Page 72 of The Agreement

Masha certainly hinted at the fact that Karine hadn’t chosen him, and Roman could basically draw that conclusion himself, too, but that didn’t change the end result.

The hot swell of rage that washed through Roman was the only thing that kept him silent. A part of him that he was trying to ignore was still attempting to piece together how the woman he had been thinking about since they first met—the one who occupied all his thoughts lately—was already spoken for by a man he despised.

The world was really laughing at him.

It had to be.

Unfortunately, it was the same anger that kept him quiet that also made him lash out at Masha when he told her, “And if you fucking cared about her so much, you would stop giving her those pills.”

Masha snapped back, spine straightening.

“Don’t act surprised,” Roman said in a scoff. “I saw you slipping a pill into her hand before she sat down at the table. She might as well have already been reaching for it like she knew it was coming. Seeing that, it explained a lot of things to me. Like why she’s always in such a fucking daze. This has nothing to do with who she is—it’s what you’re feeding her.”

She shook her head frantically, the defiant fire back in her gaze in a flash. “Those pills are the least of her problems—what makes you think she doesn’t need them? You don’t even know what they are.”

Once again, he was reminded that Masha took a big risk speaking to him with such disrespect. His wounded pride wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t see the woman did actually care for Karine.

Masha seemed ready to end the conversation, though, when she glanced back over her shoulder. Keeping one hand on the door, she moved towards him a little before shoving a piece of folded up paper his way like she wanted him to take it. He looked down at it, and then back up at her again.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on, and I can try and help.”

“We don’t need your help.” Masha stuck the paper out towards him, saying sharply, “Well, take it. And let that be the last of it.”

Roman did, but he wasn’t sure he understood what the contents in or on the paper would do to change what had already happened.

“I really hope you will do the right thing and leave her alone,” Masha added as she turned to head back inside the business. Tossing him one last look over her shoulder, she only offered a nod before she was gone.

Alone and feeling like it, Roman pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. The rain had stopped falling by now, but the air was still wet with every breath, and he raked a hand through his hair, rubbing some of the water out. He had the piece of paper in one hand, the same one where he dangled the smoke between two fingers, but he waited while he took the first long drag of smoke. Filling his lungs, he exhaled, willing the gray cloud to take the hell in his mind with it, and then he opened up the folded paper.

It took a second.

And then two.

The darkness didn’t help at first.

A sketch?

A man’s face was etched into the paper with violent pen strokes. The style was like how a kid would draw, scribbling hastily, too fast, all over the page, but the art was actually still quite sophisticated. There was more than enough detail to discern that the face staring back at him was his own.

He was sure of it.

At the corner of the page was his name, too, written in a hand that was once again—very childlike. Slightly messy, shaky letters, still clear.

He couldn’t understand it at all—not the sketch, why Masha gave it to him, or the entire night to begin with.

There were so many unanswered questions, and Roman wasn’t sure what to do about them. The one thing he knew for sure—there was no way in hell he was going to apologize for putting his hands on Karine in the alleyway.

Having the information he did about Leonid and the plan on Maxim, and Karine’s new place as Dima’s fiancée, well ...

Roman knew himself well enough to predict he wasn’t going to drop it, either.

Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it into the darkness, watching the coal flicker as he blew out the smoke, and murmured, “Sorry, Masha.”

FIFTEEN

“You’re distracted.”

The accusation from Marky hit Roman harder than he expected. Quickly, and without noise, he folded up the sketch—his likeness—and stuffed it back into his pocket before spinning around on the mechanic’s stool to face his friend.