But even as I say it, I know it sounds hollow, like I’m trying to convince myself as much as his memory.
DidI love him? Or did I love the idea of him—the escape, the romance, the fairy tale?
And if I didn’t really love him, what does that make me?
The thoughts spiral, dark and accusatory, until I’m so exhausted I can barely move.
That night, I barely sleep.
Dimitri doesn’t come to my room, which I didn’t expect, but it still feels like rejection.
God what iswrongwith me? It was just one stupid night and now I’m listening for his footsteps in the hallway? And I’m disappointed I don’t hear them?
I hate myself a little more with each passing hour.
What if last night was just physical release and nothing more? Two people seeking comfort in the aftermath of a nightmare, using each other to feel something other than pain. What if I’m creating feelings that don’t exist because I’m desperate andalone and pregnant and clinging to anyone who shows me the slightest bit of kindness?
What if everything I think I’m seeing in him is just my imagination? What if he’s just tolerating me because of the baby, and I’m pathetic enough to mistake tolerance for something more?
The thoughts chase themselves in circles until I’m dizzy with them.
By the time dawn breaks, I’m exhausted and confused and so tangled up in my own emotions that I don’t know which way is up anymore.
I just know that something has shifted and I can’t ignore it anymore.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
The next morning, Dimitri insists I accompany him to a meeting with one of his legitimate business partners.
“It’s just formalities,” he explains as I clamber into the front passenger seat of his armored SUV. “Contract negotiations for the shipping routes. You’ll probably find it boring, but after the attack, I’m not leaving you at the house alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” I point out as I settle myself in the leather seat. “There are guards everywhere. Mrs. Kozlov. Anya. Half your organization runs through that house.”
“You’re coming with me,” he repeats, and there’s no arguing with that tone.
So here I am, watching the city roll past the tinted windows while Dimitri drives. Roman and two other guards are in a decoy vehicle ahead of us and another decoy car follows us. It’s meant to draw attention away from the real one.
I’m familiar with it as my father and Uncle Marcus never traveled anywhere without a decoy car following them.
If I hadn’t grown up in this world, I would have found this to be oppressive, but after the bombing attempt at the peace meeting, I get why there’s two decoy cars. Someone wants us dead, and whoever they are, they’re not going to stop after one attempt.
“What are you listening to?” I ask, mostly to break the uncomfortable silence that’s settled between us.
Dimitri glances at me, then at the phone connected to the car’s speakers. A song is playing—something with guitars and a voice I vaguely recognize. My brow furrows as I listen to the song. Is that…?
“Nickelback?” I can’t keep the amusement out of my voice. “Dimitri Volkov listens toNickelback?”
His ears turn slightly red, which is adorable. “What’s wrong with Nickelback?”
“Nothing, if you’re a frat boy in 2005.” I bite back a smile. “I just didn’t picture you as a ‘Photograph’ kind of guy.”
“It’s not ‘Photograph,’” he mutters defensively, and I swear his blush deepens. “It’s ‘How You Remind Me.’”
“Oh, well, that’s completely different then.” I lean back in my seat, enjoying this far too much. “Much more sophisticated.Verycrime lord appropriate.”
His jaw twitches, but I see the corner of his mouth fighting not to lift. “I don’t hear you offering any better suggestions.”
“Better than Nickelback? That’s a pretty low bar.” I can’t believe I’m teasing him, and it feels strange and wonderful all at once. “Please tell me you at least skip ‘Rockstar.’”
