18. Mila
18
MILA
I manage to avoid Vitaly for two days.
It hasn’t been easy. In fact, if Alik hadn’t convinced Nikita that Vitaly’s true interest was Alexa Volcov, it would be impossible. I still don’t know why Alik never said anything about me leaving with Vitaly or of his suspicions concerning Alexa. If it’s pity for me, it’s unlike him to feel that.
Whatever his motivations, it’s helped my situation tremendously. Nikita’s attention has moved away from me, and he’s no longer having me play the part of soldier to show Vitaly around. I’m back to being uselessly in the background, which is the only place I want to be right now. It’s amazing what mere days can change.
The mansion is loud downstairs, music from Nikita’s playroom drifting throughout the entire first floor. The last few nights, I, thankfully, have not been asked to attend the little parties he throws to feed his fucked-up pleasures, and I think it’s because he actually feels guilty. He’s been tossing crumbs of affection I can’t stomach with a blank face, so he too has been avoided.
As I make my way toward the stairs, I creep past Vitaly’s room, holding my breath as if he might hear my lungs work. It’s eleven, and most nights he’s in his room by eight, so I’m assuming he’s sleeping. He never comes to the parties or joins anyone for dinner. I’d say he’s like a teenager camped in his room, but I don’t get the sense that he’s avoiding anyone the same way I am. I think he just likes solitude.
When I get to the staircase, I let out the breath I’d been holding and glide my hand down the rail as I descend. The tile is cool against my bare feet as I make my way to the kitchen, passing a couple leaving the playroom on the way. I catch the man eyeing me in my loose cami top and pajama shorts but don’t utter a greeting or slow down.
In my room, there’s a mini fridge stocked with water and anything else I need. I miss it. I miss having my own bathroom, my own space. Most of all, I miss not having to walk all the way to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
The smell of something hits me before anyone comes into view, and I wish I had better sense. I wish I’d stop, turn around, at least peek into the kitchen before walking in and gasping like the ghost of one of Nikita’s victims is bent over the pot at the stove.
A shirtless Vitaly, ladle in hand, turns to me with a quizzical tilt of his head. “Good evening, Mila.”
My feet turn to bolt, but I know how ridiculous that would be. I would look like a little girl running away from her crush.
Internally, I cringe.
Clearing my throat, I point my feet back toward him and give a little wave. “Hello.”
He goes back to stirring the pot while I walk to the fridge like I’ve forgotten how limbs are supposed to sway. I feel awkward. Stiff. My arms stick to my sides like they’re too heavy, and when I open the fridge, it feels like I need to oil my elbows.
I duck my head inside the fridge, feeling the smallest bit of reprieve as I inhale deeply.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
When I peek over my shoulder, he’s turning off the burner and letting the ladle lean against the pot. He opens a cabinet and looks over his shoulder to get confirmation on how many bowls he should get.
The muscles surrounding his shoulder blades flex in this position, lumps of ink jutting from his skin that have my arms feeling even heavier. A pair of shorts hang around his waist, and his hair is damp like he’s showered recently.
He’s … handsome. He’s really handsome. This isn’t the first time I’m noticing, but it’s the first time I’m seeing him in proper lighting and admitting it to myself without hatred to taint the admiration.
His brows pull together at my non-answer, and he slides a bowl from the cabinet. “Okay then.”
I turn back to the fridge and snatch a bottle of water from the door before shutting it. I start toward the exit, but Vitaly’s velvety words stop me.
“Is everything all right?”
Is everything all right?
No. No, it isn’t.
“Of course,” I reply, automatically squaring my shoulders as I raise my defenses. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you?” I scoff as I turn to face him, batting my hair from my face. I command my feet to move toward him like I’m trying to prove to myself that what he says isn’t true.
“I went looking for you yesterday. One of the girls told me she’d let you know. When you didn’t come find me, I thought maybe it wasn’t safe…”
“I haven’t been avoiding you, Vitaly,” I chuckle condescendingly, like he’s a small child who knows nothing of this world. “I have a lot of responsibilities around here. I’ve been busy.”
He blinks but doesn’t say anything. Like he can see right through the lie. Because it’s obvious.
I look away as I suck in a breath. “Look… What happened between us was… Umm. It was nice , but we can’t do it again. Ever.”
Why not? I imagine him asking like I’ve pictured this conversation a hundred times.
I have my answer fully formed in my head.
Because, Vitaly , I would be fucking killed for it. You would be fucking killed for it.
And I am not dying for Vitaly Petrov.
What happened was stupid. Beyond reckless. If Alik had followed us and seen…
It can never happen again.
It doesn’t matter if Nikita orders me to lather myself in Cool Whip and serve myself to Vitaly for dinner. If I look like I enjoy it, I’m a traitorous whore. I am still Nikita’s, even if he hardly wants me.
“I agree,” Vitaly says, pausing my heart.
It takes me a moment to find a word. “What?”
Vitaly pours steaming soup into a bowl before going to a drawer to get a spoon. He glances at me like he’s barely keeping up with the conversation. “I don’t think we should kiss again.”
