Page 79 of Hate You Most

Dakota’s eyes flicked to it, and then something in her face changed.

“You found it,” Dakota said, her voice quiet. She was too quiet for this, it wasn't what Viktoriya had expected.

She took a step toward her. “I did. It was in your desk—the drawer wasn't even locked.”

“I was wondering when you would find it,” Dakota exclaimed. “I thought I would have more time before it, though.”

Viktoriya’s grip tightened around the phone. “I looked through the photos,” she said.

Dakota nodded once.

Viktoriya watched her closely, waiting for the panic, the scrambling denial, the frantic attempt to explain what was going on. Instead, Dakota just stood there, eerily calm as she looked at her.

Viktoriya forced the words out. “We aren’t married, yes.”

The American didn’t even hesitate. “No,” she said. “No, we're not.”

A breath forced itself out of her as she turned her head away from Dakota. She couldn't look at her. Their marriage was fake and she had been lied to and manipulated all while her brain tried to heal from Amnesia. It was too much for her.

Viktoriya threw the phone onto the couch, moved right past Dakota and up the stairs. She moved into the bedroom on autopilot, locked the door behind her.

She exhaled but the air came out shaky and she had to physically hold a hand to her chest to stop her heart from hurting. She had been lied to. Dakota had lied to her. For months.

Months.

She just needed a moment. A moment of quiet to gather her spiraling thoughts and figure out what the hell she was going to do now.

“Volkova, stop it!” Dakota was there, right outside the bedroom door.

Viktoriya moved away from the door, sat down on the bed and immediately stood again. She had no clue what to do with her body. She wanted to sink into the floorboards and she wanted to hit the American at the same time, so instead she ended up standing motionless in the middle of the bedroom. Paralyzed between the anger and the ache.

Dakota pounded on the bedroom door hard enough that the wall shook. “Volkova, let's talk about this.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Please,” Dakota said from behind the door. “Please, Volkova. Let's talk, come on!”

“No.”

“I know you want an explanation,” she said. “I can give you one, you just need to open the door so we can talk.”

Volkova couldn't keep this up forever, she knew that. They had to actually talk eventually, but that wasn't right now.

She turned toward the door. “There is nothing for you to explain—you lied to me.”

It was quiet on the other side for just a moment too long. Viktoriya wished she could see Dakota's face right now.

“I lied to you because I love you—” The emotion in the American's voice bled through the crack under the door, into the locked bedroom. “So, will you please just listen to what I have to say, instead of doing what you always do, and run away the moment that things get even slightly complicated for you.”

The door unlocked, she stepped out and walked right past Dakota and down the stairs. Dakota had been leaning her full body against the door and nearly fell as it flew open.

She followed her wordlessly down the stairs. Only when they had both reached the middle of the living room and they were looking into each other's eyes again, did Dakota dare speak.

“Listen, I'm sorry that⁠—”

Yeah no, she wasn't listening to whatever excuse this was. She walked over and grabbed the phone from the couch, took a few steps closer, anger rising now that the shock had somewhere to go.

“I found the hidden folders,” she said, lifting the phone slightly. “All the photos, all the pictures of us together. Then like an idiot, I went online. There are interviews, photos, and headlines of us. Years of them.”