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“I didn’t give him much choice,” Sofia smirks. “I was pretty upset with him for not telling me about this fiancée. According to him, he and Viktor are flying in next week after Liam gets back to talk with him.”
“About that?” I frown, looking at her nervously. “Why would they—”
“He wouldn’t tell me all the details. He said with you being my best friend, it wasn’t a good idea for us to talk about it too much. I don’t—I don’t really know what that means.” Sofia looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Ana. He was really adamant about not talking about it more after that. I wish I could give you better answers. But I have to be careful of my marriage too. Liam is in an alliance with Luca and Viktor, through the Kings, the Bratva, and the mafia, respectively. Liam’s relationships can affect that. And with you and I being as close as we are—well, I can understand Luca’s perspective, even if I don’t like being kept in the dark. I wish I could tell you more.”
“It’s okay.” I chew on my lower lip, picking at my cuticles as I look away. “I don’t want to cause problems in your marriage. I just—I don’t even know how to believe Liam at this point. I don’t know if he’s going to tell me the truth, if he hid this from me all this time, with everything we’ve done—”
“Hear him out.” Sofia looks at me, her brow furrowed. “I’m upset with him too, Ana. But it’s possible that thereisan explanation for all of this. Men like Luca and Viktor and Liam—their lives are complicated.Everythingabout them is complicated. Maybe he hasn’t been telling you because—”
“Because he doesn’t think I can handle it?”
“Because he wanted to give you time to work through everything else before he threw that at you. Maybe he wasn’t planning to go through with it—”
But even as she says it, Sofia’s expression looks doubtful, and I feel my heart sinking. I know she’s trying to make me feel better, and having her here does, at least a little.
I know that nothing can really fix it, though, besides hearing Liam tell me the truth.
And even then, I can’t help but think that maybe this time, we’ve run into something that can’t be fixed.
THREE
LIAM
When I come home, I can feel the foreboding before I even get off the plane. My texts and calls with Ana have been short and to the point all week—and while I’d chalked it up to her missing me and struggling with being alone, I can’t help but feel that there’s something else going on.
It doesn’t make me feel any better that I haven’t heard from Saoirse, either. Normally I would have been glad that I hadn’t needed to call her, but the pointed absence of even a text left me more than a little concerned. It makes me feel like something has been going on while I was gone that I’m not aware of, which makes me even more unsettled.
When I step into the penthouse, my suspicions that something’s wrong are instantly confirmed. The kitchen is a mess—a few dishes in the sink, things scattered across the counters, and the living room is the same. There are throw pillows haphazardly across the couch and on the floor, a couple of blankets half-on, half-off the sofa. It’s not filthy, exactly, and I know there’s still another day before the maid comes for her biweekly visit. Still, I’ve always kept the house up in between, and I saw Ana try to do the same. I’d assumed she had the same tendencies towards neatness that I do.
But compared to how it usually is, the apartment is a bit of a wreck. Which instantly puts me on alert, thinking that Ana has spiraled while I was gone.
“Ana?” I call out her name, my stomach clenching with worry. I hadn’t wanted to leave her, especially after getting the calls from Alexandre. I’d been afraid that something like this would happen, that she’d fall back into her depression with no one here. “Ana?”
A new fear grips me as I stride down the hall towards her room—that Alexandre has found her and taken her away. That he’s scooped her up while she was out of the house going to one of her appointments, or evaded my security and broken in somehow, and taken her. But if the latter had happened, I would have been notified by now—
“Ana!” I push open the door to her bedroom and see her there, sitting on her bed wrapped in a blanket, scrolling listlessly through her phone.
My first instinctual feeling is relief. It washes over me, cool and clear, the moment that I see she’s safe and still here. And then, the next is frustration.
I can tell that, despite our agreement, she hasn’t been taking care of herself. Her hair is lank and listless around her face, and she looks as if she’s lost a little weight over the last week, not gained it. That, combined with the state of the penthouse, all but confirms my fears that she’s back in another depressive spiral.
“Ana,” I say her name again, and this time she looks up, her blue eyes listless.
“Liam.” The way she says my name is nothing like how I’d imagined she’d greet me when I’d thought eagerly about getting back home to her all this last week. She sounds tired—sad, even. Nothing about her tone of voice is what I would have expected.
“What’s going on?” I step into the room, shutting the door behind me. “I’ve barely heard from you all week. The apartment is a mess, and you look like you haven’t washed your hair in a few days or eaten—have you been going to your appointments?”
“Sure.” Ana turns back to her phone, and I feel something tighten inside me, something almost angry.
“Anastasia.” I never use her full name, but it slips from my lips as easily as the shortened version I’m used to, in my current mood. “Look at me.”
Her jaw tightens, and she keeps scrolling.
“Put the fucking phone down and look at me.”
Her head snaps up, and she finally does, dropping the phone onto the bed as she pushes herself upright a little more. “You can’t talk to me like that,” she says, pressing her lips tightly together. “You don’t ever talk to me like that.”
“If this is what happens when I leave for a week, maybe I should.” I shove my hands into my pants’ pockets, trying to battle the rapidly rising frustration. “What the hell is going on? You’ve never acted like this since I’ve known you, and I know you’re lying to me about the appointments. We had an agreement, Ana—I would provide for you and give you a place to stay as long as you needed it, and you would take care of yourself, go to the appointments that I made for you—that I’mpayingfor—Christ.” I run my hand through my hair, letting out a frustrated breath. “I sound like your fucking father. This isn’t our relationship, Ana, so what the hell—”
