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She smirks and pointedly ignores my impliedget-the-fuck-outas she pours two glasses of scotch. She hands one to me and gestures to the armchair opposite the sofa. “You gonna sit down?”
“Are you gonna leave soon?”
“Nope,” she says, giving me a grin that says I’m fucking trapped.
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath. I throw in the towel and sit down. The scotch does help. One sip in and the edge of the pain softens. “I thought you’d be in the garden with Adam.”
“I was. But then Taylor left with Celine and I wasn’t interested in making small talk with the ol’ traitor.”
“Mila…”
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m not about to pretend like he didn’t stick a knife in all our backs.”
“He’s off-limits.”
She scowls. “Don’t condescend to me, Ilarion. I can listen to an order when it’s handed down, whether I like it or not.” She takes a sip of her scotch and smacks her lips like our father used to. I make a mental note to never, ever tell her that. “Just curious: why did you spare the kid?”
“Because Dima asked me to. And because it didn’t seem fair to kill him for being a stupid teenager.”
“That, or you’re just getting soft in your old age.”
I give her the middle finger and take another sip.
“No?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “Well then, here’s my other theory.”
“Don’t—”
“Seeing Taylor again has made you more sentimental.”
“Stay in your lane,” I snarl at her. “This is above your paygrade.” Sighing, I slump back in my seat and run a finger around the rim of my glass. “Have you ever thought that maybe you spend a little too much time analyzing my life only because you have none of your own?”
The words whip through the air, harsher than I intended, but I refuse to take them back. Even after her mouth curves downward.
“I have a life,” she says quietly.
“Other than following my orders and following Dima around? Where is it?” She says nothing in return, although a ripple of unease passes over her face. I lean forward. “It’s about time you bite the bullet and tell him how you feel.”
Her jaw tightens instantly. “Sure, I’ll tell him—just as soon as you tell Celine that you’re in love with her sister.”
Here we go. It was only a matter of time.
“Celine knows where I stand.”
“Sure, but she doesn’t know who you’re standing with. Should I just rip the Band-Aid for you?”
“Do that and you’ll have hell to pay.” I manage a smirk, though the thought alone makes me nauseous. “And not just from me.”
She shrugs. “That doesn’t really scare me anymore. I’ve lived through hell. Everything else after that is cake.”
“Except when it comes to actually confronting your demons and being honest with yourself.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk!” She turns her dark gaze on me. “Let’s face it: every single person under this roof right now is lying to themselves. Celine. Taylor. Archie. You. Me. It’s fucking chaos in this godforsaken house.”
“Honesty set you free,” I remind her, wondering if she’ll shy away from this topic like she has every other time I’ve brought it up.
She shifts in her seat. “It did. But at a cost.” She swallows and drops her head back against the sofa. “You had a hard time looking at me for a long time after that, Ilarion.”
I don’t bother denying it. It was difficult for me, coming to terms with the truth that I’d refused to see all those years. But it had nothing to do with her.
