Page 57

But you do want him, a nasty part of me whispers gleefully. You want him to fuck you again. You want him to go down on you. You want to scream his name, to feel his mouth on your⁠—

“Shut up!” I shout as I seize the closest thing to me and throw it at the mirror. The pillow bounces off harmlessly. My breaths are coming in gasps and my chest is heaving and I look like I’ve truly lost it.

Overwhelmed, I feel hot tears rush into my eyes.

This time, instead of fighting them, I bury my face in my hands and sob.

I try a new plan that doesn’t involve me hiding in my rooms.

The plan is simple: avoid him.

In theory, it should be easy because this house is enormous and I do not actually have to see him if I do not want to. I take my meals at odd hours.

I eat in the library instead of the dining room. I take the long way to the gardens so I do not pass his office.

When I hear his voice down a hall, I turn around and go the other way.

When I see him coming toward me in a corridor, I look at the floor and I keep walking.

I’m good at this game because it’s not the first time I’ve avoided a man in a building. I got very good at it as a resident with a certain attending who had a certain…reputation.

This is about reclaiming autonomy and drawing a line. Making sure the man understands that what happened in that kitchen was a mistake and that I am not going to make it a habit. This is what I tell myself and I almost believe it.

But deep down, I’m terrified of what will happen if I have to see him again because what happened in that kitchen was not a mistake in the way a slip in judgment is a mistake.

It was—God, I do not have a word for what it was. It was something I wanted, and there is something desperately wrong with a woman who wants someone like him.

For two days, I’m successful at avoiding him. But all good things must come to an end, I guess. On my third day of successful avoidance, I get too confident. I’m on my way back from taking my breakfast in the first floor parlor when I turn a corner and nearly jump out of my skin.

Nico is right there, standing at the other end of the corridor, hands in his pockets, like he has been waiting for me for a while.

I stop dead, my heart hammering. My mouth immediately dries and my breakfast threatens to come up my throat.

He doesn’t come toward me. He just stands there, watching me, and neither of us moves.

Even though I don’t want to, I study him. He looks…worn out. Tired in a way I have not seen him before. He hasn’t shaved based on the stubble along his jaw.

It gives him a rugged, masculine look and my toes curl in my shoes.

Stop it, Kat!

His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it.

His shoulders sit lower than they did last time I saw him, like something heavy has been sitting on them for days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks like he has slept about as well as I have, which is to say not at all.

For just a second, something flickers on his face, then it’s gone and he is watching me carefully again.

“Katerina,” he says, his voice low and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. No, no, I can’t do this. I can’t.

“Don’t.” My voice comes out smaller than I want and I clear it. “Whatever you are about to say, don’t say it. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket. “I just wanted to give you this.”

He holds out a photograph. I stare at it in his hand, the seconds stretching before us. I do not want to take it. I don’t want to be given anything by him right now.

But it’s a photograph, and there is only one person in this world it could be a photograph of.

My feet involuntarily move and I creep closer to him, heart in my throat.