7. Roman
Chapter seven
Roman
Ipull up to the barn, and in an instant I know something's wrong. Mik's in his usual spot, leaning his forearms on the arena wall and videoing Tatiana so she can review her riding later. She has a three-day eventing competition in a month, and she's extremely hard on herself.
But it's Lev's body language that's a red flag.
I park the SUV and get out, walking straight to the fuming man leaning against the side of the barn, scowling.
"What did you do?"
"Why is it always me?!" he retorts, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.
I don't even bother giving him the answer he already knows.
He looks down, glowering at the gravel. "I embarrassed her today. Made a scene in one of her classes," he grumbles miserably before looking back up at me. "They were whispering behind her back and staring at her. The entire campus was. Leo must have told people she was sleeping with Mik."
I suppress a grin because, yeah; they do sleep together, even if they've never had sex.
If that boy would get out of his own way, he could have her.
I know he could. She loves him with her entire heart; she just doesn't know that that love could turn romantic the minute she gives it breathing room. Jealousy sours in my gut.
Because she's right there for him to reach out and take, and I could never be a part of her life.
Her father would kill me. I'm a lowly soldier in his empire - nowhere near the ranks where he might consider it.
Plus, I'm a decade older than her. It doesn't matter that I fell for her slowly over the years.
That's the problem with being with her daily for the past four years. I've gotten to know her. The real her.
Everyone else sees the skin care routine, the designer clothes, the expensive bags. The way she complains if her coffee is made wrong or if Mikhail steals the last of her oat milk or if Lev puts his boots on her coffee table.
They see a spoiled Bratva princess.
But I know her. I know the girl who sweet-talks to her parakeet, who apologizes to her horse if she's late getting to the barn.
I know the girl who paints until two in the morning because she has too much emotion and nowhere safe to put it.
I know the girl who tries to make herself easy to love, not realizing there's nothing difficult about loving her.
But that's not what this is about.
"What did she say?"
"She pulled me aside and ripped me a new one, right before she burst into tears," he grumbles miserably. Ah. So he feels bad but doesn't know what to do to fix it.
"Did you apologize?"
My gaze is dragged to the duo as they jump over an oxer and turn to aim at the next one. I can hear her counting under her breath in rhythm with Juliet's footfalls, counting his strides between jumps.
His silence is telling. Lev, too, could have her if he'd let go of his anger and need to push and prod and bleed for her.
If he showed her an ounce of the man behind the mask, she'd fall for him.
He's loyal, deeply protective, caring and thoughtful, beneath his snarling, snorting exterior.
I'm convinced he pushes her to keep her away because he knows what she could do to him if he let her in.
His excuse about dying before forty is bullshit, and we all know it. But it keeps him safe.
"Have you tried, oh, I don't know, having a conversation with the girl?"
"We talk all the time!"
"You tease all the time. I don't think you've had a single, actual conversation with her before," I reply.
He doesn't answer me, but the tension he was carrying earlier has faded. It's up to him if he wants to apologize or make things better with her. I'm not his father.
A half hour goes by where we watch her and Christ, she's brilliant.
She and Juliet are completely in sync, moving together as one, and it stokes the fire in my chest. Her shoulders are back, her spine straight, her hands move with the reins, becoming a single, flawless way of communication.
And I can appreciate her skill, until my eyes drop to her waist and hips and the way she grips the saddle with her thighs.
I can't help but wish I could feel her grip me there, roll her hips over mine, rest her hands on my chest as she rides me.
I clear my throat.
Shit.
I don't always think dirty thoughts when I watch her ride.
She rides at least three times a week. But it's been years since I've gotten laid.
When I first got placed in her service, I'd get laid as often as I could to distract me from how tempting I found my best friend's daughter.
Dimitri trusted me with his only daughter, knowing I would never betray our friendship.
He told me his daughter was stubborn, vain, spoiled, reckless, dramatic, and precious to him.
Over the years, though, I've started to wonder how precious she could be. They lived in the same house before college but had dinner together less than a handful of times a month.
