Chapter 13 Sima
SIMA
Anya doesn’t return for the rest of the day. I can’t say I’m sad about that. Right now, the less I see her mug, the better. They say pregnancy hormones are unpredictable, and I’ve never felt that more. I could sock her straight between the eyes if she says one more thing to me.
When lunchtime rolls around, Luka brings it himself.
My breakfast tray lies untouched. He doesn’t comment on it. Just collects it without a word, sets the new one down, and walks out without looking at me.
The lock clicks, and I’m alone again.
For the rest of the afternoon, I read. Try to, anyway. The words keep blurring together after a while. No matter what book I pick up, I can’t focus.
I get up and stretch. I never thought I’d say this, but I finally understand what it meant when Jane Austen said her characters were “taking a turn around the room.” Being a woman back then must not have been so different from being a woman in this house.
But eventually, my ankles grow sore. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t get the chance to stretch your legs in days: You lose muscle mass.
I wonder if they’ll bind my feet next. That’d make my chances of running close to zero.
I ignore the TV more out of spite than anything, leaving the remote in its sealed plastic case so that it’ll be clear as day that I haven’t touched it. Maybe I’m being petty, but since maturity hasn’t worked, they don’t get to demand it of me now.
At one point, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster just to keep my mind from spinning out of control. Anything to keep the hours moving until the next knock on the door.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to my baby. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mom. That I couldn’t run fast enough to save you.”
When dinner finally rolls around, it’s not Anya who brings it. Oddly, it’s not even Luka.
It’s Kira.
She enters with a sway of her hips. Her chin is held high, as if she’s barely acknowledging my presence in the room. Which is weird, considering this is my room.
But maybe it’s not weirdness at all. Just run-of-the-mill contempt. Like anybody else in this house, she has no reason to like me, but she was at least honest enough to admit it before I was outed as a Danilo.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I was dragged back. Why now? What does she want with me? We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, so really, I could have done without the social visit. Her bringing me dinner certainly wasn’t on my bingo card.
Is she here to taunt me? It would be in character for her. Point at me, laugh, maybe hurl a couple of Russian insults at me now that she knows I’m fully fluent and that her insults won’t fall on deaf ears. Anya sure seemed to like that idea.
Thinking of Anya suddenly puts me on my guard again. I don’t know what Kira wants with me, but I do know one thing: I don’t fucking trust her.
If Anya wants to use me as fertilizer for her rose bushes, God knows what Kira has in store for me.
She sets the tray down carefully on the desk. Then, after what feels like ages of being ignored, she finally deigns to look at me.
I’m expecting some sort of sneering, acidic greeting, but that’s not what she gives me. Instead, she crosses her arms and asks, “How could you treat Petyr the way you did?”
I blink, caught off-guard. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she hisses. “You ran. You left him when he needed you. Do you have any idea what that did to him? What it could have done to his standing as pakhan?”
“So this is about me hurting his career?” My eyes go wide with disbelief. “Seriously, Kira? So much for sisterhood.”
“You’re not my sister.” Her glare is pure venom. “You’re a whore. An overpaid, underperforming womb who thought it could grow legs and skip around wherever it pleased.”
Ouch. The dehumanization hits hard. First Anya, now her. Everyone here seems to be determined to reduce me to a human incubator for Petyr’s future heirs.
And I’ve just about fucking had it.
“Maybe I just took a page out of your book,” I snap. “‘Underperforming’ sounds about right, doesn’t it, Kira? Or are you hiding a million frozen heirs in your purse?”
It’s a low blow. I regret the words the second they’re out of my mouth, but I don’t take them back.
“My book?” Kira’s face goes tight. “Then you should study harder. Because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s selfish, and that seems to be you all over.”
I want to laugh in her face, but I’ve lost all humor. After I’ve sacrificed everything for Petyr, she has the guts to say that to me?
But then, I guess she has no idea what I’ve sacrificed. I doubt Petyr went around advertising his role in our separation. His household certainly doesn’t seem to have a clue.
“You have no idea what happened.” I try to force myself to be calm. “You don’t know the full story.”
“I don’t need to,” Kira declares. “Nor do I want to. I saw how broken Petyr was when you left with my own two eyes. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Bet he told you all about why I left, then.”
“Unlike you, I know my place. I don’t pry into the lives of others.”
Hot, irrational jealousy flares inside me, but I force it down again. Petyr and I are over. There’s nothing left to be jealous of. Then why does the thought of Kira comforting him when I was away feel so fucking painful?
I shake it off and step forward. “You sure as fuck seem eager to pry into mine.”
“Just because you won’t stop being a nuisance,” she bites back. “Petyr was so obsessed with finding you, he barely visited his brother since he woke up from his coma. It’s been months, and he still—”
“Dimitri woke up?”
Kira blinks, taken aback by my interruption. “Yes. He did.”
For the first time since she walked in, I let all my anger go.
Petyr’s brother is awake. He’s alive.
For a second, joy fills me. A smile—a real smile—almost breaks through. “When?”
“A few weeks after you ran.” Her tone is cagey. She doesn’t understand why I’m pushing this.
“How is he?”
My sudden friendliness must unsettle Kira, because she keeps looking at me like I’m an alien. “Fine,” she answers vaguely. “He’s making progress.”
I can’t help grinning now. “Thank you for telling me. I’m really happy for him. And for you both. I know how hard Dimitri’s situation has been on you and Petyr, and—”
“Don’t you dare.”
Kira’s words freeze the smile on my face. “What?”
“I said, don’t you fucking dare.” She steps closer. Her body language is aggressive now. Not passive-aggressive, like her jabs from before. She’s ready to throw hands with me. “Don’t you dare talk about my husband.”
“I was just—”
“You don’t understand the first thing about being a wife.” Her face is white with rage. “Now, you’re going to pretend you have any idea what I went through?”
“I never—”
“Yeah, I bet.” She crosses her arms and stares me down. “I’ll tell you what you never should have done: You shouldn’t have spoken vows if you weren’t prepared to stand by them.”
Heat rises to my face. Shame and anger tangle in my chest.
I want to defend myself. Those vows were forced on me. And yet, despite that, I never planned to walk away—not once I’d truly fallen for Petyr.
But my throat closes up. Because no matter what I say, Kira won’t believe me. No one here will believe me.
Except maybe one person.
“Is Petyr home?” I whisper.
Kira shoots me another suspicious look. “Why?”
“Can you tell him I need to see him?”
“No.”
“What?” Confusion mixes with hurt. “Why not?”
“Because he’s making a mistake with you,” Kira says. “I won’t help you do anything that might hurt him.”
“I’m not planning to hurt him. I just—”
“Like you weren’t planning to hurt him when you ran?” She cuts me off coldly. “Yeah, right.”
The words settle heavily in the air. I try to think of something, anything that might make Kira change her mind.
But I’ve got nothing.
She slams the door behind her back. The lock slides back into place.
Again, I’m alone.