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“I don’t forget, Taylor. Even when I try, I don’t forget.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll admit that Celine was just a piece in my chess game. Bratva business, and all that. But that was a long time ago. She’s no longer a pawn. She matters.”
I see something then: the little whirlwind of insecurity that spins through Taylor’s eyes. Whatever doubt I have about her feelings for me dissipates in the face of it.
She can talk a big talk. She can make demands and remind me of old promises. She can run as far as her legs will take her.
But she hasn’t been able to outrun her feelings for me.
Join the fucking club.
“It seems that way,” Taylor softly agrees.
I cock my head to the side. “Does it?”
She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. The uniform she’s wearing is a sad blue with a deep-v neckline that I’m sure has been responsible for bringing in a generous customer or two. But as good as she looks in it, she doesn’t look comfortable.
“I…sometimes see Celine in the news bulletins online,” she admits. “Some days, I barely recognize her.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about. TheDaily Starran a picture of us front and center, standing outside the arched doorway of Titan’s Ballroom where Celine had hosted her annual charity gala to raise funds for Syrian refugees resettling in Chicago. I remember that photograph showing up in my daily briefing from Mila.
I remember imagining, just for a moment, that it was Taylor on my arm instead.
“Why? Because she looks happy?”
She hesitates before answering. “I can never really tell,” she confesses. “The pictures are always beautiful. But they don’t capture everything.”
“It’s hard to recognize happiness, isn’t it?” I ask. “Hard to catch and even harder to pin down. The irony is, misery loves being caught.”
It’s a barb at her. Not a particularly subtle one, either.
Her lashes flutter against the wind. She looks uneasy.
I wonder how often she’s allowed herself to be honest these last few years. I wonder if there’s anyone she trusts enough to let them see her deepest, darkest thoughts. The places where she hides her feelings for me.
“I have Adam,” she says, at last. “He’s the light in my life.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a child,” I remark. “You love him; of course you do. But he can’t be your only source of light, Taylor. Because when he leaves—and if you do your job right, hewillleave—he’ll take that light with him.”
Her skin pales. “What are you suggesting, Ilarion? You can’t possibly be saying what I think you’re saying.”
“Maybe that’s part of your problem, Taylor,” I snap. “You think entirely too much.”
“And you don’t think enough,” she hisses, stepping in front of me.
I hesitate. There’s so much I want to tell her. So much I want to clarify.
But my pride won’t let me breathe a word of it.
“Oh trust me,tigrionok—I’ve had five long years to think. In fact, that’s all I did. That’s why I’m here now.”
“To remind me of shit that would be better off left in the past?” she asks angrily.
“No. To prove what I already knew: that your sacrifice was meaningless. You deprived yourself of future and freedom, you deprived me of my son, you deprived Adam of his father…and all for what?”
Her eyes are glistening bright with unshed tears. “I had to make sure she would be happy.”
“Her happiness was never yours to determine,” I growl. “It was not yours to make.”
“No, it wasyoursto make.”