I've never questioned him out loud, though.
It's not my place. It's my job to protect her, watch out for her.
While I wouldn't have made a scene like Lev did today, I also wouldn't have been able to hear people gossiping about her behind her back and stay silent.
My solution just would have been quieter and more thought out.
Like hacking their phones, or cornering them in a dark bar. Or threatening their families.
She pulls Juliet into a trot and loosens the reins so she's only holding on with one hand. Her other hand wrestles with a strand of hair that got loose from her braid, tucking it into her helmet.
She'll do two laps in an easy trot, before ten at a walk to ensure he's fully cooled off before she'll untack him, hose him off, feed him dinner and turn him out into his paddock.
The farm is small, privately owned by a retired eventer, and Tatiana has rented out the entire facility, so it's only Juliet and Fran's donkey to keep the warmblood company.
Suddenly, she looks down and pulls her phone out from a small pocket in her britches. Her happy, easy demeanor from a second ago vanishes.
"Blyat," she whispers, and I'm at the arena side in three steps, ready to protect her.
She looks up at Mikhail, who has stopped recording, to me and then Lev, before her jaw tightens and she clicks decline and shoves it back into her pocket.
She only does five laps with Juliet, so I know something's wrong.
She dismounts effortlessly, landing lightly on her feet before pulling the reins over his head and walking him into the barn. We three go to follow, like we always do, but she stops.
"Can... uh... can I have some privacy? It's my mom..."
Shit. I hate the insecurity in her voice.
But that's the one thing I can't protect her from.
Her stupid mother. God, I loathe the woman.
Drunk or high off her face the majority of the time.
How someone so beautiful inside and out can come from a woman like that, I'll never know.
Irina is ugliness personified. I swear she's jealous of Tati's beauty and innocence.
If she's not drunk or high, she's arranging her daughter's dating life; I'm sure to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
Irina's a spiteful, jealous, manipulative, nasty woman.
Where Tatiana takes care of herself and her skin and presents herself the best, most beautiful way she can to the world, Irina seems like she must hate herself to make herself beautiful.
So much Botox she can't make facial expressions anymore, a face lift that makes her look like the witch from Emperor's New Groove, and her dark hair is so bleached it's brittle and frail.
I think she could have been beautiful if she'd loved herself.
I won't even mention the number of times she's come onto me.
I'm closer to her age than Dimitri, but I still find her and her behavior as a woman disgusting.
I understand being miserable in a relationship, but the answer to that isn't to cheat; it's to do something about it.
I have a sneaky suspicion that she wants to cheat and get caught, so her husband finally pays attention to her.
But their marriage issues are none of my business.
Tatiana's my business. My friend's daughter is my business. My friend's daughter's safety is my business.
Mik and Lev hang back as she walks into the barn, but I walk around to the side, where I know there will be an open window to Juliet's stall.
"Mama," she answers, trying to sound happy.
I can vaguely hear Irina's voice but can't make out the words. She's shouting, though, and the hair on the back of my neck raises. She has no business shouting at Tati for her ex-boyfriend's shitty behavior.
I can hear Tati pacing as she takes the verbal beating.
"I'm sorry, Mama. It's not my fault! He cheated on me. He wanted to get caught!"
More high-pitched screeching from the banshee she calls a mother.
Tati goes to interrupt a few times, only for Irina to shout over her. Tatiana's frustration is clear through her tone.
Whatever Irina says, though, takes the wind out of her sails. "Mama. It's been two days. Can we give it a rest? I'm not heartbroken, but how would that look if I jump right back into dating after a breakup?"
More high-pitched shouting. Goddamn that woman. I'm sure she's just heard about what happened to Tatiana, and instead of offering her any sympathy, she's throwing her right back to the wolves. That woman is relentless and ruthless, and I hate it.
"Yes, mama. Yes, mama." God, she sounds so sad. Tonight's going to be another 'sad Tati' night where she doesn't sleep, and she stays up all night escaping into her paintings or movies or books.
At least when she's lost in a fictional world she can be loved.