“He’s hurting you,” he growls. “Again.”
I rip my arm free of his grasp, ignoring the pain that blooms with the motion. “It’s none of your concern.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“You did this, Yulian. What exactly did you expect? Roses and chocolates?”
His face turns dark at my words. Hurt appears there, too, like he wasn’t expecting to be called out on it. “I came for you, that night. To get you back.”
“And it was too damn late.”
“From what you told me, it was already too late.”
Right. My lie.It’s becoming such a mess—keeping track of who said what, what’s true and what isn’t.
But I can’t back down now. If I do, Yulian will never let this go. And he has to let this go.
“Let me through,” I whisper.
Yulian’s face is a mask of barely-concealed fury. His fists are balled up at his sides, white-knuckled, like he could go off at any moment.
Somehow, I’m still not scared of him.
I don’t know why that is. By all rights, I should be. But there’s something about the time we spent together—something that I can’t bring myself to call a lie. Something that still lingers between us.
It boils down to this: He’d never hurt me. Not in the way Brad hurts me.
But what he did might just be worse.
“Why are you still with him?” he demands, like it’s his God-given right to know. “Why won’t you just leave him?”
Because, if I did, he’d kill my son.
Once, I would have trusted Yulian with that truth.
Once, I would have asked him for help.
But that was another lifetime.
And in this world, there’s no such thing as turning back.
“Is it because of the baby?” he insists. “Because I don’t give a shit it’s his. You’re trapped in this, Mia, whether you realize it or not. Fuck, he’s?—”
“Family.” I spit the word, no matter how much it hurts me to do so. “He’s family. That’s why I’m staying. Not that you’d know whatthatmeans.”
That finally does it. Yulian’s fists go slack. His face falls. His jaw, which was working furiously moments before, stills.
“No,” he says. For once, he sounds more disappointed than angry. “Guess I never did.”
Then he’s striding out of the ladies’ room.
I let myself fall back against the sink. Try to catch my breath, or whatever’s left of it.
He left. He actually left.
I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I was horrible to him. I hit him exactly where I knew it’d hurt the most, stabbed that knife in the only chink of his perfect armor. I watched it draw blood.
So why am I so fucking disappointed?
