The dismissal stings more than it should. “Dimitri—” I protest.
“Goodnight, Vera.” He stands, already turning toward the door.
And I’m left sitting there, feeling relieved and devastated in equal measure.
Relieved because I almost said something I can’t take back. I stupidly almost revealed feelings that would complicate everything beyond repair. But I’m devastated because he’s walking away. He felt the shift too (I know he did) and he chose distance over—over whatever this could be.
I make my way back to my room alone. The house feels emptier without his presence, colder without the possibility that he might appear at my door.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like a cheater.
Alexei was murdered by my own family not that long ago and I just sat in that library and picked apart our relationship. I found every flaw and questioned whether I even really loved him. I spoke about him critically to hisbrother.
What kind of idiot does that?
Don’t answer that. I already know the answer.
Alexei was nothing but kind to me. Loving. He made me feel special, made me laugh, and made me believe in the possibility of something more. He didn’t deserve to die and he certainly doesn’t deserve me questioning his feelings, dismissing what we had as if it meant nothing.
So why can’t I stop? Why do I keep looking for the negative traits, the red flags, and the reasons it wasn’t real? Why am I so desperate to convince myself that what we had wasn’t love?
Because if it wasn’t love, then what I’m feeling for Dimitri isn’t a betrayal, right?
That’s what this is about. I’m trying to absolve myself of guilt by rewriting history, convincing myself that Alexei and I weren’t really in love, so it’s okay that I’m developing feelings for his brother.
But that’s not fair to Alexei. And it’s not fair to what we had, whatever that was.
I press my hands over my face, fighting back tears.
I don’t know what the truth is anymore. I don’t know if I loved Alexei or if I loved the idea of him. I don’t know if what I’m feeling for Dimitri is real or just proximity and trauma and desperation for human connection.
All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about Dimitri’s hands. His voice. The way he looked at me in the library tonight, like he was seeing all the way through me, like he understood everything I was trying not to say.
Like I mattered.
The same way Alexei used to make me feel. But different.
And I hate myself for comparing them, for replacing one brother with another in my heart like they’re interchangeable.
They’re not. Alexei was sunshine and laughter and easy charm. Dimitri is storms and intensity and brutal honesty. They couldn’t be more different.
So why does being with Dimitri feel more right than being with Alexei ever did?
The question plagues me as I fall into an uneasy sleep.
Around two a.m., I hear footsteps in the hallway outside my door. I hold my breath, my whole body going tense. The footsteps pause right outside my room and I can picture him standing there, hand raised to knock, deciding.
Choosing.
The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it through the door. Every part of me is screaming for him to open it, to come in, to?—
To what? I don’t even know. I just know I don’t want to be alone.
But the footsteps slowly retreat until they fade into silence, and I’m left staring at the door, not knowing if I feel relieved or heartbroken.
Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe I’m so tangled up in guilt and grief and want that I can’t tell the difference anymore.
I finally fall asleep around three, confused and so guilty I can barely stand it.