“Why?” My tone is quizzical instead of whiny, and I thank the universe for it.
He looks so nonchalant. So … indifferent.
My heart falls. The bastard actually manages to make my heart fall.
Why? Why must I want him more than he wants me?
He shrugs. “It could be dangerous.”
It could be dangerous?
Could be?!
I hate him. His apathy, his cool demeanor, his tattoos that draw my eyes. I hate him so much right now that my head feels like it’s overheating, but I still can’t walk away. Because the thing I hate most about him is how I can’t hate him enough.
Leave me alone. Get away.
Come closer. Chase me.
How can I feel all of these things at the same time?
“Yes, it is,” I say in response to it could be dangerous. How fucking observant of him. As if we haven’t played with fire every day since he stepped foot in Vegas. “Alik told Nikita you’re interested in Alexa Volcov, so thankfully, the heat is off me for now, but… Yes, it would be a terrible idea to make him think otherwise.”
Vitaly blows on a spoonful of soup, sending the cabbage aroma my way. It’s shchi, a dish I haven’t had since I was a kid. Vitaly puts the spoonful in his mouth and seems to think as he chews. Or he just loves annoying me.
When he swallows, he nods. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Alik is a good guy.”
“What?” I ask, rearing my head back as my nose wrinkles.
“Alik knows there’s nothing going on between me and Alexa. He lied for you.”
I shake my head. “ If he lied, it wasn’t for me . It was for himself.”
Vitaly considers this for a few moments. “Or maybe it was for me.”
My chest puffs with a snort. “For you? Alik hates you.”
“Like you hate me?”
My mouth closes as the humor leaves my expression. Vitaly doesn’t seem bothered. He looks off, thinking.
“I wonder if he’s the one who sent the picture?”
“Picture?”
He brings another spoonful of soup to his lips and takes an annoying amount of time to swallow before setting the bowl on the counter and shifting closer to me. His palm flattens on the countertop as he leans dangerously close, making the air feel thinner. The ink on his chest is in my face, and while most of his tattoos bleed together to make one big mosaic, one sentence stands out.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. That’s … biblical, right? That seems like an odd choice for Vitaly. Did he get religious in prison?
“I told you why I came here,” Vitaly says, pulling my attention away from his chest. “But I didn’t actually know you were here until a week before I was released. Someone sent me a photo of you with Nikita.”
I frown. “Why would they?—”
“On the back, they wrote, ‘Nikita Petrov has what’s yours.’”
“Oh.”
He glances at the doorway then looks at me, his amber eyes holding me in place. The stubble on his face stands out to me now as I remember the feel of it against my cheek. How good his lips felt, even blue from the cold. I’d clung to his wet flesh then, and now, with him so close, it feels like such a waste that our one time had to be there when I couldn’t smell his masculine scent. Couldn’t see his tattoos so clearly like I can now, feel the warmth of his touch.
I want it again. I hate that I want it again, but I do. I swallow at the realization and try to pay attention when he speaks, but it’s hard to move my mind from the urge to lean in just a little bit closer. Or run away entirely. Being this close… It feels too strange.
“Somebody obviously wanted to lure me here, but they haven’t made themselves known. I think it must’ve been Alik.”
The hope in his voice sinks my lips. He cares for his old friend dearly, I can see it, hear it, feel it from him, but Alik is never going to feel the same.
“That’s not possible, Vitaly.”
His lips part, but he doesn’t speak right away, eyes dancing around like he’s looking for a way to make it so. “Alik was with you at the church, wasn’t he?”
I pause. “ Yeah , but?—”
“Then he saw us at the lake. He did lie to Nikita, even though he could’ve given him a reason to kill me.”
Blood drains from my face. “You think he followed us?”
Vitaly’s eyes narrow like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
“H-he trusts me to tell him things. He wouldn’t have needed to follow.”
Vitaly nods slowly, but I can tell he isn’t on board with my reasoning. “What did you tell him happened, then?”
Whatever blood I had left in my face is gone until I’m certain I’m ghostly pale. I don’t say anything, and Vitaly doesn’t press. I think he trusts me. I think he knows I wouldn’t have given him up. Or that I wouldn’t have played him. Or couldn’t have.
Vitaly doesn’t even look nervous by my response, but me? I’m just realizing Vitaly is right. Alik knows. He must know.
Because he didn’t ask me a damn thing.
“I-I haven’t spoken to him since that night.”
Vitaly shows me his palms, as if that says it all. It does. But Alik still isn’t the one who wants him here.
I look away with zero desire to crush his spirits, taking in his unfinished bowl of shchi instead. I must’ve been ten the last time I had it, when I was sick.
Vitaly follows my gaze. “Hungry?”
Hungry? No, not really. But curious.
I shrug. “Sure.”
He grabs a bowl from the cabinet and pours some of the soup in. When I take the first bite of cabbage, I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s good. Well-flavored. It hints at a skilled cook.
But it’s still cabbage soup.
“Yum,” I say, raising my spoonful of soup in a toast before bringing it to my lips. Vitaly follows my lead.
