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“You gave her a list of rules and expected her to follow them,” she interrupts. “But the heart doesn’t play by the rules, Misha.”
“If she has an issue with anything, she can talk to me.”
“Oh, because you’re so damn easy to talk to,” she scoffs sarcastically. “Your brother was by no means a perfect man, but he had his priorities. He never put anything or anyone above the family.”
“Yeah, well, as much as everyone might wish it, I’m not Maksim,” I snap. “The whole fucking family expected me to step seamlessly into his shoes. But Maksim is dead, and I’m just Misha. I’m not your stand-in husband. I’m not Ilya’s substitute father. That’s not what I signed up for.”
She doesn’t react, but hurt flits across her eyes. “I wasn’t looking for you to be him.”
“No?” I challenge. “Because you looked at me like you expected me to fill some void that Maksim left behind. You looked at me like I had the power to save you and Ilya. How the fuck was I supposed to save the two of you when I was drowning myself?”
She gapes at me, her expression turning soft and sympathetic. “Misha, I’m sorry…”
I drag a hand down my face. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to understand why I have to go after Ivanov. Why I can’t be there for you like Maksim was. I can’t replace him, Cyrille. That won’t happen no matter how hard I try.”
“That’s where you’ve got it wrong, Misha,” she says. “No one is expecting you to be him. We just want you. We want to see you. Talk to you. Be with you.”
“So we can all cry together about how nothing is the same anymore?” I spit derisively.
She considers that for a bit, still standing bravely in the face of my lashing-out. “We could have mourned him together. We could have moved on together.”
“There is no moving on for me. Not while Petyr Ivanov is still breathing.”
She nods with resignation. “And after that? After Petyr Ivanov is no longer breathing?” she asks. “What then?”
“Then… I will still be don. I’ll still have a Bratva to run. Things will continue as they are.”
“What about your family? You haven’t mentioned anything about your wife. Or your child.”
“Paige will be a good mother.”
“I have no doubt,” Cyrille says with certainty. “She’s kind and caring. She’s generous with that big heart of hers. Ilya already loves her. So do I.”
“Is this the part where you curse me out for canceling the dinner plans we had tonight?” I ask, trying to sound detached from it all. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”
“It may have started out as a marriage of convenience, Misha. But it could become something more—if you just give it a chance.”
“Our arrangement works perfectly as it is.”
She grits her teeth and shakes her head. “When did you become such an idiot? For some insane reason, Paige has feelings for you. And call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure you have feelings for her, too.”
“You know, I’m getting really sick of people telling me how I feel.”
“I’m notpeople,” she lashes out. “I’m family. I have a right to advise you when you’re being a stubborn, stupid ass!”
“Maybe that’s why I’ve kept my distance the last few months. I’m not interested in being judged or advised.”
“Okay. Fine. Suit yourself.” She backs away, her expression closed off and steely. She walks down the stairs while I stew in my guilt.
Just before she gets into the waiting car, she looks back over her shoulder. “Just know that your place will always be set at family dinners. In case you ever change your mind.”
75
PAIGE
I wake up thinking about my mother and father.
For the first time in years, I don’t shove the thought of them away. I let it linger. I let myself wonder.
