Chapter 20
Ekaterina
Long minutes are passing by, painfully slow. They are filled with pain, but also with a silence that makes my heart bleed as I stare into an empty spot most of the time.
On the first day, I didn’t leave the house, choosing to lick my wounds in the presence of my best friend, who tried to pull me out of my state with pizza, chocolate, and comedy shows.
Her plan didn’t really work, no matter how good her intentions were.
All this time, I have done nothing but think about the blood on my hand, constantly wondering whether Artem had been wounded and that was why he never made it to my recital.
But if that was the reason, why didn’t he say anything? Why did they lie to me, Dima included, saying he had been at the club?
And who the hell had sent me that picture?
All those questions kept colliding with the fact that I had left that house and still felt betrayed.
My phone was in silent mode, and I avoided speaking to anyone, but part of me still hoped for at least one message from Artem. Something to confirm that everything between us had meant something to him too. That I was not just a game to a man I don’t think he feels anything in general.
But I received no sign from him. And that makes me feel, even now, like a toy he is probably glad to be rid of.
Instead of being happy about the spectacular reviews my recital received, instead of being proud of myself and of the fact that every critic is calling me a phenomenon, I remained downcast and drained of energy.
A slap on my shoulder jolts me out of my miserable state. I nearly drop the coffee in my hand, but I am saved by the lid fitted tightly over the cardboard cup, after Oksana and I picked them up earlier from a Starbucks near the office.
“Are you even paying attention to what I’m reading to you?” she scolds me with a frown.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, replacing the coffee with the phone on the table. “What is it?”
“It’s the latest article published. It says that, although the program listed different pieces, your last-minute improvisation delivered an impeccable performance, hauntingly profound and sorrowful,
bringing tears to the audience’s eyes and leaving them with feelings they will not soon forget through the music you gave them. And at the end, they say your performance was flawless and will certainly become a future benchmark for emerging talents.”
I frown. “They’re exaggerating.”
“They have no reason to. They’re critics.”
“Critics who exaggerate.”
The brightness on her face turns into a crease between her brows.
“I was there, Katya. You laid your beautiful soul bare, and when you weren’t making me cry, you were giving me goose bumps. I don’t understand why you underestimate yourself so much.”
My shoulders drop, and I glance for a moment toward Dima, who has resumed his position as my babysitter for today.
He hasn’t said a word since I saw him this morning, except for a polite greeting.
But I didn’t open any delicate subject with him either, even though part of me has been aching for answers.
“I’m just tired,” I give my visibly worried friend as an explanation. “Apparently, those aren’t exactly my finest days.”
“I know. But all you’re doing is sinking deeper into a numb state, as if you’ve made peace with what’s coming.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve done,” I tell her while absently fiddling with the phone between my fingers. “Until a few weeks ago, I was perfectly satisfied with my life and at peace with this wedding. Why wouldn’t I be now, especially since everything has gone back to how it was before?”
“Because you met...”
She only whispers the sentence, without saying his name.
“I met an illusion, so it doesn’t count.”
She pauses, and only after a few minutes does she speak again, in one breath. “I’m going to be honest with you. Something makes me want to take Pakhan’s side.”
For a second, I stare at her, stunned, but then confusion must be written all over my face.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because something doesn’t add up,” she exclaims, frustrated and thoughtful at the same time.
“Everything was beautiful, then suddenly, something happened and he didn’t come to the recital. That same night, you had blood on your hand after hitting him in the chest. I am convinced something happened and he couldn’t get there.”
“Maybe he got into a fight with someone because of the woman in that picture, and that’s why he couldn’t give me an explanation,” I say, displaying a false indifference.
“Your imagination is ravaging me,” she declares with a sarcastic grimace.
“Oksana, there’s really no point discussing this anymore. Oliver is coming back today, and it’s time for me to focus on the future of our relationship.”
As if on cue, the phone between my fingers rings, and my fiance’s name appears on the screen with a warm message.
Oliver: I just landed. I can’t wait to see you. Dinner together at seven?
Me: I’m glad you arrived safely. Seven is perfect.
Oliver: I’ll have my assistant make a reservation at a nice restaurant.
