"But what if he does?"
Kazimir lets out a sharp, irritated breath. "Then we'll deal with it. But Svetlana, you need to understand something. Ilya is not who you thought he was. He’s not going to help you. He’s not going to want to have anything to do with you. And that part of your life is over. I'm telling you, if he wanted you back, he would have come for you himself. The fact that he didn't..." He trails off, shaking his head.
I realize with an angry shock that he thinks I’m still pining over Ilya. Hoping that once he hears of my predicament, he’ll swoop in and save me, maybe even feel so guilty over what happened that he’ll choose me over Mara. I don’t want or think any of that, but it’s clear that Kazimir thinks I’m still in love with a man who never wanted me.
"The fact that he didn't what?" I bite out, wanting to hear him finish the sentence.
"The fact that he didn't means you were never as important to him as you thought you were." Kazimir looks away, and I feel a jolt of pain in my chest despite myself.
The words are cruel, but they're also true. I've known it for a long time. Ilya didn't come for me after what happened in the warehouse. He didn't even look for me when I disappeared from his social circle entirely. He just... let me go. He was glad I was gone, probably, so he could move on with the life he actually wanted.
I turn away from him, wrapping my arms around myself. The cabin suddenly feels too small, confining. I'm trapped here with Kazimir, trapped in this situation, trapped in a future I never wanted.
"I need some air," I whisper, more to myself than anything else.
Kazimir’s gaze snaps back to me. "You can't go outside. The storm?—"
"I know,” I hiss. "I know I can't go outside. I know I'm trapped here. I know I have no choices. I know all of it, Kazimir."
He's quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry."
I don't know what to say to that. So I say nothing.
The evening wears on. We eat again—more canned food, more silence. The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife. I'm aware of every move he makes. Every glance. Every time he gets close to me, I feel it like a physical touch.
And I use it. I let my hand linger on his when he passes me food. I sit close enough that our knees touch. I let the shirt slip off my shoulder again, and this time I don't pull it back up right away.
His eyes track every movement. I can see the hunger in them, the restraint. He wants me, and he's fighting it, and watching him fight it gives me a sense of power I haven't felt in months.
But there are a few moments when I feel something, too… when our eyes meet, and I feel a spark, a stirring, like I felt in that ballroom years ago, or when my bare hand touched his getting into a car. A few moments, I know if I allowed it, I could feel the same hunger he does, despite how much I resent him. Hate him, even.
But I can't afford to feel. I can't afford to want him for real. That would make me vulnerable, and I’ve been vulnerable enough for a hundred lifetimes.
As night falls, Kazimir banks the fire and settles into his chair again. "You should sleep. We'll leave at first light if the storm clears."
"What about you?" I’m already curled into the blankets again. I try not to think about him joining me in the bed, even though I know he’d sleep in the chair before he allowed that to happen.
"I'll keep watch,” he says gruffly, checking his gun.
I huff out a breath. If I did manage to get him into the bed, I could tease him a little more. Let him feel what it’s like to have me against him, touching him, without actually letting it go any further. That would really keep him on the hook. "You can't stay awake forever."
"I'll manage."
I’m too exhausted to keep playing this game. My body is using the relative safety to try to recover, and I can feel that it’s using every ounce of my energy. I pull the blankets closer around me and snuggle down into the bed, but I don't close my eyes. Instead, I watch him in the dim light of the dying fire.
He's staring out the window, his profile carved like marble in the shadows. There's something lonely about him, sitting there in the dark.
I wonder what he's thinking. If he's regretting saving me. If he's wishing he'd left me in that cell.
If he's thinking about what it would be like to touch me.
The thought sends a flutter through my stomach, and I push it away. I can't think like that. I can't want him.
But as I lie there in the dark, listening to the wind howl and watching Kazimir keep his lonely vigil, I can't help but wonder what would happen if I stopped playing games. If I let myself want him back.
But that's a thought for another day. Another life.
For now, I close my eyes and try to sleep, and I dream of nothing at all.
