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Her response is immediate.
CYRILLE: What can I do?
I smile, loving how her first instinct is to try to fix it. She reminds me of Clara in that way. I clutch my pendant, and, for the first time in a long time, I feel her. It’s fleeting, but it lifts my spirits. God knows they need a little lifting.
PAIGE: Don’t worry about me. You’ve got Ilya to worry about.
CYRILLE: Ilya’s going to bed soon, and Nikita will take him to school tomorrow. I know I’m a poor substitute, but I could come over and have dinner with you, if you’ll have me.
PAIGE: I’d love that!
I hem and haw about changing into sweats, but in the end, I wear the jade green dress. Screw Misha; I can look nice for myself. I’m worth it.
Half an hour later, Cyrille walks onto the patio carrying non-alcoholic wine and wearing a gorgeous white sundress.
“Wow!” I exclaim. “You look amazing.”
“I decided to dress up a little. Looks like you had the same idea.” She whistles low. “Misha has no idea what he is missing.”
“I’ll admit, I put this dress on for him. But I kept it on for me.”
“Good for you.” Cyrille sits down across from me and looks up, her expression deathly serious. “Just because I haven’t said it already: he’s a total ass.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She pours out the non-alcoholic wine and we toast to Misha’s assery. “Drink up,” she encourages. “You don’t have to worry about getting drunk.”
I sigh. “I wish I could. It might make this whole crazy thing feel a little more bearable. Then again, alcohol is kind of what got me into this mess in the first place.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I really do understand what you’re going through. Maksim didn’t want to fall in love with me at first, either.”
“Is that in the rulebook or something? ‘Don’t fall in love with the woman you marry’? What kind of asshole wrote that thing?”
“Actually, it might just be,” Cyrille says with no sign of humor in her voice. “Their father did a number on those boys. It’s a miracle they didn’t end up as carbon copies of him.”
I shudder at the thought that Misha came out as the emotional, thoughtful one. I’m glad I never have to meet his dad.
I swirl the wine around in my glass, watching the starlight-colored liquid sluice down the sides and wondering where I’d be right now if I’d never drank Misha’s champagne in the first place.
“Does Nessa ever talk about her husband?” I ask.
“Not often,” Cyrille admits. “But I know she only stayed married to him because she loved her kids. There was no other reason to stay. She watched her husband with mistress after mistress. After a while, she just resigned herself to a loveless marriage.”
I shudder at that one, too. It seems to happen more and more often, the more I learn about this family. “I would never, ever be able to do that.”
“She was never in love with him, though,” Cyrille replies. “It’s different for us.”
I bristle a little. Cyrille notices immediately. “Is this the part where you deny that you have feelings for Misha?” Her smirk is tiny and teasing.
“I… Fine, no, I’m not denying it. But love isn’t something I take lightly. It’s a big declaration. I don’t think I’m quite there yet.” Cyrille looks at me skeptically, and I keep blabbing out of, oh, I don’t even know, some silly need to defend myself. “It’s really stupid, but I thought I could convince Misha that having a connection wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“That’s not stupid at all, hon.”
“Actually, it is,” I insist. “Because I’m starting to think that Misha isn’t even capable of loving me. I think he lost his ability to love the day he lost Maksim.”
Cyrille’s eyes grow painfully sad. “It’s the worst thing in the world to lose someone you love. Can you blame him for wanting to protect himself against more heartbreak?”
I sigh. “He told me what he expected from the very beginning. I’d be a complete idiot to choose not to believe him. If I go down this road, I won’t even have the right to be hurt later.”
