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Demyen practically shoots out of his chair. “Fifteen?!”
I hold a hand up before he storms off to find a gun and personally shoot Martin in the head—because that’s exactly what it looks like he wants to do right now. “Nothing happened. Not right away.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Define ‘right away.’”
My heart squeezes. Something inside me knows that Demyen would absolutely destroy any man who dares to touch Willow before she’s grown. “He barely acknowledged my existence otherthan when he came over for dinner. At least until I was sixteen. Then he started taking me out to dinner, to the movies?—”
“The fuck?”
“Nothing happened.” I sigh and close my eyes, pretending it’s to enjoy the last warm rays of the sunset and not at all to hide from Demyen’s infuriated face. I know he’s not mad at me; I just feel increasingly mad at myself. For not having seen what he so clearly picks up as I tell my story. “I mean, nothing like full-blown sex happened. He copped a feel once, at the movies, but I told my father and he had a talk with Martin to cool his jets.”
“Did no one ever point out he was way too old for you?”
“My mom did say something once, to my dad. She wasn’t comfortable with a guy in his mid-twenties spending so much time with me since I was still underage. But Dad told her it was better for me to spend time with a cop under his supervision than some random boy at school who might get me pregnant.”
Demyen leans back in his lounger. “Fuckingmudak.”
“Yeah, well, I was a loner who loved the attention. After…” I glance over at him to see if he has any reaction to me bringing up Tolya’s trial. “After everything that happened when I was a kid, my reputation kinda tanked. No one wanted to hang out with me. So when I started getting picked up at school by a hot guy with a badge and gun who brought flowers, it felt nice. People started noticing me, and they were… well, they became afraid of me. It definitely stopped the bullying.”
He screws up his face in disgust. “Then what happened?”
I shrug. “Nothing else outright. After the one incident, he kept his hands to himself. But as I got older, he’d start makingcomments on my appearance and treat me like I belonged to him. Like, if I wore a skirt he thought was too short, he’d make me change out of it. He wanted me to be this perfect, proper lady for him. I couldn’t chew too loud or he’d call me a cow and ask me if I wanted more cud. In a restaurant, and loudly.”
I hear Demyen mutter something under his breath. I think it’s in Russian and I’m pretty sure it’s a swear word. “Ignore that,” he says after a moment and a swipe of his hand over his face. “Please, continue.”
“On my eighteenth birthday, Martin insisted on taking me out for a special dinner. Mom didn’t want him to. She begged Dad to tell him we had other plans; he can wait until the next day. But Dad said I was a grown woman now and Martin had the right as my man to take me wherever he wanted.”
“What didyouwant?”
I swallow back the sudden lump in my throat. The truth hurts too much. The memories hurt even worse. I’ve never told this to anyone before; I’ve never spoken the honest truth out loud before.
“I didn’t want to see Martin at all. At least, not that night. I just wanted to stay home with my mom and eat the cake she baked for me.”
The cake she spent all day making for me. That she tried to hide in the fridge as a surprise. The cake I didn’t get to eat, or even blow the candles out on, because Martin practically dragged me to the door for our date. All while Dad stood there and told us to “have a great time.”
I gulp. “We went to a fancy restaurant and he let me order whatever I wanted. Got me a big, fancy dessert, too. I just…”
I don’t know if I can tell him the rest. I’ve barely been able to cope with it myself. At the time, things were different. My perspective was different. I didn’t know then what I know now.
Demyen sits up, then reaches for my hand and tugs it. At first, I don’t know what he wants, but then he tugs again and I realize he wants me to go over to him. So I do—and the second I’m close enough, he pulls me onto his lap and then lies back down on the lounger, holding me to him.
“You don’t have to keep talking if you don’t want to.” He strokes my hair back behind my ear. “But I’m here, if you want. I’m listening.”
Tears sting my eyes. I don’t want him to see me cry, so I blink them back and clear my throat to make my voice sound as normal as possible.
“I didn’t know the restaurant was connected to a hotel. Or that he got a room for us.”
Demyen’s hand stills in my hair. “Did he?—”
“Yes.”
“Did you want to?”
I swallow back that annoying lump again. “No.”
“That fucking?—”
“I didn’t stop him, either.” I can hear my regret choking my voice, so I know he can, too. “I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to insult him or make him feel bad. He spent so much money on dinner, and I thought… I thought it would be rude to turn him down.”
