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But I don’t feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
Numbness has been seeping into me bit by bit, piece by piece, for days. Every second Cora is away from me, it spreads further.
Is this what I felt like before I met her?
Now, I’m back here—back with Francia—and I can’t even bring myself to care that she and Anya are yelling at each other in the other room. I don’t care that she thinks she lives in my house. She can have the house. I’ll give it all to her.
I just need Cora.
I had her in my arms only a few hours ago. I held her and tasted her. Now, it’s hard to convince myself any of it was real. It’s hard to convince myself that I’ll ever get her back.
I close my eyes and blow out a long, deep breath.
Fuck that.
I stare out at the lawn until the tightness in my chest eases. I don’t know how long it takes, but by the time I’m done, the shouting inside has stopped. Either Francia and Anya have solved all of their problems or one of them is dead. I should probably go see which it is.
I head back into the dining room, expecting there to be bloodshed. Instead, Francia and Anya are sitting perfectly politely at the table. It takes me a second to see why.
My father is standing in the doorway.
“This is becoming a real family affair,” I say with a grimace. “Will you be joining us for lunch, too? Or do you—”
He cuts me off. “I should have figured. You’ve turned us into a laughingstock, but you’re having brunch. Typical.” He throws a crumpled-up piece of parchment at me. “Konstantin Sokolov just sent me his son’s engagement announcement.”
I knew it would be coming out sooner or later. After our almost-run-in this afternoon, I’m not surprised. Mikhail was shaken and wants to stake his claim.
If he’d seen what Cora and I got up to in the bathroom, he wouldn’t have bothered.
She’s mine.
Otets turns back to me. “You put that little bitch on my payroll. You tied her to our family name. And then you let her go? You fucking let her humiliate us. You let her make an embarrassment of you.”
Francia stands up. “Hello, Mr. Pushkin. My name is Francia. I’m Ivan’s fiancée.”
Any sane person would see the vein throbbing in my father’s forehead and stand down. But it’s already well-documented that Francia is not a sane person.
My father looks her up and down. His lip twists into a sneer. “Anotherone?”
Francia frowns. “I’m sorry. Another what?”
He ignores her. “Ivan, are you fucking kidding me? This isn’t a brothel. You don’t get a harem. Pick one woman and be done with it.”
He wants to get a rise out of me, but he has no clue the favor he is doing me. I’d love nothing more than for Francia to be kicked down a peg. He’s saving me the effort of doing it myself.
“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet yet,” Francia continues obliviously, “but I’m excited to join your family. I hope that we can get to know each other and you’ll see—”
“Don’t tell me what I’ll see,” he barks. “I know what I see. Another useless leech.”
“My parents are lawyers.” Francia’s voice is shaking, making her argument sound even weaker. “I’m not—I can bring value to—”
“If you want to bring something, bring me a drink,” he barks. “The men are talking.”
Anya is trying so hard not to laugh I’m worried she might give herself a hernia. I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve ever been glad to have my dad turn up unexpectedly.
Francia looks distinctly less happy about it.
