51. Tayana
51
TAYANA
B reaking Rafi’s heart feels like I’m severing a piece of my soul. I can still see the devastation in his eyes, the silent plea for a reason, for anything that would make sense of what I was doing. But I couldn’t give him that. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t leave. And I need him to leave without me.
The memory clings to me like a heavy shroud as I sit at the dinner table with Anton and Igor. The air feels thick, tension simmering just below the surface. The clink of cutlery against porcelain plates punctuates the silence. The quiet doesn’t bother me; it’s the weight of Anton’s gaze that I can’t ignore.
He leans back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing in contemplation. “More importantly,” he says, his tone casual but cutting through the silence like a blade, “I want to know what happened between you and Rafi Gatti.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. I’ve been avoiding this conversation for days, deflecting questions and changing subjects whenever it came up. But Anton isn’t one to let things go.
“Nothing happened,” I say lightly, spearing an asparagus tip with my fork and popping it into my mouth. The bitter taste does nothing to dull the ache in my chest.
“Nothing?” Anton’s voice carries the weight of disbelief. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“Exactly that. Nothing happened,” I reply, keeping my tone steady. “I told him it was over, and that was that. He went home and I’m here, as you can see.”
Anton’s brows knit together in confusion, but it’s Igor’s reaction that catches me off guard. He sets his fork down carefully, his movements deliberate and looks at me as though he’s seeing me for the first time.
“You love him,” he says, his voice low but resolute.
My heart skips a beat, and I glance away, focusing on the edge of my napkin. It’s the first time Igor has even come close to acknowledging the thread between me and Rafi. He fought against us every step of the way, insisting that Rafi was a distraction, a danger, a temptation I couldn’t afford. Yet now, the realization in his voice cuts deeper than any of his past objections.
“Does it matter?” I ask, dabbing at my mouth with the napkin to hide the tremor in my hands. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Igor? You couldn’t keep my mother by your side, but I’m the poor substitute who will never leave you.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, cold and biting. The flicker of pain in Igor’s eyes is immediate, and I hate myself for it. I hate the way his jaw tightens, the way he looks away as if my words have struck a nerve too raw to bear.
“You can’t give up your life for ours,” Anton interjects, his voice softer now, tinged with something I can only describe as regret.
“I’m not giving up anything,” I say firmly, meeting Anton’s gaze head-on. “This is where I belong. I’ve been away far too long.”
“You were happy away from here,” Anton counters, his tone almost pleading.
“I was,” I admit. “And I’ll be happy here, too. With both of you.”
My smile is tight, forced, a mask I wear to keep the cracks from showing. But Anton doesn’t look convinced, and Igor remains silent, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him.
What they don’t understand is that this isn’t about happiness. It’s about duty, about family, about the bonds that tie us together no matter how much time or distance has passed.
Anton is my father. Igor is my father. It doesn’t matter whose blood runs through my veins—they are both my family, my world. I owe them everything, and I refuse to leave them now, not when they need me most.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear the weight of what I’ve done to Rafi.
I close my eyes for a moment, the memory flashing behind my lids like a cruel reminder. The way he looked at me when I told him it was over—like I had ripped the ground out from beneath him. His shoulders slumped, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, his hands clenching at his sides as if to keep himself from reaching for me.
No man has ever looked at me the way Rafi did, I remind myself. And no man ever will.
The sadness of coming to terms with that wraps around me like a vise, squeezing the air from my lungs. Every breath feels like a struggle, every beat of my heart a reminder of what I’ve lost. But I made my choice, and I have to live with it.
Anton clears his throat, drawing my attention back to the present. “Tayana,” he says gently, “we don’t want you to sacrifice your life for ours. You’ve already done enough.”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “You don’t understand, Papa. This isn’t a sacrifice. It’s where I’m meant to be.”
I look between the two men who raised me, who shaped me into the woman I am today. They are my heroes, my breath, my life. They are my devastation, my torture, my sorrow. They are my happiness, and yes, they are my sadness. Everything they’ve done up to now has been to keep me safe. To keep me out of harm’s way. And no matter how much it hurts to walk away from the man I love, I know I’m doing the right thing.
Because family has always come first. And it always will.
The countryside stretches out around us, endless fields dotted with the occasional crooked tree, the horizon smudged with the faint glow of an impending sunset. The car purrs softly beneath us as we drive, the sound almost lulling. But there’s no lulling the ache in my chest. It sits there, heavy and raw, a wound that refuses to close.
