I need to see her, to make her understand what this is, what we are, what we're going to be.
Tomorrow. I toss back the vodka. Tomorrow night I’ll go to her and reveal myself, and I’ll make her understand that thiswas inevitable. We were always going to end up here, from the moment our eyes met in Boston.
Either she'll accept it, or I'll have to make her accept it.
The thought troubles me, my jaw clenching as I think over my options. "Make her accept it" could mean a lot of things, most of them dark. Taking her somewhere she can't run. Keeping her until she understands. Using fear or leverage or whatever tools I have to bind her to me. Is that what I really want? Do I want her to come to me out of fear rather than desire?
No.I want her to wantme. I want her to choose me, even knowing what I am. I want her to look at me with that same intensity she had in Boston, but with full knowledge of the monster underneath.
I want her willing. I want her eager. I want her to be mine because she can't imagine being anyone else's.
But if I can't have that right now, I'll start with whatever I can get.
I’ll watch her tomorrow. I’ll choose the right time. And after tonight, no other man will ever get close enough to touch what’s mine ever again.
The apprehension, mingled with a slow relief at the idea of finally revealing myself to her, makes me consider pouring another drink. Before I can decide, my phone rings, and I reach for it, wondering if it’s Kazimir.
My jaw clenches, my teeth grinding, when I see Svetlana’s name on the screen.
I could ignore her, but I know it’ll only lead to more problems later on. Instead, I answer, my voice cold.
"Svetlana."
"Ilya." Her voice is cool as well. "You've been avoiding my calls."
"I've been busy."
She sighs on the other end. “I understand you’re always busy, Ilya. But my father is a busy man, too.Iam a busy woman. And the matters between us can’t keep being pushed down the line. It’s insulting to our family and to me…”
“I told you, we’ll discuss it when I’m back in Boston.” My gut clenches. The last thing I want to think about right now is the wedding that’s never going to happen. I could tell her now that I’m ending things, that we’re never really going to get married, but that will be an explosion I’m not prepared to deal with at the moment. Not when all of my focus needs to be on ensuring that meeting Mara tomorrow goes as well as it possibly can.
“My father doesn’t like that answer. Neither do I. You can’t keep?—”
"I can do whatever I want." My voice is harsh, my patience thin and quickly vanishing.
There’s a pause. When she speaks again, her voice is harder. "There's someone else."
It's not a question. Svetlana is many things, but she's not stupid. She's been watching me pull away for weeks now, making excuses, avoiding her before I left, now spending all my time in New York.
My jaw clenches. "That's none of your concern."
"It is if it affects our arrangement. Who is she?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." Her voice drops, becomes almost dangerous. "You're making a mistake, Ilya. You need this. You know you do. What my father is offering you… you understand what you’d be giving up if you embarrass me? If this wedding doesn’t happen?”
There’s a thread of something in her voice, I think… genuine hurt, it sounds like. I’ve long been aware that for Svetlana, this hasn’t been entirely only an arrangement. She genuinely wantsthis marriage—or at least, she did. I have no idea if that has changed, given what has happened between us recently.
"I understand perfectly."
Svetlana laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You're insane. You're throwing away everything, and for what? Some new woman you're obsessed with?"
Anger curdles in my stomach. "I'm not discussing this with you."
"You don't have to discuss it. I can see it clearly enough." She pauses, and I can hear her thinking. "Does she even know what you are? Or are you playing at being normal for her?"
"Goodbye, Svetlana."
