Chapter 27 Dahlia
DAHLIA
What have I done?
My heart yearns for him, and my soul wails, crying in misery.
I thought breaking up would be the best way. To end things before we return.
Once I walk inside, my mother greets me, but her smile fades when I drop to my knees and hold my face as I sob. Ugly cries rip from my chest, and my mother slides in front of me, wrapping me in her arms.
“What’s wrong, figlia mia?” she asks in a soft voice that only makes things worse.
“I was happy, Mom. I was so happy.”
Am I cursed to only get moments of happiness?
I never thought Mika would completely change and not give a damn about the reason we could never be together. And like the greedy, masochistic woman I am, I allowed myself to be swept into the dream of us, ignoring the clock suspended above our heads ticking down to our impending doom.
“Your brother will understand.”
“No, he won’t,” I cry, the sound broken like my heart.
“What happened?” she asks softly.
I want to open my mouth and confess, but I am terrified she would see him in a different light. I am also protecting her from what my father did. The secret is my burden to carry. And the reason I will never find happiness.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but her embrace soothes me until my cries subside.
My piano calls to me, and I stand up as if in a trance.
I lock myself in my music room, and my hands tremble with the need to purge the demons out. They mock me by whispering in my ear. Selfish. Bad. Doomed.
Sitting down, I play, giving it my all in the quest to free myself from the shackles of agony, but the iron cuffs don’t break, biting into my skin until they reach bone.
Hours or an eternity later, I can’t play anymore. My fingertips ache, my arms going limp. Exhausted. Numb.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s three in the morning, and he hasn’t returned.
I pick up my phone, type a text, then delete it.
For the first time, I don’t know what to say. But my need to check on him takes over.
Are you okay?
Yes, go to bed.
Simple. Concise. I look for some secret clues, but there aren’t any.
When will you return?
He doesn’t reply, and I drag my heavy heart with me. My feet feel like cement blocks as I heave them up the stairs.
Inside my bathroom, I drop on my ass, letting the water cascade over me to soothe what won’t heal. I scrub at my skin, swallowing the hiss and welcoming the pain.
After showering, I head to my walk-in closet, not done punishing myself.
The space overflows with his presents, and tears stream down my face.
I fall in a heap, sobbing again, drowning in my despair.
Rocking myself, I try to slip into a dream of him holding me and never letting me go.
Inside this shrine of his devotion to me, I feel him close to me.
Rolling into the fetal position, I close my eyes and fall asleep, only to wake up with a stiff neck and numb limbs. I massage my sore muscles and crack my neck to ease the tension. Weak in my knees, I need two attempts to stand.
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I channel the old me, who has pined for her brother’s best friend from afar. That girl and not the confident woman who went after what she wanted.
I single-handedly broke what we had after all the years I’ve tried to make him see me. Really see me.
Break. I can’t believe I asked for that.
I can’t believe I was the one to end us.
I can’t believe I was the one responsible for hurting him when all I’ve ever wished for was a chance to love him.
But I’d rather suffer all my life than have something happen to him.
I could not survive knowing I was the one responsible for his demise.
Tonight is the concert, and I should practice and make sure everything goes smoothly, but I can’t find it in me. My discipline is gone. I trust my playing and the routine. I will manage tonight.
Slipping out of my room, I poke my head in his, but he’s not inside. An invisible fist thrusts into my chest and twists my heart, tossing the battered organ in a corner. The bed is unmade. He was here but woke up before me and left.
This is the logical thing to do, but his avoiding me kills me. Slowly. Agonizingly.
I fight the tears that threaten to make a mess of my face. After taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders.
Remember why you’re doing this.
It’s worth sacrificing my happiness. There are greater things at risk. I can’t be that selfish. That reminder fortifies me. I am doing the right thing. I need to be strong.
I only regret my choice of words, but any other argument, he would have bulldozed through and made me give in. I even considered a secret relationship, but that would definitely have gone wrong.
It’s not that I haven’t pondered endlessly about how we could live out our love story a thousand times, but each scenario ends in tragedy. The nightmare I had the other morning, which continued on the plane, was so chillingly real that I would be stupid to ignore the warning.
Downstairs, I have breakfast with my mother. Since my father died, she has retreated into herself. The usual silence is welcomed now.
