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He backs off reluctantly and I sit there and chug my way through another tray of drinks before I finally start to hit my limit.
And by “limit,” I mean I’ve drank so much that I’ve crossed the line from blissfully numb to painfully aware of things that aren’t even here in the room with me. Questions demanding answers.
Is anything real?
Can you ever really know a person?
And if you can’t, then how can you trust them?
* * *
I don’t really remember getting back to the estate. One moment, I’m in the club; the next, I’m surrounded by familiarity. Paintings I picked out. Carpets I had flown in.
And Emma’s face, staring up at me, looking slightly bewildered, definitely worried.
“Ruslan?”
“He’s drunk, Em.” Kirill’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance. Is he far behind me? Or is he just talking softly? My head is throbbing so hard that I don’t bother finding out.
“Let’s just get him to bed. He’ll explain later.”
Those beautiful blue eyes connect with mine. Everything gets a little clearer, a little brighter. I feel her warmth wrap around me as she gives me her shoulder to lean on and twists me towards our bedroom.
“Are you okay?”
No.
“I don’t wanna talk.”
She flinches beneath me. “Ruslan, I’m worried—”
I tear away from her and put some distance between us. She’s worried aboutme? Fuck that. I’m not a damn charity case. I’m Ruslan fucking Oryolov and no one has ever needed to worry about me.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I growl derisively. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
Something flashes across her eyes. Something that looks a lot like anger. “Really? Because Kirill practically carried you into the house. The sun’s about to rise, Ruslan. Were you out all night drinking?”
I scowl at her. “I’m a grown man. I’ll stay out all night doing whatever the fuck I want.”
I’m aware that my voice is getting louder, but somehow, I can’t seem to control it. Emma’s eyes are wide. She’s looking at me as though she can barely recognize me.
That look really gets under my fucking skin.
You don’t deserve her.
You don’t fucking deserve any of this.
“No,” she says softly. “No, you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want anymore, Ruslan. You have responsibilities now. You have to think of more than just yourself.”
“You realize that, in order to be a nagging wife, I have to ask you to marry me first, right?”
I hear her shocked gasp and that’s when I silently repeat the words I’ve just thrown at her.Blyat’. Did I just say that? I feel like a puppet. Like someone else is using my voice without my consent.
I close my eyes. Open them again. She’s still there, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I didn’t mean… Listen, my head is throbbing. I need to… lie down…”
She speaks so softly that I almost don’t hear her over the sound of my migraine. “I don’t like this version of you.”
Yeah? That makes two of us.