When I set the spoon back in the bowl, I wipe my mouth. “Hey, Vitaly?”
“Hmm?” he asks around a bite of cabbage.
“Why are you making peasant food at eleven at night?”
He leans his lower back against the counter while scraping his bowl with the spoon. “I like the freedom of eating when I choose.”
“Ah, so that’s why you refuse to come to dinner.” I chuckle, my brow raised as I watch him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t like what the king serves.”
“What?” My lips spread. “Are you saying you prefer cabbage to steak?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’m a simple man.”
“You are not a simple man.”
He smiles into the bowl before bringing the whole thing to his mouth. After draining the bowl, he walks to the sink and rinses it out. I watch him with curiosity far too intense for a man doing such simple things.
When he shuts off the sink, he walks back over to me and cocks his hip against the counter. “Did you know I was spoiled growing up?”
“No, really ?” I press my hands to my cheeks in mock disbelief, making Vitaly smile.
“ Well , that did not fare well for me when I became an adult. I was vulnerable to pain, hunger, sleep deprivation, all things outside of the life of a kid who grew up…” He motions to our surroundings as he glances around. “Here… I find strength in living with little. Sometimes I even like to feel pain just to make sure my mind hasn’t softened.”
“Really?” I ask, my voice sounding playfully disbelieving, though I really do believe it. I find my smile slipping as he nods, his eyes so serious they push mine away.
I fight to stay still as his intensity wraps around me and tries to tug me toward him. I don’t know if it would even make sense for me to kiss him now. He isn’t trying to be sexy. I’m not even certain he’s being sexy.
But he has the look of a god and the mind of a warrior. He’s everything I once thought a Pakhan should be. Everything his grandfather wasn’t, that his uncle isn’t.
He’s the type of man I’ve worked so hard to fit myself with, even when he didn’t exist here. The type I’d swim a lake with in winter, just to make sure my body knew what it was like not to be comfortable.
I get it. I really get it.
He’s keeping his mind strong. He’s training for battles that haven’t been started.
He’s…
He might be perfect.
I swallow. “Good thing you had your mother to teach you to cook, then.” I force myself to smile through my confusion and gesture to the pot on the stove. “It’s simple but tasty.”
“I’d be a much better cook if my mother had been the one to teach me.” He returns my smile, but it seems just as forced. Maybe even sad. “I worked in the kitchen for a couple years when I was in prison.”
“Oh.” I rub my arm. “Right, that makes sense.”
“Done?”
I tense, my spine straightening. “Huh?”
He points to my bowl. “Are you finished?”
“Oh, yeah.” I rub up and down my arm as he takes care of my bowl, all the while imagining what must’ve happened to turn him into the man who stands before me. Everyone seems to be curious, but I was skeptical he’d changed at all when he first came here. Now I feel like I need to know.
“Can I ask you something?” I call while he’s still at the sink.
He shuts it off then comes back toward me. “Hmm?”
“What was prison like?”
His face doesn’t change as he slows to a stop in front of me. Horrid memories don’t flash in his eyes, trauma doesn’t twist his face.
But still, it isn’t something he wants to talk about.
“You know, I’m feeling a little tired. I’m gonna head to bed. You have a good night, though, all right?”
My eyes widen at the sudden shift, but I don’t sense anger or contempt. I nod, having to collect myself a moment before I’m able to speak. “Y-yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sure. You too.”
He gives me a small smile and a dip of his chin before walking from the kitchen, leaving me standing, uncertain of what I want to do now.
This thing between us needs to stop. It does.
Someone could’ve come in, could’ve seen me staring at him in all the ways I shouldn’t have. The questions I asked were too personal, too inappropriate. The thoughts in my head were too intimate.
I shake my head to admonish my actions, filling with anger at myself for wanting Vitaly. And anger at Vitaly for running away like the coward he claims he isn’t.
When I finish my water, I can’t bring my feet to move me back to the shared corridor with the other women. The thought of going back there is unbearable.
I chuck the water bottle in the trash and head upstairs to grab my shoes, intent on going for a walk outside. Maybe the fresh air will help me clear my head.
When I pass Vitaly’s door, something makes me pause. It’s stupid, but I can’t seem to walk away, and the longer I stand, the more I’m able to admit to myself why.
I want him. God dammit, I want him, for better or worse.
Alekseevs are stronger than this. Unlike the Petrovs, we aren’t cowards. We never run. We brave our storms, we fight our battles, we take what we want.
We take what we want.
My heart skips at that thought, mainly because I realize how untrue it is, at least for me. My life has become a constant waiting for men to place everything I desire into my hands. Life has made me pathetic. The Petrovs have made me pathetic.
And I was wrong. I am a coward. I’m a coward who stands outside a man’s door, wishing he’d invite me in without the courage to just fucking knock.
I’m a coward who spends hours of my day begging for scraps and avoiding punishment.
I’m a coward who has let Nikita dictate my actions as well as my fate for nearly half my life.
I’m a coward.
Maybe it’s time I changed that.