Chapter 17
17
T he next morning, I wake to a text from Casimir.
Casimir
I’m about to get on the plane, but I’ll be back in a week. Be good.
I stare at my phone for several long minutes, trying to process the complicated emotions that rise in response to the knowledge that he’s leaving town. Because I asked him to. A small, terrified part of me is afraid he’ll be gone forever. That he’s had his fun, his cover is blown, and now it’s time to reconvene and figure out a new plan.
But I don’t believe that, do I?
Casimir claimed me at the auction. Publicly. I can’t believe that was all part of some plan that ends with him dumping me and making me look and feel like a fool. But as the days tick by with only the barest communication, adding up to a week and then more, my resolve starts to falter. Maybe he isn’t coming back at all. Maybe he’s just stringing me along to keep me complacent. Maybe that awful little voice inside me is right for once.
Or, even worse, maybe Jovan has killed him and someone is using his phone to text me.
No. No . I cannot believe that. He’s fine. It’s just as he’s said—it’s taking longer to convince his uncle to see things our way than initially planned.
I’m going through the motions, caught in stasis as I wait for something to give. My parents’ anger hasn’t thawed, and my aunt isn’t happy with me either. I spend every day closed away in my office, keeping my head down and diligently doing my work.
On the twelfth day after the text from Casimir, Dad knocks on my office door. Usually when I’m in trouble, it’s Da who ultimately smooths things over and lets me know the worst of my parents’ anger has passed. Dad isn’t much of a talker. That means I can go to Dad when the world becomes too much and I just need a safe place to land. His silences are comforting in a way I appreciate more and more as I get older.
But there’s little that can comfort me in my current mindset.
He looks at me for a bit, his pale eyes no doubt clocking all the signs that I haven’t slept well since coming home. Even with makeup, there’s no missing the shadows beneath my eyes, and I’ve been so stressed, I’ve reverted to my childhood habit of picking my nail polish.
“Let’s go.”
“Taking me to the firing squad?”
He doesn’t bother to respond to my snotty question, which is just as well. He motions for me to follow him out the door, and I know better than to do anything else. What Dad doesn’t solve with words, he does with actions, and he’s not above hauling me over his shoulder and tossing me into the nearest body of water if I get too pissy for no reason. I rise with a sigh and follow him out of the room. It only takes me a few turns to figure out our destination. The sparring mat.
We walk into the gym, and he jerks his chin toward the clothes that have been neatly folded in my cubby. The gym is set up closer to a commercial gym than a home one. I don’t know if it was always this way, or if it was changed once Da and Dad came to live here with my mother. They certainly use it enough, even now.
“I don’t want to spar.”
Dad rolls his shoulders and steps onto the mat. “You may not want to. But you need to.”
If Mom is good at teatime and giving me the space to feel my feelings, and Da is good at hugs and positive self-talk, then Dad is good at this . He’s been dragging me onto the mat since I turned eleven and puberty hit me like a freight train. There were too many hormones and too much change, and my mental health took a wild free fall. Mom’s words couldn’t get through to me. Da’s hugs didn’t solve anything.
And then one day Dad hauled me onto the mat and started teaching me how to fight. On this mat, I learned to move with limbs that had stopped feeling like mine. I don’t remember learning to walk, but Mom says it happened much the same way. Dad has endless patience, and it didn’t matter how shitty my attitude was, he would meet me on the mat and put me through my paces until whatever repressed emotion was rattling around my chest burst free.
And once the pain was lanced, Mom or Da would magically show up not too much later and be available for me to spew my angsty young feelings at them.
I’d like to say I have better control of myself these days, but that doesn’t stop me from ducking into the changing room and pulling on my workout gear. It doesn’t alter the fact that, no matter how worried and stressed I am about my current situation, I know I’ll feel better after this. I step out of the changing room and glare. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Then you know it will help.”
I step onto the mat, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to fall into the rhythm of our customary warm-up. Stretching and then shadowboxing. Only once a light sweat covers my body does Dad return to me with a slight smile. “All right. Let’s see how rusty you are.”
I hesitate, testing him. “I really don’t want?—”
Just as I expected, Dad strikes out, intending to catch me unawares. I duck and attempt to sweep his legs out from beneath him. It doesn’t work, but I honestly didn’t expect it to. We circle each other slowly. Even when I was practicing several times a week with him, I only beat him one time out of twenty. He’s always pulled the force of his punches with me, but he’s never dialed back the intensity of his attacks. As much as I hate the bruises I end up with, I can’t deny that I’ve never fought anyone as good as Dad.
I’m not in peak physical condition currently, and it’s been months since we sparred together.
Within ten seconds, I land flat on my back, and my air whooshes out of my lungs. I blink dazedly up to see him leaning over me, his brows drawn together. “I knew you were out of practice, but you should’ve seen that coming a mile away.”
