39. Dimitri
39
DIMITRI
N othing feels right in the world without her.
I'm in a bad mood almost all the time. The only part of the day I look forward to is sleeping at night. At least in my dreams, I can be with her.
I want nothing more than to go to her. I want nothing more than to be inside her, claiming her like I'll be her man forever.
But I'm not good for her.
Bad things happen to the people I care about. If I’ve learned anything from my past, it's that I have the dark Midas touch. Instead of turning things to gold, I blacken them.
I ruin them.
And I don't ever want to ruin Briar.
I don't ever want to hurt her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything bad happened to her.
But that’s the nature of my world.
People get hurt.
The hitman in Paris almost killed Briar. She doesn’t remember it, but it wasn't the first time her life was in danger because of me.
I want to be a selfish motherfucker and keep Briar under lock and key for the rest of her life, but I can't do that to her. Not after the childhood she had.
I stare up at my bedroom ceiling, already knowing that this will be one of those sleepless nights.
The reflection of the moonlight from the ocean waves dances on my ceiling, trying to hypnotize me from my pain.
But I've already accepted the pain. I know it will be a part of my life forever, my constant companion.
I throw the sheets off me and walk to my desk. I open one of the drawers. It’s empty, but it has a false compartment built into it. A spare gun and a stack of vintage stationery paper are inside the secret compartment.
Ever since I lost my brother, I've taken to writing letters to him. I never send these letters, but I write to him about everything that’s happening in his absence.
After I lost Briar the first time, I wrote letters to her every night as well. She'll never see these letters. She'll never know how much I love her.
It's better to let her think I don't care about her.
It's better that she hates me.
I write to her tonight. I tell her everything I wish I could say but won't. I beg for her forgiveness for what I'm about to do.
I tell her it hurts me, too, but I can't do anything about it.
I've been cursed my whole life. And I'll only end up cursing anyone who dares to dance into my orbit.
I wake up to bright sunshine against my face.
I fell asleep on the desk again.
After a quick shower, I head down to the kitchen for coffee. I’ll need it to get through another day.
I find Pavel standing in front of the coffee machine. He returned from America the other night.
“Good morning, Boss,” he says.
I nod at him.
He steps aside as I make myself a cup of coffee. I sit on one of the stools around the kitchen island.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he says, sitting opposite me.
“Not today, Pavel,” I say.
“It’s been a week of this,” Pavel says, speaking his mind anyway. “The men are all worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a sip from the small cup. The coffee burns my tongue, but I don’t care. I’m already in hell.
“No,” Pavel says. “You’re the furthest thing from fine.”
“It’s not impeding my work, is it?” I say.
“It will be if you keep going like this,” he says.
I sigh. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
He doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he refills my coffee.
“If Rurik were here right now?—”
“He’s not here, is he?” I pound my fist on the table. “He’s not fucking here.”
Pavel doesn’t even flinch.
“I’m sorry.” I exhale slowly.
“You haven’t been yourself lately,” Pavel says. “And you refuse to speak about it, so I’m assuming it’s about the girl.”
Instead of screaming like I really want to, I let the coffee burn my tongue again.
"The girl," he continues. "It's obvious you care about her. You couldn't stay away from her a week ago. When she was in a coma, we all saw how you wouldn’t leave her side. Not to mention that she's the mother of your child. What changed?"
“It’s really none of your fucking business, Pavel.” I try to curb my rising anger.
"Something happened when you left the island,” he says, ignoring me. "You might have returned in one piece, but you left your heart behind in Paris."
"What are you, a poet?"
"I don't have to be a poet to see the pain in your eyes."
"I'm not going to keep having this conversation with you," I say, reaching for the iPad on the table and going through the emails about our legal businesses.
"You're not the only one who's in pain," he says.
I freeze.
“I spoke with Olga earlier this morning,” he says. “She said that Briar hasn’t been touching her food lately.”
My heart pounds in my rib cage.
"Why?" I ask. "Is the food not to her liking?"
"You know that's not it," Pavel says gently.
“Have the chefs prepare her favorite food,” I say. “She really enjoyed the meat dumplings and the chicken pie we had a few nights ago. And you can’t go wrong with burgers. She loves a good burger. She also has a sweet tooth, so have them bake fresh cookies for her.”
"It's not the food, Dimitri." Pavel reaches for my hand. Right now, he's not my second-in-command but one of my closest friends. "The meals are fit to be served to a king.”
"Then why is she not eating?"
"Because she's heartsick," he says. "Just like you are."
I clench my fists. I want nothing more than to go to the guesthouse and feed her myself. But I can't do that. I can't let myself go back there. I can’t delude myself into thinking she could ever be happy and safe in my world.
So I head to the gym instead.
I lift weights until I can't feel my muscles anymore.
Until I can barely feel anything anymore.