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“What if I’m already there?”
“Doubtful,” Mila scoffs. “You’re a tough cookie. It’s gonna take more than that to break you.”
Her certainty startles me, mostly because I feel none of it. “How do you know that when I don’t even know it?”
“Intuition. It’s never let me down.” She smiles as her eyes dance over to the food tray on my nightstand. A transparent cloche hovers over the still-uneaten sandwich on the plate beneath. “You need to eat, Taylor.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not concerned aboutyou,” she says fiercely. “I’m concerned about the baby in your belly.” I flinch as though she’s used a dirty word. Those eagle eyes of hers miss nothing. “Forgot that you were pregnant, hm?”
I shoot her a glare. “Of course not. I just…I don’t like being reminded.”
“I got news for you: seeing your belly grow is going to be reminder enough.”
I inch away from Mila, desperate for some space. Sometimes, I feel like she’s stealing away my oxygen just to hoard it all for herself. I feel that way about her brother, too.
“Have you checked on Celine?” I ask. “Are there any updates from Dr. Baranov?”
“Not since you last checked in yourself,” she says. “Celine’s still being fed through a drip. She’s still getting oxygen from machines. And yet she’s still alive.”
I close my eyes. “It feels like déjà vu. First, Mom; now, Cee.”
“Enough doom and gloom. You’re neither a doctor nor a fortune teller. Now, eat the sandwich.” I shake my head and she sighs. “Don’t be stubborn, Taylor.”
“I don’t deserve to eat.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when Dr. Baranov told me that Celine might never wake up…” I choke on a sob, and I have to wait until it passes to continue speaking. “I…I had this thought, this horrible little thought, that Celine not waking up meant I would never have to tell her that I’m pregnant with her fiancé’s baby.”
Mila just looks at me, her expression devoid of judgment. “It’s an understandable thought to have.”
“No, it’s not,” I snap. “It’s inexcusable. It’s…it’s despicable. I accused Ilarion of wanting the wrong thing for selfish reasons, and here I am, guilty of the exact same sin.”
“A stray thought does not define you, Taylor. We all have instincts. Some of them are bad. That doesn’t makeyoubad.”
I lift my gaze to hers. She really is trying to comfort me now, and that’s a far cry from where we started. “You’re being kind.”
“Trust me—no one has ever accused me of that.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“I’d call it being strong,” she says simply. “You go through enough shit and you learn not to blink too much, if you get what I’m saying. You just keep on going.”
“If that’s the only way to do it, I’d rather not.”
“You say that, but you’re already stronger than you realize. A coward would never have hijacked the rescue mission and invited herself along for the ride. I mean, goddamn—you shottheBenedict Bellasio. Not many seasonedvorscan claim that.”
“I got lucky. I was just running on adrenaline and fear.”
“Well, what the hell do you think the rest of us run on?” She snorts. “Superhuman strength and heroic conviction?”
She’s chuckling, but my face feels weighted down, like I’ll never laugh or smile again. “I’m not really strong or brave, Mila. I’m just pretending to be.”
She scoots closer and palms my hand. “My point is, what’s the difference?” she asks. “The strongest of us have the deepest scars. I was twelve years old when I was first raped by a man three times my age and size. I thought it would break me; it almost did. But I survived it. And here I am, ready to fight another day. Sometimes, life kicks you between the legs, Taylor. You just gotta get back up and keep going.”
I blink stupidly for way too long. All I can conjure up is a weak, pathetic, “I’m sorry.”