“I’m having dinner with Oliver tonight,” I tell my friend.
She stiffens. “Are you staying at his place overnight?”
I give a small shrug, my lips twisting into a grimace. “That would be normal, wouldn’t it?”
She lifts both hands and palms up.
“You have no idea how glad I am that I’m not in your place.”
“I believe you.”
“If you want, we can come up with a plan to help you come back home after dinner.”
She raises her eyebrows like an accomplice, and that devilish smile confirms the nature of the plan.
“I don’t know what to say...”
“Here’s what we’ll do. We make the plan, and you decide whether you use it or not.”
I don’t need more than a few seconds to decide. “Okay.”
She thinks for a moment and takes a sip of coffee. “I need to smoke a cigarette for this.”
Shaking my head, I can’t helm a small smile. “You quit more than a year ago.”
“Now do you understand the stress you put me through?” she says quickly, though I can see the smirk she is barely hiding.
She takes another sip of coffee, and I do the same, thinking of what excuse I could give Oliver that would spare me from spending the night with him.
One night.
But what about the rest?
What about the rest of my life?
“I don’t think there’s any point in postponing the inevitable, Oksana. I can’t come up with excuses every day.”
“Then let’s think long term.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s kind of hard in this situation...”
Her face becomes serious, and the way she fixes me in place makes me fall silent at once. “Have you really given up fighting?”
“Fighting for what, Oksana?”
“For freedom. A few days ago, you were determined to find a way out of this arrangement. Now, that Artem is no longer in the picture, that’s it? You’re just going to settle into this whole story? Did you wanted to cancel everything for Artem, or for yourself?”
Her words are full of reprimand, and they hit their marks with precision. But my answer is just as honest and sad. “I wanted to cancel everything because I cared about my future, whether it was with Artem or alone.”
“And now you don’t care anymore?”
My gaze drops to my fingers wrapped around the phone.
“Right now, no.”
“You should, Katya. Because when you start caring about yourself again, it might be too late.”
Her words haunt me all day. Even though we never discuss a backup plan again, I decide honesty will be the best option when the right moment comes.
Oliver is relaxed, but exhaustion is written across his face when he comes to pick me up from my friend’s house. The dark blue suit sits flawlessly on him, and not a single strand of his light brown hair is out of place.
He is not the funniest man. In fact, I would call him severe. But he is not frightening either, the way anyone could describe Artem. He is the classic businessman, born into an old English family, as careful with his gestures as he is with his words.
Most of the time, I feel at ease around him, but if I had to find a few words to define our relationship, monotonous, comfortable, and royal would be the most fitting.
In other words, a relationship stripped of passion but wrapped in peace, unfolding in a setting that felt like a royal palace, where everything belonged exactly where it was and mistakes were never tolerated.
For a twenty-nine-year-old man, Oliver has taken the image of future Lord a little too seriously.
Especially this past year, ever since I began to feel that business was consuming him more than before.
He blames the time zones for the conference calls he takes from his office after midnight, but I believe his ambition to prove something to his father is turning him into a man who forgets how to feel.
The entire drive, while we sit in the back seat of his limousine, he holds my hand and tells me about his travels. He only lets go when we arrive at the restaurant, so he can smile and greet the small group of journalists waiting at the entrance.
“I truly missed you,” he tells me from across the table, crowded with various appetizers.
He ordered as if we were attending a royal feast, while I have struggled to taste a little from several plates, despite the lack of appetite that has haunted me these past few days.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I answer with a warm smile.
All I am trying to do is remember that he is not to blame for the change my heart decided to make in such a short time.
He still cares about me and wants us to have a future together.
I am the villain here, pretending everything is the same as before, even though my heart is still aching for a man I could never have had anyway.
“Did someone told the journalists we were coming here?” I ask after a few minutes of silence.
“Since it’s a famous restaurant where many celebrities come, they’re probably hunting for whatever story happens to fall into their laps,” he says easily.
Something makes me skeptical of that coincidence.
“How lucky for them to run into us on the exact day we reunite after so long.”
He sets his cutlery on the edge of his plate, looking at me in confusion. “Are you suggesting something?”
I lift one shoulder.