Igor’s voice breaks the silence, steady and unassuming. “Your mother was a very beautiful woman.”
I glance at him, unsure where this is coming from. His profile is sharp in the dimming light, the lines of his face carved deeper by age and grief.
“I know,” I reply quietly, my voice careful. “I’ve seen the pictures. I still remember her.”
He hums thoughtfully, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in a slow rhythm. “You’re right, you know,” he says, almost to himself.
Something shifts in his tone, and I turn to face him, my breath catching.
“I couldn’t hold her attention long enough,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint, bittersweet humor. “That honor went to your father.” A tight smile tugs at his lips, but his eyes stay on the road. “He made her very happy, Tayana. Happier than I ever could have. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but things work out the way they’re meant to.”
Guilt twists in my stomach, sharp and unforgiving. The words I hurled at him in anger still echo in my mind, as fresh as the moment I said them.
You couldn’t keep my mother by your side, but I’m the poor substitute who will never leave you .
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About what I said. I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”
“You meant it,” he counters gently, glancing at me with a knowing look. “But that’s just what I needed to hear.”
“I’m sorry, anyway,” I insist, the words thick in my throat.
He nods slightly, as if accepting the apology but not dwelling on it. “The handsome one,” he says suddenly, his tone shifting. “That Gatti boy. He makes you happy.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I can’t seem to breathe.
“He makes your heart sing,” Igor adds, his voice steady and calm, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world.
I stare at him, unable to form words. Where is this going? What does he want me to say?
Igor doesn’t wait for an answer. He exhales deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something I can’t quite name. “What you said to me,” he continues, “made me understand that I did the right thing letting your mother go all those years ago.”
The rawness in his voice surprises me. I turn my gaze to the window, staring out at the endless stretch of land, unable to look at him as he speaks.
“Although her years were limited, she spent them happy,” he says, his voice softening. “That’s what allows me to sleep better at night, knowing that she was happy. And I finally understand that I can’t rewrite history and keep you here by my side, Tayana. You need to be with him.”
I shake my head, the thought too much to bear. “Why did you let me hate you all those years?” I whisper, the sudden rush of tears coating my eyelashes.
“I guess…it was easier to live with you hating me than to live with the guilt of not being able to save her.”
“I was wrong, Igor. It wasn’t your fault.” I give him his absolution, even though I know it probably changes nothing. His guilt is raw and all consuming; if he hasn’t been able to shed it all these years, he probably never will.
“If I had to do it over…”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. I don’t want to deal with what ifs. We can’t change the past, but we can control the present. And we may be able to guide the future.
“I won’t leave you,” I tell him. “I won’t leave Anton.”
“You won’t,” he agrees. “Not entirely. But he’s your happiness. You can make this work somehow. Go back and forth until Anton is better. Find a middle ground. But don’t give up on your happiness, Tayana.”
His words cut deep, scraping against the raw edges of my broken heart. My throat burns, and I blink hard against the sting of tears. He’s giving me his blessing. Not just his blessing—he’s pushing me toward Rafi. Toward the one thing I’ve convinced myself I can’t have.
The car slows, the engine humming down as we approach the airport. I hadn’t even realized we were so close. My eyes lift to the runway, and there it is—a plane, sleek and purposeful, circling the tarmac before coming to a stop. The stairs unfold, and a figure steps into the doorway.
Kanyan.
And if Kanyan is here, that can only mean one thing.
My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. Igor’s voice pulls me back to the moment.
“Go get your prince, kotyonok .”
His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. I can’t move, my body frozen between fear and hope.
Igor nudges me gently. “Go,” he says, more firmly this time, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
The door clicks open, and I step out into the cool evening air. My legs carry me forward, faster than I realize, until I’m running. My breath comes in sharp bursts, the world narrowing to the plane, the stairs, and the silhouette waiting at the top.
It’s Rafi.
He’s standing there, staring down at me, his face a mix of disbelief and something else—something softer, something like hope.
“Rafi!” I yell, my voice breaking with emotion.
His name pulls him into motion, and he’s running down the stairs before I even reach them.
When we meet on the tarmac, everything else fades away. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground as I cling to him like I’ll never let go. His scent, his warmth—it’s all so achingly familiar, so undeniably him .
“I’m here,” I whisper against his neck, my tears soaking into his skin. “I’m home .”