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Somehow, I’m able to put all the horror in a little box and pack it away, to pretend it isn’t there.
“Good,” Alina says. “I’m glad. But if you’re ever having trouble dealing, or just need someone to talk to, I want you to know that you can always come to me.” Jade eyes gleaming softly, she adds, “No matter what you’re going through, I’d understand.”
And she would, I know. My throat tightens as I take in the genuine sympathy in her gaze. I didn’t know until this moment how much I’d longed for this: not an offer of friendship, precisely, but something that feels an awful lot like it. “Thank you,” I say thickly. “I appreciate it—just as I appreciate what you tried to do before, what with warning me and all.”
Maybe it’s another illusion that’s bound to be shattered, but it feels like I have an ally in Nikolai’s sister. Like I’m not completely alone in this mess.
She smiles wryly and rises to her feet. “Yeah, well, that didn’t exactly turn out how I’d hoped. I—” She stops as Slava exclaims something from his spot by the window and runs back to us, chattering excitedly in Russian.
“He says there’s a family of raccoons on our driveway,” Alina translates with a grin. “Apparently, they’ve just come out of the forest.”
“Really? I want to see.” I sit up straighter and, ignoring the pang of pain in my arm, swing my feet to the floor. Carefully, I stand up, mindful not to place too much of my weight on the sprained ankle.
So far, so good.
“Here, lean on me.” Alina lends me her elbow, and with her help, I limp over to the window, where the raccoons—a mama and two babies—are indeed frolicking in plain sight.
Slava laughs in excitement as one of the babies playfully jumps on the other, and I ruffle his silky hair, my chest expanding as he gives me a beaming smile.
“Raccoons,” I say, recalling my role as his English tutor. “Those are called raccoons.”
He obediently repeats the word after me, and the three of us watch the animals until they disappear back into the woods. Then Alina helps me limp back to the bed, and I ask her to bring me a book that I can read with Slava.
“No problem,” she says, already heading for the door. She returns a few minutes later with a stack of children’s books that she sets on the blanket next to me. “Do you want me to take that away?” she asks, gesturing at the tray on the nightstand, and I nod as Slava gets comfortable at my uninjured side.
It’ll be lunchtime soon, and I’ve eaten enough to tide me over until then.
She picks up the tray and heads out again. It’s only when she’s almost by the door that I realize I haven’t asked her something important.
“Alina, wait,” I call as she opens the door with one stiletto-clad foot.
She turns around, a quizzical look on her face.
“Will you come back in a bit? I’d like to know more about what happened.” My voice turns unsteady. “With Nikolai and… and your father.”
She stiffens, her face wiped of all expression.
“Please, Alina. I need to know.”
I need to find out just how much of a monster I’ve fallen for.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them again. “It’s not my story to tell.” Her voice is low and strained. “It never was. Nikolai’s the one you should talk to.”
And before I can plead with her further, she steps out and closes the door.
9
Nikolai
Unclenching my tightly balled fist, I click away from the camera feed of Chloe’s room and open my inbox. I don’t know what I would’ve done to Alina if she’d agreed to Chloe’s request. Fortunately, my sister has recovered enough of her wits to realize she needs to keep her mouth shut.
It is my story to tell—and I’m not sure I want to tell it.
Yesterday, when Chloe asked me if what Alina had told her was true, I was tempted to lie, to tell her that Alina had made it all up—that she’d been delusional because of all that medication. But for some reason, as I looked into Chloe’s soft brown eyes, the words refused to form in my throat. As much as I hate it that my zaychik sees me as evil, something deep inside me wants her to know the real me.
To know me and love me regardless.
Fuck. This is a problem—but not as big of one as the email from Valery that’s just popped into my inbox.
LEONOV IN AMERICA, the subject line states in all-caps, and when I open the message, it informs me that my younger brother’s US contacts have gotten word of Alexei Leonov’s presence in New York City. What he’s doing there is anyone’s guess, but just the fact that he’s on the same continent as my sister and my son is bad news. I haven’t forgotten what he said to me in the restroom of that Tajik restaurant, the threat he made about holding Alina to their archaic betrothal contract. At the time, I figured he was just trying to piss me off—and I still suspect that’s the case—but there’s a chance he meant it.
