“What about you, hon?” Mom asks, and her voice is gentle but persistent. “Are you going to start dating anyone soon? You and Viktor broke up a while ago, right?”
For one awful second, I feel his fingers on my arm. Hear his voice in my ear.You think you can just walk away from me?
I rip a weed out of the ground harder than necessary. “About a month ago. It hasn’t been that long.”
“That seems like long enough to me.” She pauses, and I can feel her watching me. “I never cared for that man. I’m glad you ended things.”
She doesn’t know the half of it. My parents didn’t know he was Bratva. All they saw was a “supply chain manager” who wanted to use Dad’s company for something shady, and that was enough.
But they don’t know what came after. They don’t how ugly he got.They don’t know he’s still coming around, still watching, still waiting. They don't know why I'm wearing long sleeves today while sweat drips down my back.
And I’m not going to tell them.
Dad’s blood pressure is already a problem. Mom would worry herself sick. My brothers would do something stupid and heroic and probably get themselves killed.
Better to keep it buried. Better to smile and pretend.
Mom sighs, brushing dirt from her gloves. “I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. Settled.” She glances toward the house, where we can hear Dad puttering around inside. “Julian knew what he wanted from the time he was sixteen. And Greg found Sarah and never looked back.” Her eyes find mine, soft with love but edged with concern. “I worry that you’re still... searching.”
She means well. I know she means well.
But all I hear is:Your brothers have it figured out. Why don’t you?
“I’m not searching, Mom.” Frustration makes the lie slip out, “Actually, I’ve been seeing someone.”
Her whole face transforms. “Really? That’s wonderful! What’s his name?”
“Matteo.”
His name feels strange on my tongue, but not wrong. Not entirely.
Also: what the hell did I just do?
Yesterday, this man suggested we get married to piss off my psycho ex. I said I’d think about it. And apparently my brain decided that “thinking about it” meant telling my mother we’re in a relationship.
Cool. Very normal. No notes.
“Tell me about him. Is he good to you?”
The genuine joy in her voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. “He’s... protective. Takes care of people.”
It’s not entirely a lie. He did walk me home. Did give me his number for emergencies.
The front door opens before I can dig myself deeper into this hole. Dad emerges, tall and pale with his easy smile—the one that doesn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.
“How’re my girls doing?”
“Good.” I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. “Garden looks great.”
His gaze sweeps over my face, and I watch his expression change. The smile fades. His brow furrows.
“Are you getting enough sleep, Si? You look tired.”
Shit.
I should have spent more time on concealer this morning. Should have known he’d notice the dark circles.
“I’m good, Dad. Just worked late.”