I take his offered hand and allow him to pull me to my feet. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“I know.” Just that. No judgment.
We circle each other again, and as much as I want to be irritated that I’m doing this, it does feel good. This, at least, I understand. It starts to feel less good after Dad knocks me on my ass five times. The last time, I’m breathing so hard that I feel a little dizzy. I hold up my hand, panting. “I’m done.”
He crouches in front of me, running a critical eye over my body. “Anything worse than bruises?”
“Only my pride.” I wipe the back of my hand over my sweaty forehead. “I know I’ve been a giant shit, but thank you. I guess I did need this.”
He drops onto the mat next to me. “Your mom and Da were born and raised in Carver city. I wasn’t.”
“I know the story.” I’ve heard it enough times. About how he fought his way onto my grandfather’s force and how he and Da worked the ranks to become top enforcers. About how they both dated my mother separately before both calling it quits. And about how she managed to bring them both back into the fold of the territory—and her life. It’s the stuff of legends in Carver City.
“I never once lied about who I was.”
There it is. The moral judgment. I open my mouth to snap back but force myself to be silent. To consider what he’s saying. My mother’s words ring in my ears: You want to be treated like an adult? Start acting like one.
I take a deep breath. “The situation is hardly the same.”
“It’s not the same,” he agrees quietly. “If you hadn’t looked at him with your heart in your eyes, I would’ve killed him the night you told us he was a Romanov.”
I jerk around and stare at Dad, my eyes wide. “What?”
“I’m still not sure I made the right call.” I’ve never seen his eyes so cold. “The boy cares about you, but he is a Romanov. He comes with the kind of baggage that ruins lives.”
“Dad, if you hurt him, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t do it.” He props himself back up on his hands. “I know you’re too enmeshed in it right now, but look at it from our perspective. We love you. We want what’s best for you. Choosing him means you’ll never have a peaceful life. The Romanovs will always be looking for a foothold in our territory, and you will have to spend the rest of your years fighting to hold your boundaries. Your children will be half-Romanov, which puts them in the position of having to push back against powerful family too. That will be the legacy you and the Mad Wolf leave behind.”
It’s nothing more than I’ve considered myself. But he’s not speaking in judgment. He’s merely laying out the facts. So I force myself to listen. To think about it. “I understand that.”
“You think you do, but you can’t ever properly prepare for that sort of thing. No one can.”
I clear my throat. “What are you saying?” As much as I’ve begun to make my peace with caring about Casimir, with loving him, if my parents stand in our way, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’d have to walk away from being heir. Worse, I’d have to walk away from my parents completely. That’s not a choice I want to be forced to make.
“I am saying that we’ve spoken with your aunt, and there are two paths forward. You cut off all ties with the Romanov right now. Or you marry him like you say you plan and that’s it.”
“What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”
“I mean if you marry a Romanov, then you don’t get to change your mind later. If you fall out of love, or if this is just infatuation, it won’t matter, because you’ll be stuck. You won’t be able to kill your husband without his family coming calling and attempting to raze the territory to the ground. You’d better hope he lives a nice long life, too, because they won’t believe a death by natural causes.” He sighs. “All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, but we obviously made some missteps along the way. You are heir, Ruby. Your choices and actions have consequences for more than just you. More than even just our family. Every single person in this territory relies on us to keep things running efficiently. To keep them safe.”
“I know that,” I say softly, stung. The responsibility has been drilled into me for as long as I can remember. It’s why I did my best not to step outside the lines... until recently. But the more I think about it, the more I can’t help feeling that Casimir and I are not in dissimilar positions. We were both playing roles that weren’t our full selves for a very long time. And we both went fully toxic when the pressure got to be too much.
Reality is so much more complicated. Messy.
Please be alive, Casimir. Please come back to me with an assurance of peace.
“Now you know that.” Dad rises easily to his feet and offers me his hand. “I would give you all the time you need to make that decision, and your mom had good point, wanting a month apart and for him to court you properly. Unfortunately your aunt feels differently, and Cordelia is the territory leader, so her word is law. You have until tonight.”
I take his hands, and he hauls me upright. Then the words penetrate. “What do you mean I only have until tonight? I don’t even know if he’s coming back, and you want me to make a decision?”
“Oh, he’s back.” He grabs a nearby towel to wipe the sweat from his face. “He showed up before I came to get you.”
I stare. “We’ve been in here for over an hour.”
“Yeah.” He grabs a clean towel and tosses it at me. “Won’t hurt him to wait a little longer. Why don’t you take a shower before you go find him?”
I don’t call Dad an asshole, but it’s hovering right there on the tip of my tongue. Then again I suppose this was a test in and of itself. For both Casimir and me.
I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the nearby mirrors. The makeup I had on earlier is smudged from working out, and there’s no saving my hair. Casimir has seen me looking messier than this, but I need a minute to think about what Dad said. “Yeah, a shower sounds good.”