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That made me smile harder.
“Yeah.” I took the plate she just washed and dried it off. “Vik and I decided we want the baby to be part of the ceremony. I mean, we’ve waited this long. What’s another year?”
Anika’s eyes bugged out. “A year?”
Ksenia spoke from the hallway entrance. “Yes. What’s another year?” I spun to look at her and found her staring emotionless at the tiny bump that had formed at my belly. The moment she realized I was watching her though, she pasted on a robotic smile that did not reach her eyes. “It will be so good to hear a child’s laughter once more. Family is so important.” Ksenia paused to shoot a look at Anika, and her body had noticeably turned rigid. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I wondered if Ksenia knew that Anika was infertile. Because if she did, that was some cold, fucked-up shit to say right in front of her.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and the moment the strange woman left, I whispered to my friend, “You’ve got to get out of here.”
I went about drying the dish in my hand, not expecting a response, but when I got one, my heart caught in my throat.
“I know” was her hushed reply.
Anika looked at me, her gaze full of an unreadable emotion. Maybe despair? I paused to read the message in her eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t decipher the language in which the communication was written.
What was she trying to tell me?
No doubt, her depression had waned some. She looked better. Her skin was brighter, her smile wider, her hips fuller, but there was something weighing down her heart. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she left the house as often as she could, spending her days with Vik and me at our place for as long as humanly possible without overstaying her welcome.
It took me a while to figure it out, but I was pretty sure I knew the cause.
It was Ksenia.
The intense woman made Anika uncomfortable; that much was obvious. How deep that discomfort ran, I didn’t know, because my friend kept tight-lipped on the subject. But, at lunchtime, when Ksenia passed Anika and her arm brushed my friend’s shoulder, I observed as Anika flinched as though she’d been struck.
And if that wasn’t cause for concern, I didn’t know what was.
Four weeks ago, when I asked Doroteya if she would teach me to cook, she was ecstatic. Completely overjoyed. We made Sundays a permanent ritual. I would come early in the morning and sit with my future mother-in-law, discussing what Russian dishes I’d like to cook. We would go to the market together, and she taught me what to look for in picking the best produce and freshest meats. We’d head back home, and she would walk me through the recipe. As I watched her work, I’d take notes, jotting down every tip and trick the older woman had to offer.
Every Sunday, I watched Anika shy away from her aunt.
Every Sunday, I became more aware that something with the former Bratva wife was terribly wrong. She seemed disturbed. Unhinged. The closer I observed the woman, the more she showed her disdain for me. And nobody else seemed to notice it.
It drove me crazy.
It was a wonder that Anika was still mildly sane if Ksenia made her feel the same way. Which was why I suggested to Vik that he gift Anika his old bedroom. Although still a part of the house, the basement was separate enough to offer sanctuary when she needed it. It locked from the inside and outside and had its own entrance. It was basically an apartment, and Anika desperately needed her own space, away from her family. So, during lunch one Sunday, when Vik called out to his sister and tossed her his keys, she caught them with a frown.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking down at them.
“A little independence,” he uttered, and when she looked up at him knowingly, he winked.
The smile started small but got wider, and when she held the keys to her chest, hugging them like a lifeline, my heart swelled. This was a change she needed. The difference in her was immediate. She’d been much happier ever since her move into the basement.
It was an improvement, but I wasn’t sure it was enough.
My only hope for Anika was that she find her forever person, that she be loved in a way so tender her heart ached with it, from a person who treated her gently with a care for her fragile mind and sensitive soul.
And for a moment—for a single moment—I thought she might find that in Sasha.
But Anika was delicate, and she needed to be treated as such.
In my heart of hearts, I desperately hoped my brother could give her that.
