She trailed off, most likely because Yom’s hateful stare had turned dissecting as he tried to gauge how much of this empathetic personality she displayed was real and how much of it was just part of the act he’d fallen for back in Berlin.
“Anyway, I’m rambling again. Hi! Yes, hi—that’s what I should’ve said.” She had the nerve to reset her terrified expression with a friendly smile. As if they were old friendswho’d just happened to run into each other. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you, um...”
She reached a hand up to ruffle the back of her neck-length locks. “Getting a head start on Statistics?”
She remembered their conversation?
Yom hated the way his chest lurched at the thought of her actually paying attention while she was conning him. Hated her for pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Hated that something still pulled him toward her. Then and now.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Yom could only glower down at her for making him something foolish out of the circus. A helpless marionette, being yanked by her strings.
He stood close enough to feel the soft whisper of her breath as she talked. But an awkward silence stretched between them like a chasm that could not be crossed.
“By the way, I’m… I’m…” She visibly swallowed. “I really am so sorry for what happened back in Berlin. The way I just cut out without any explanation. That must have been so confusing after I said… and even signed a contract saying I would, you know...”
He waited for her to explain herself. To serve him a pile of donkey shit about why she ran away.
But she left it there, nervously pushing her locks behind one ear.
She should be nervous.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Would only watch her from afar without engaging. Or ever letting her know how bad she’d cut him. Like the blade of a hockey skate, slicing across his chest.
But standing there with her made his belly ache. With a hunger no plate of food could fill.
“Well, I’m just going to…”
She edged past him carefully. Like someone stepping around a live mine.
Yom could not blame her for interacting with him in this manner. It took everything inside of him to stay where he was. He controlled his breathing as she carefully moved past him. So as not to grab her and explode all of the questions that had been boiling inside of him directly into her face.
Why did you do it?
Did you mean anything you said that night?
Were you disgusted by me? Is that why you ran?
What does Carrington have that I don’t?
Can’t you see that he doesn’t truly love you? Not like I c?—
He stopped himself there. Clenched his teeth to keep from saying any of that psychotic shit out loud.
For her own safety and his, he let her scurry past him to her Anne Tyler carrel.
But then his eyes returned to the Prince study desk. Like a switchblade.
“Do not do it. Do not act the Rustanov.”
The conversation he’d had after calling his Uncle Alexei on an encrypted line echoed in Yom’s head.
“I know your father raised you a certain way after your mother’s leave-taking. And if this were the motherland, of course, we would make sure that Carrington could never plot against a Rustanov again. But you are back in the U.S.A., and my wife has already taken too much heat and discredit during her last campaign for being married to a Rustanov. The country is watching us closely. So, for now, you must suppress your Rustanov tendencies. But call me when the school year is done, Tyoma. We will talk then.”
Uncle Alexei had warned him in no uncertain terms. But Yom hadn’t answered.
“Tyoma? Tell me you understand.”
Yom understood, but perhaps not in the way Uncle Alexei wished before they hung up.
