I turn back slowly. “She is not an option.”
He folds his arms. “You don’t want Alena because she would be politics. You don’t want the socialites because they mean nothing. And you don’t want Zatanna because she would mean too much.”
I hate that he’s right. “I am not discussing this.”
“You already are.”
“No. I’m enduring you.”
He ignores that. “Your father is bleeding you. You’re losing warehouses, men, and time. And still you’d rather hold out for a woman who resigned by email and disappeared.”
“She disappeared because I failed her.” That comes out before I can stop it.
Ilya goes quiet.
I pour another drink. “I should have handled it differently.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“That’s not the same thing as fixing it.”
I look at the rain on the glass.
He’s right again. I’m tired of him being right.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “That I can marry Alena and end this cleanly? I can’t.”
“Because you don’t want her.”
“Yes.”
“And because you still want Zatanna.”
I don’t answer.
He lets out a slow breath. “You know what this sounds like?”
“I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
“It sounds like you’re fighting two wars and confusing them.”
That sits in the room for a second.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am making business decisions with personal damage in the middle of them.
But the facts stay the same.
I won’t marry Alena. I won’t hand my father what he wants. And I still haven’t found the one woman who made every other option feel dead on arrival.
Ilya looks at me and asks, “Then what’s your plan?”
I answer honestly. “Hold the line. Hit back. Find her.”
His face changes at that. “You really do love her.”
I look at him. I don’t say yes. I don’t say no either.
