“Mm-hmm.” Justice agreed under her breath. She took my hand and squeezed. “Listen, honey. I used to be a bartender. Heard every heartbreak in the book. Willow here,”—she lifted her drink to her other sister-in-law across the table—“was our unofficial therapist, too, until Baby Jake started psychology.”
“Thought I was the therapist,” Chevelle cut in, approaching the table with a chilled bottle of wine. She slid into the other side, next to Jordyn and Willow.
“Oh, honey. No,” Justice said, but instead of a rift, the MacKenzie women laughed.
Simona lifted a brow, her voice steady. “Let it out, Natasha.”
I blinked.You first.
With Borya watching from a table across from us—which was not empty when we came—I told the girls why I broke up with Lachlan.
While the story sank in, I rubbed my palms over the front of my jeans. “Dumb, huh?”
“Girl?” Jordyn blinked. “You told a man half the female population lusts over that you wanna see other people?”
“Testing the water, JorJor?” Willow asked, “So, she’s supposed to go skinny-dipping into drama? Cut it out! Besides, that’s not what she said. Those pictures looked bad, sure. Trust me, I’ve been there. I left Camdyn—while pregnant and all I had was a high school diploma to my name—to reclaim my peace of mind. But Cam was a horror movie in human form.Hello, he had a knife tattoo on his neck in high school! Lach’s an angel by comparison. Forgive him before I snatch your phone and text him for you.”
I blinked, wondering when my life turned into a group project.
Chevelle and Justice exchanged a glance, as if their collective wisdom came from loving the two eldest MacKenzie brothers for decades. “You got this, Justice?” Chevelle asked, passing the wine bottle like a baton.
“Oh, yes, honey.” Justice grinned and poured each of us a drink with the poise of a practiced wine stewardess. When she reached me, the deep red wine streamed into the glass, coating the inside like velvet.
Because of Momma, I knew good wine. And Chevelle brought excellence.
Justice handed me the glass and held my gaze. “Sistah, listen. Let me tell you something. I’ve seen love come in hot and burn out faster. You didn’t break up with Lachlan because he hurt you. You did it because you care so much. It terrifies you.”
The air in my throat ran dry. This woman had the audacity to tap into my thoughts and speak to me with the love of a blood sistah.
“You thought if you ended it first, you could control the pain. That man didn’t walk away. You pushed him out. Out of fear. Out of survival.”
Tears formed in my eyes, and her pretty, round face blurred.
“I get it, Natasha. But love’s not something you win by protecting yourself. It’s something you fight for when it matters.”
Justice tilted her glass toward mine and asked a question that followed me everywhere I went for the rest of the night.
26
VASSILI
April
Victory Day in Red Square, Moscow
Earlier,tanks had thundered by. A reminder to the world who always held a spine of steel. The spires of Saint Basil’s burned in the sun like a blessing and a warning as pride swelled a fire in my chest. My world had flanked me: Zariah to my right. Natasha to my left. Vassilievich, beside her, was silent for once.
Now, we’d returned to the estate in Rublyovka. Our home away from home—no, our fortress—stood tall behind us, windows glowing in the night.
Fireworks cracked above the lake, bright enough to reflect the dark water and Zariah’s glossy, straight hair as she lay curled in my arms, half asleep.
I started to carry her inside when Natasha settled closer to the lake. My little girl—my firebrand—tucked her legs beneath her on the wicker sofa. Her Shadow sat too close. Her head rested on his shoulder.
Nyet. I didn’t pay him for that.
With a sigh, I set Zariah onto the cushions and tucked the throw blanket to her chin. She didn’t stir. I grabbed the vodka and two shot glasses, then made my way across the lawn.
“Borya, why is the baseball season so long?” Her voice floated toward me, soft and curious. On her phone, highlights from the Dodgers’ earlier game flashed across her tan face.
