For the rest of the afternoon, I read. Try to, anyway. The words keep blurring together after a while. No matter what book I pick up, I can’t focus.
I get up and stretch. I never thought I’d say this, but I finally understand what it meant when Jane Austen said her characters were “taking a turn around the room.” Being a woman back thenmust not have been so different from being a woman in this house.
But eventually, my ankles grow sore. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t get the chance to stretch your legs in days: You lose muscle mass.
I wonder if they’ll bind my feet next. That’d make my chances of running close to zero.
I ignore the TV more out of spite than anything, leaving the remote in its sealed plastic case so that it’ll be clear as day that I haven’t touched it. Maybe I’m being petty, but since maturity hasn’t worked, they don’t get to demand it of me now.
At one point, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster just to keep my mind from spinning out of control. Anything to keep the hours moving until the next knock on the door.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to my baby. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mom. That I couldn’t run fast enough to save you.”
When dinner finally rolls around, it’s not Anya who brings it. Oddly, it’s not even Luka.
It’s Kira.
She enters with a sway of her hips. Her chin is held high, as if she’s barely acknowledging my presence in the room. Which is weird, considering this ismyroom.
But maybe it’s not weirdness at all. Just run-of-the-mill contempt. Like anybody else in this house, she has no reason to like me, but she was at least honest enough to admit itbeforeI was outed as a Danilo.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was dragged back. Why now? What does she want with me? We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, so really, I could have done without the social visit. Her bringing me dinner certainly wasn’t on my bingo card.
Is she here to taunt me? It would be in character for her. Point at me, laugh, maybe hurl a couple of Russian insults at me now that she knows I’m fully fluent and that her insults won’t fall on deaf ears. Anya sure seemed to like that idea.
Thinking of Anya suddenly puts me on my guard again. I don’t know what Kira wants with me, but I do know one thing:I don’t fucking trust her.
If Anya wants to use me as fertilizer for her rose bushes, God knows what Kira has in store for me.
She sets the tray down carefully on the desk. Then, after what feels like ages of being ignored, she finally deigns to look at me.
I’m expecting some sort of sneering, acidic greeting, but that’s not what she gives me. Instead, she crosses her arms and asks, “How could you treat Petyr the way you did?”
I blink, caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she hisses. “You ran. You left him when he needed you. Do you have any idea what that did to him? What it could have done to his standing aspakhan?”
“So this is about me hurting hiscareer?” My eyes go wide with disbelief. “Seriously, Kira? So much for sisterhood.”
“You’re not my sister.” Her glare is pure venom. “You’re a whore. An overpaid, underperforming womb who thought it could grow legs and skip around wherever it pleased.”
Ouch.The dehumanization hits hard. First Anya, now her. Everyone here seems to be determined to reduce me to a human incubator for Petyr’s future heirs.
And I’ve just about fucking had it.
“Maybe I just took a page out of your book,” I snap. “‘Underperforming’ sounds about right, doesn’t it, Kira? Or are you hiding a million frozen heirs in your purse?”
It’s a low blow. I regret the words the second they’re out of my mouth, but I don’t take them back.
“Mybook?” Kira’s face goes tight. “Then you should study harder. Because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s selfish, and that seems to be you all over.”
I want to laugh in her face, but I’ve lost all humor. After I’ve sacrificed everything for Petyr, she has the guts to say that to me?
But then, I guess she has no idea what I’ve sacrificed. I doubt Petyr went around advertising his role in our separation. His household certainly doesn’t seem to have a clue.
“You have no idea what happened.” I try to force myself to be calm. “You don’t know the full story.”
“I don’t need to,” Kira declares. “Nor do I want to. I saw how broken Petyr was when you left with my own two eyes. That’s all that matters to me.”
