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I hear the front door open, but I don’t get up.
I’m too busy drinking. The cognac I drank with Cora the night we met seemed like a morbidly appropriate choice. I don’t bother with a glass; I just slug it straight from the bottle.
The alcohol is still burning down my throat when my sister appears in the doorway. For the first time in a long time, there isn’t a hint of a smile on her face.
“Well, this is every bit as pathetic as I thought it would be,” she remarks. “I never thought I’d hate to be proven right.”
“Go away, Anya.”
She marches over to the sofa and holds out her hand. I know she wants the bottle of cognac, but I ignore her.
“Ivan,” she warns.
I glare up at her. “Anya.”
She drops her hand and takes a step back. For a second, I think she’s going to leave. Anya hates when I’m in a mood—a mood that alcohol inevitably makes even worse.
“Fine. Be a booze-soaked asshole. Call me when you’re sober,”she shouted at me the last time I got drunk after a brawl with our father.
But she surprises me this time. Instead of storming out, Anya kicks off her heels and curls up on the end of the sofa facing me. “I know you’re not really drunk.”
I scowl at her, refusing to say anything else.
She’s right, of course. I just sat down with this bottle five minutes ago. I’ve had the equivalent of two shots, maybe, and I’m already ready to be done. With everything going on right now, I can’t afford to get shitfaced. No matter how pleasant it would be to forget the events of tonight in a haze of liquor.
I sit up and place the bottle on the coffee table. “Why are you here, Anya?”
“Because someone has to talk some sense into you and I’m the only one qualified for the job.”
“That is too depressing to be true.”
She shrugs. “Such is your social life. Yasha lets you get away with far too much shit, so he’s out of the question. And, well, you know why Cora is no longer an option.”
My stomach twists at the sound of Cora’s name. It’s only been a few hours since Yasha drove her away, but it feels like days. Having her out of my world was supposed to help me focus on what matters.
Why, then, has walking through this house been like fumbling through a dense fog? Nothing feels familiar anymore. In a matter of days, Cora showed up and turned my life on its head.
Now, I don’t know which way is up.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I flinch and look over to see Anya is watching me with concern in her eyes. “Tell the truth.”
I pull away from her. “About what?”
“About everything.”
“You already know—”
“Not to me.” She gives me a sad smile. “Cora wants to know you, Ivan. After she was drugged, I was there when she woke up. The first thing she wanted to know is ifyouwere okay. She also wanted to know more about you. She had a lot of questions that I couldn’t answer…” Her voice trails off.
I narrow my eyes. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her my story,” she says, sitting tall. “I told her she needed to ask you about a lot of things, but I told her about myself.”
“Fuck, Anya.” I drag a hand through my hair and snap my gaze back to my sister. “You told her about Lev? You told her about the deal?”
She nods. “I told her what you did for us. For me.”
“Fuck,” I growl again.