“Nervous about tonight?”
I shake my head, fidgeting with my fingers in my lap. What if he doesn’t come to my concert? He will. He never misses one. It’s a small consolation, but I don’t know what his absence might cause me—surely total annihilation.
“Was he here?” I ask even though I saw the proof, but it might as well be that the pain caused a sickness to root into my synapses, causing insanity.
“Yes. He looked…bad.”
Disheveled. Hurt. Gutted. All because of me.
Chin quivering, I nod, not needing her to tell me what I already know.
I craved his love but ended up breaking his heart.
My appetite vanishes, and I don’t bother pretending to eat any longer. Standing up, I go outside in search of Kill, needing some doggy snuggles.
The men have always kept their distance, but especially after my kidnapping. The broken princess in the ivory tower.
I could have been a Bratva queen. A woman who, despite her trauma, flourished and became someone unbreakable.
We are all born in shackles. Some of us are just aware of them—like me.
It doesn’t take me long to find Kill. The moment I call him, he takes off in my direction. He gets bigger every day. He jumps on me with all his Rottweiler strength, and I fall on my back on the grass, laughing as he licks my face.
“I missed you too,” I say and pat him. “Who’s a good boy?”
He barks a response, waiting for his treat. I pluck one treat from my jeans pocket, and he swallows it in one go. Sitting down, he cocks his head, expecting more.
“Greedy male,” I sigh and offer him another.
I wave at Lorenzo to get his attention and tell him I am taking Kill for a stroll.
By the pond, I tread my feet through the water while Kill fixes his attention on the koi.
Silence used to comfort me. This home used to feel safe. But everything feels wrong. Which is ironic, as the only thing that changed is me.
As if Kill feels my distress because dogs are the best, he pokes his head into my side before he rests it on my lap.
I pat him absentmindedly.
“I love Mikail Morozov. In our world, that would make me susceptible to being used against him. I’ve guarded that secret for all my life, and now, I’m afraid it’s etched on my face.”
Another deep sigh heaves my chest, waiting for long minutes in the hopes Mika will come.
He doesn’t. At some point, I return to the house to get myself ready for my concert.
I slip into a black dress to fit my somber mood and put on the jewelry he gifted me in Paris. As I brush the necklace, I remember how he made me feel. Cherished. Adored. Thoroughly loved—body and heart.
Instant heat coils in my core, and I snatch one of my exclusive bags and head out.
Lorenzo waits for me by the entrance door to assign a driver, but I pass him by, saying, “I’m driving myself.”
He nods, but I can see the muscle straining in his jaw.
I am the boss’s sister. If something were to happen to me, there would be hell to pay.
I am not being purposefully stubborn, nor am I wishing to make his job harder.
I don’t care how many guards follow me as long as I drive alone to suffer in peace.
Inside my car, I pass through the gates and see the personal guard Mika assigned to me close behind.
Kirill is always there watching over me, but seeing him now makes me emotional.
I barely see the road through my blurry eyes.
Even though he’s mad at me, Mika still cares enough to send his most trusted man to guard me.
Kirill drives ahead of me while three cars follow behind, forming a column to safeguard the precious cargo.
I don’t mind the guards, the heavy protection. I just wish we could have Paris as well. Not the city per se, but the togetherness, the freedom, the anonymity. It was an escape from our lives.
Parking in the allotted spot, I slip inside through the back door.
I pass through the group in a haze, nodding and greeting individuals here and there.
In the beginning, the members sent me glances, trying to figure me out, but after years, I think they believe I am just different. Good or bad, it’s irrelevant. I perform and am out, avoiding the crowds or the cheers and congratulations.
I give everything in me during the concerts, and I need to replenish afterward.
Inside my dressing room, I lock the door, waiting for my agent to retrieve me once it’s time to perform.
A knock seeps through, startling me from my thoughts.
My agent steps inside. “You’re booked out for months,” Ramona says, sounding thrilled.
I nod, not even a smidgeon of excitement jolting my comatose heart.
Not hiding her gleeful expression, she asks, “How was New York? Have you perhaps changed your mind?”
I don’t say no directly. Something tells me that after what transpired between Mika and me, I won’t be strong enough to ignore our connection. I must leave Reno.