not?” I ask, biting the words in two while glaring at Ulyana.
Her hand rises, plucking at the sapphire on her right ear.
“What I’m learning,” I say, “is that the woman I …” trailing off, I work to make myself say what I want, “the woman I love hates me.”
Ulyana’s smile is the definition of compassion. “No. She loves you. You must believe that.”
“Impossible,” I chuckle morbidly.
“It’s true.”
“What proof is there?” I ask, slamming my fist onto the cart, making the bottles rattle.
She doesn’t react. My anger has never scared her. “The proof will be when she finds her way back to you.” I curl my lip in disgust, but she presses on. “You must believe it, Arsen. Even if it feels impossible right now, if her heart beats for you, you will meet again.”
Ruminating over her advice, I lean my weight against the cart. The urge to ignore Ulyana and storm through my home, board up the doors, and lock Galina in her room is immense. My eyes swing upward to see Ulyana watching me closely. She has a hopeful smile plastered on her face. It dissolves when I make a purposeful path toward the exit.
“Arsen!” she calls.
“Don’t interfere,” I warn her.
“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?” She tries to prevent me from passing her, but I square up, easily shoving her aside. She begins to give chase but stops short, hovering in the doorway behind me. “Please … don’t try and stop her. She needs to be free.”
My voice comes out as thick as black tar. “So do I.”
When I open her bedroom door, Galina is facing away from it on her knees, her upper body under her bed. The sound of the door startles her; she jerks backward, banging her head on the wooden edge of the bedframe with a gasp. “Arsen!” Her eyes are wild with paranoia.
She’s terrified I found out about her plans. She thinks I’m going to stop her.
“It’s okay,” I say, though I hear the constrained emotion in my voice that says it’s anything but okay. “I know what’s going on. I’m not here to stop you.”
“You’re not?” She shifts from foot to foot. Her eyebrows scrunch together over the bridge of her nose. The doubt comes off her in waves. In that moment, I grasp how damaged our relationship has become. It doesn’t matter that I’ve only just realized how powerful my love for her is. My immense desire for her runs parallel to the distrust fomenting between us.
Maybe one can’t exist without the other. It’s an awful thought. I squash it down so I can speak. “The last thing I want is for you to run away from me. But if that’s your choice, then I won’t get in your way. But I have a request.”
“What is it?” she asks softly.
Holding out my hand, I open it with my palm face up. “Take these.”
