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I want to hold her in my arms, comfort her, ask her if she’s okay. But I do none of those things.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve been in a serious situation like this, I’m unsure of myself and what to do.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Katiya. There has to be a way to make this right.” I’ve no idea what to add to that, but she shakes her head sadly.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” she says, ending the conversation. Before she leaves, she glances up at me once more. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”
It feels like I got kicked in the guts.
I can’t even feel smug about being her first, the moment, as she said, is gone.
She walks to the door, and I follow her, the energy between us crackling.
I stop halfway up the hall and watch her disappear into her room. She doesn’t want me around; I feel like I need to give us both some space.
I walk back inside my room and close the door behind me, leaning back onto it and bang both fists on the wood.
I don’t know what the fuck to do with her. She’s clearly unhappy about going home. Back tothem.
I’ve only known the girl a week, but a part of me can see her here.
I can’t even contemplate her with Vlad, much less marrying him. The thought makes me want to slit his throat.
She fucking lied, no matter how you look at it.
I want her in my bed, where I can keep her safe. But I know as well as she does that it’s an impossible situation. Even if we were to resolve some of the hurdles we’ve got going on between us, our families hate each other. We’re rivals. We can’t be together like that.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking like this, but somehow I feel as though I’ll never be satisfied with an outcome that doesn’t involve having her.
I head downstairs to the kitchen. I need another stiff drink.
Maurice and Clary have the day off, so I’m free to think for a while without any disturbances.
That is until Rocco walks in.
I turn the coffee machine on because if I don’t make some espresso, I’m probably going to drink myself stupid.
“How’s it going up there?” He nods toward the ceiling.
“She’s not in the best of moods, nor am I,” I mutter.
“He’s an intense fuck, her uncle,” Rocco states.
“Tell me about it.” That’s not the only intense thing going on here, but of course I don’t tell him that. “No wonder she doesn’t want to leave.”
Rocco raises an eyebrow.
Fuck.
“I’m being ironic,” I add quickly.
He eyes me curiously. “She’s a fucking handful, though. Those Russians sure do have a temper.”
My head snaps up immediately.
“A piece of work,” he goes on. “That sharp tongue of hers is gonna get her into trouble one day.”
I turn back to the coffee machine. “I’ll just be glad to be rid of her.”
