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I shake my head. “None.”
“But what if you had? What if you realized Erik was my father? Would you have pursued me anyway?”
“I don’t know how to answer that, Nikita. I don’t like hypotheticals. All I know is the moment I saw you at the Bolshoi again, I knew I couldn’t let you go.”
“Why?”
“Because I —” I cut myself off. What am I going to say?
I care for Nikita deeply. Maybe more than I ever thought possible. How do I even begin to explain she’s the first thing I think about when I wake, and the last person I think about when I go to bed? How do I explain to her that getting to see her dance fills me with a lightness I haven’t experienced in ages? How am I supposed to tell her the reason I kept my identity a secret was so that maybe, just maybe, I could have a chance to be with her for real?
I have never felt this way about anyone in my life. I want to curse my rotten luck that I'm about to lose it all anyway.
“I wanted to tell you,” I say gently. “I would have. But I was afraid ofthis. What would you have thought if I told you I’m a gangster? That I basically threaten people for a living to make sure they cough up their cash? What would you have said or done? Can you understand why I didn’t want to tell you? You wouldn’t have looked at me twice.”
“You don’t know that,” she snaps.
“Look at me, Nikita. No, you wouldn’t have.” My throat is tight. My lungs burn. “You’re too good for me, Nikita Belova. I knew that the second I saw you. I think that’s why I was so desperate to keep the truth from you. Because I knew you’d never be able to look at me the same way. You’d never give me a shot.”
Her bottom lip trembles, tears slipping down her cheeks. Her mouth opens only to close again, whatever she had to say dying on her tongue.
“I asked you once before,” I say grimly, “but I’ll ask you again. Are you scared of me, Nikita?”
“No, I…” She lets out a shaky breath. “Should I be?”
I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me. I can’t stand the cold twist in my chest threatening to shred me into ribbons. Things are different now. There’s no going back—no matter how hard I wish for it.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
Slowly, Nikita rises from her chair. “I’m going to go home now,” she says. “I am allowed to go home, right?”
The fact that she would even ask hurts more than a slap to the face. “Of course, I would never keep you against your will,” I murmur. “You know I would never hurt you, right?”
She doesn't answer. Instead, she turns and starts toward the elevator. “I need some time to think.”
I’m quick to vacate my seat, catching up to her just in time to gingerly take her hand. “Nikita, wait.”
I consider it no small miracle when Nikita doesn’t pull away. She lingers, her fingers limp in mine, and she refuses to look at me. I dare to take a step forward, placing myself in her space if only to breathe her in for a moment longer. I don’t want her to leave like this, but at this point, I don’t know what else I can say to make this right.
“Please don’t go,” I whisper. “Stay with me, Nikita.”
It takes all my willpower not to dip down and kiss her. What I wouldn’t give to press my lips to hers.
“Give me some time,” she pleads before finally slipping from my grasp. All I can do is watch her go.
I’m numb. That could have gone better, but I’m glad it wasn’t any worse. Did I expect her to come running to me, hugging and kissing me like nothing’s wrong? Of course not. I wrack my brain, struggling to figure out a way to make things right. I’m half tempted to chase after her, to try and convince her to stay. To hold her, to kiss her, to make her mine. But I understand why she would want space.
I wouldn’t want to stay in the same room as a monster, either.
Chapter 22
Nikita
When I wake up the next morning, I’m greeted with a sudden, overpowering wave of nausea. Ugh, it’s getting worse. I barely manage to scramble out of bed, my feet tangled up in my sheets, before racing to the bathroom out in the hall. I get sick in the toilet, retching so hard I see black spots blooming across my vision. I feel my own forehead, noting how my skin feels sweaty, but cold.
I can’t let the pregnancy symptoms get out of control like this. Not with opening day mere days away. But given how shitty things have been going, I wish I could say I was surprised. It was only a matter of time. Maybe some vitamins will help take some of the edge off.
“What do you mean?” my mother shrieks. “What do you mean you owe the Bratva?”
