My boyfriend—mydeadboyfriend—had been sunshine and laughter. Golden-blond hair that fell boyishly over his forehead and bright blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled, which wasoften. He was beautiful in an almost delicate way, with fine features and an easy charm that made everyone around him relax.
Dimitri is his opposite in every way. Hard where Alexei was soft. Dark where Alexei was light. His face could have been carved from granite with harsh lines, sharp angles, and a square jaw that looks like it’s never known how to smile. High, sharp cheekbones. A straight nose that’s been broken at least once but healed well, judging by the slight crook. Full lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
And his eyes.
Even from fifty yards away, I can see them.
Cold gray eyes that sweep over the gathered crowd like a predator assessing prey.
When I read in one of my father’s files that they were described as ‘chips of ice’, I thought it was dramatic. Now I understand. Those eyes aren’t just gray—they’re the color of storm clouds, of gunmetal, of something frozen and sharp that could cut right through you.
He scans the mourners slowly, and I hold my breath. Surely, he can’t see me back here. The veil is enough, right?
But when those gray eyes sweep across my section of the crowd, I shiver despite the oppressive heat. It’s like standing in the shadow of something vast and lethal, something that could destroy you without even trying.
My father was right to be afraid of him.
Dimitri doesn’t move or cry. He doesn’t show any emotion at all except for the rigid set of his shoulders and the white-knuckledfists at his sides. He has large hands, and I can see them even from here, along with the tension in them, the barely leashed violence. He has hands that could kill, and they probably have.
Everything about him radiates danger. Control. Power. And underneath it all, something dark and broken that mirrors the shattered pieces of my own heart.
He loved his brother. I can see it in the way he stands, in the rigid line of his spine, in the storm gathering in those cold eyes. He loved Alexei, and now Alexei is dead, and Dimitri Volkov looks like a man one breath away from burning the entire world down.
My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach and presses against the flat plane through the fabric of my dress. There’s nothing to feel yet. It’s too early. The baby is barely the size of a grain of rice, but I know. I know it’s there.
It’s been three days since I stood in my bathroom at midnight, grasping the edge of the sink, watching two lines appear on the pregnancy test. Three days since my whole world tilted on its axis.
I can still see it so clearly.
The fluorescent light above the sink buzzing softly. My period was a week late, which wasn’t unusual as stress always threw off my cycle, but something felt different this time. There was a strange heaviness in my breasts and a persistent nausea that had nothing to do with nerves.
I’d bought the test that afternoon, hidden it in my purse like contraband, and waited until everyone in the house was asleep before creeping into my bathroom.
Three minutes. The instructions said three minutes.
I couldn’t look. I couldn’t breathe. I sat on the edge of the bathtub, counting seconds, my heart hammering so hard, I thought I might be sick.
When I finally worked up the courage to check, there it was. Two pink lines. Unmistakable. Undeniable.
Pregnant.
I sat there on the cold bathroom floor, the test clutched in my trembling hands, and felt joy and terror in equal measure. A baby. Alexei’s baby.Ourbaby.
I’d imagined telling him a thousand different ways. Over dinner at our secret spot—the little Italian restaurant two towns over where no one would recognize us. During one of our stolen afternoons, wrapped in his arms in the hotel room we’d started renting. Quietly, in the dark, his hand on my stomach, both of us marveling at the impossible miracle we’d created.
I had been waiting for the right moment. Theperfectmoment. He’d been so stressed lately, talking about meetings with his family, wanting to prove himself to Dimitri, and the growing tension between our families. I didn’t want to add to his burden or worry him.
I thought I had time.
There’s the sound of a car horn, and I’m back in the cemetery, back in the suffocating heat, back in the reality where Alexei is dead and I’m carrying his child and the right moment will never come.
Hot tears burn behind my eyes, but I can’t cry. Not here. Not where anyone might see. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, tasting blood, using the sharp pain to ground myself.
The priest is finishing his benediction. I can hear the words now, carried on the hot breeze. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”
No. I can’t watch this. I can’t watch them lower Alexei into the ground and bury the man I loved, the father of my child, the future that died with him.
The priest picks up a handful of dirt and holds it over the open grave.
