That night, I can’t sleep.
It’s past midnight, and I’ve been lying here for hours, my mind spinning with contradictions and confusion and anger that won’t settle. Finally, I give up. Maybe some reading will help settle me.
I slip out of bed, pull on a robe, grab the dark green blanket, and head to the library. The house is dark and silent. The staff long since gone to their quarters. Just me and the shadows and?—
Light spilling from the library doorway.
I hesitate, freezing. There’s only one person who would be in here at that time and I’m not sure I want to see him. I should go back to my room, but something draws me forward anyway.
I peek around the doorframe and my heart seizes.
Dimitri sits in one of the leather chairs, a bottle of vodka on the table beside him. He doesn’t appear drunk but he’s definitely drinking. And he’s staring at something in his hands.
A photograph.
Even from here, I can make out the image. Two boys. One older, dark-haired, serious. One younger, golden-blond, laughing.
Dimitri and Alexei.
My heart clenches. He looks so lost. So... broken. Like he’s staring at that photo trying to find answers that don’t exist.
I should let him have this private moment of grief and leave.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Can’t sleep either?”
He doesn’t startle or even look surprised. I bet he knew I was there the entire time. He just keeps staring at that photograph. “What are you doing down here?”
I shrug, even though he still can’t see me. “I could ask you the same thing,” I say.
“This is my house. I can be wherever I want.” But there’s no anger in the words. There’s just exhaustion.
I understand that more than I think he knows.
I move into the room, settling into the chair across from him, keeping distance but not leaving. “You’re thinking about him.”
He nods. “He talked about you.” His voice is quiet. Rough. “All the time. I just didn’t realize it.”
My breath catches and I feel like I’ve just been hit in the stomach. “What did you say?”
“He’d come home from his ‘meetings’ and he’d be…” Dimitri looks up, clearly searching for the right words. “Different. Lighter. Happier. He’d make these comments about fate, how love could overcome anything, how the world wasn’t as black and white as I thought.” Dimitri laughs, but it’s bitter. “I thought he was being idealistic and naive. I didn’t realize he was talking about you.”
Tears prick my eyes and my heart swells with emotion. I miss Alexei so much ithurts. “He loved you,” I whisper. “So much. He talked about you all the time too.”
Finally, Dimitri looks at me. The dim lamplight casts shadows across his face, softening the harsh angles I’ve come to associate with intimidation and control. His dark hair is disheveled falling slightly across his forehead in a way that makes him look softer and less like the controlling jackass I know. The strong line of his jaw is shadowed with stubble, and there’s a vulnerability in the set of his mouth that I've never seen before.
His eyes are what stop me though. Those gray eyes that are usually cold as winter steel are red-rimmed now, whether fromlack of sleep or unshed tears, I can’t tell. But they’re also... beautiful. I’ve never let myself notice before or allowed myself to see past the intimidation to recognize that Dimitri Volkov is a devastatingly handsome man.
Even with grief etched into every line of his face, there’s something arresting about him. The way the lamplight catches the sharp planes of his cheekbones. The fullness of his lips, usually pressed into a hard line but now slightly parted. The broad shoulders that fill out his white dress shirt even as he slumps slightly in the chair, exhausted.
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.Even more than Alexei, a traitorous voice whispers slyly in my head and I shove it away.
“Did he?” he asks, and his voice cracks slightly on the words.
I nod. “All the time.” The words tumble out, needing to be said. I need him to understand. “He’d tell me stories about growing up with you. How you took him under your wing after your mother died. How you protected him. H-he wanted to make you proud.” My voice breaks and I struggle to get the words out past the lump in my throat. “He worshipped you, Dimitri. Everything he did was to prove himself worthy of being your brother.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me?” The question is raw. Anguished. “Why keep you a secret? Why lie for eight months?”
I don’t have a good answer for him, but I have to try.
