Chapter 9 - Emmanuil
The weight drops to the floor with a heavy thunk, and I stand up straight, rolling my shoulder. My body is hyped up after a good lifting session. The sun is pouring into my air-conditioned gym, and the music is blaring around me.
It’s the perfect way to start the morning. I’ve been a bit distracted lately and out of routine with Anya here, but this morning I put things right again and woke up and headed straight to the top-floor gym.
The shootout yesterday left me rattled in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. This time it wasn’t just me. I wasn’t only protecting myself. She was there, too. I felt…stressed. Far more stressed than usual in those situations.
What if something had happened to her?
Of course, it only bothers me because of the implications of the forced marriage and her brother’s reaction if she’d been—
I can’t even let my thoughts go there.
Killed.
No. I would never let that happen to her.
Why the fuck is this bothering me so much? She’s a liar, and she betrayed me.
I let out a heavy huff of breath as I pick up the sweat towel.
“Sir,” Logan shouts over the music, standing in the doorway.
I turn to face him as I wipe the towel across my face.
“Music volume twenty-five percent,” I say into my smart watch.
The music level drops, and Logan steps into the gym. “Sir, your cousin is here with his wife.”
“Now? They’re in the house?” I ask, my heart jumping, my fingers clenching tighter around the fabric of the towel.
“Yes, sir. They’re downstairs in the living room, and the housekeeper is making them coffee. I told them you were finishing up in the gym and would be down in a minute.”
“Uh—thanks.” Dammit. I did not want Ardalion here. The risk is too high. I didn’t want to put him in a position where he might become involved in my project.
I toss the towel onto a nearby bench and grab my water bottle as I hurry past Logan, heading towards my bedroom so I can shower.
I pause in the doorway. “Where is the girl?”
“She’s in her room, sir.”
Okay. If I move quickly, she might stay there, and I can avoid any drama. I’ll say hello, then get them out of here before anything happens.
I didn’t think Ardalion was coming here. We discussed dinner in the city this evening, not a visit to the mansion.
I specifically told him I wanted to get out so that he didn’t stumble across Anya.
Fuck.
This certainly isn’t what I planned.
I shower at lightning speed, scrubbing and rinsing and getting dressed all within the space of five minutes. Then I hurry downstairs to greet them.
I can hear their voices as I walk towards the living room. They’re laughing, teasing each other, clearly happy and in love.
It bothers me, even though I want to be happy for my cousin—and I am, I am happy for him. I just struggle to believe in what they have. And I don’t want him to end up going through what I went through. Women can be cruel creatures. I hope he found a good one. If there is such a thing.
“Belle. You look radiant,” I smile as I step into the room. Ardalion stands, setting his coffee mug down.
“Look at you, all pumped up,” he mocks me with the same enthusiasm he always has. He’s the brother I never had. He’s been with me through everything, and we’ve supported each other without question.
But that doesn’t mean I want to put my Anya issues on him.
There is no reason for him to be involved.
“Hey, man, why are you interrupting my workout? I thought we planned for dinner later on,” I say, feigning annoyance that might not be as fake as I’m making it out to be.
“I heard about the shootout at the mall, and I was worried. You didn’t answer your phone last night or this morning.”
“Shit. I left it on silent,” I sigh, pushing my hand through my damp hair. “Sorry, man, I should have let you know I was okay.”
“Well, we’re glad to see it.” Ardalion slaps me on the shoulder, then pulls me into a solid hug, slapping his hand across my back. “Definitely glad to see it,” he repeats.
I lean down to hug Belle, and she gives me a light kiss on the cheek. “We thought we’d come take you out for breakfast?” she says.
Perfect, that’s absolutely the exact thing I want. To get out of the mansion as fast as possible.
“That sounds great. I’m starving. Let me grab my phone, and we can go,” I say with all the enthusiasm in the world.
Ardalion laughs. “You must be hungry. I’ve never seen you that excited to go for breakfast.”
“Hey man, I did a heavy session in the gym now. I need my protein,” I chuckle.
I turn away to get my phone, and my body goes rigid.
“Hello,” Anya says sweetly, walking into the living room. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She’s holding a cup of coffee and a book, wearing a pair of skinny jeans that hug her ass and a little pink crop top that shows off the tanned stripped of skin across her waist.
“Anya Ilyin,” I hear Ardalion whisper in shock. But then, louder he says, “Hi, I think we’ve met before. I’m Ardalion Pushkin.” He steps forward to shake her hand, and she quickly tucks the book under her arm to free her hand. Her smile is beautiful.
“Yes, I think we have met before. Perhaps at one of the events.”
“This is my wife, Belle. We’re down from Los Angeles for a few days. Coming to say hi to the cousin, make sure he’s not causing any trouble.” Ardalion shoots me a glance, his eyes narrowed.
Belle stands up and greets Anya with a warm smile and a one-armed hug.
“We didn’t know Emmanuil had guests staying over,” Belle says, glancing at me with curiosity.
“Anya is just staying here for a bit,” I say, not really explaining anything, but feeling the need to make some sort of comment.
“Are you joining us for breakfast? We’re about to take Em out before he starves to death,” Belle giggles.
“Oh, no, thank you, I’ve already eaten,” Anya says, her eyes drifting towards me. I know she hasn’t eaten yet. But maybe she can sense that I don’t want her around them.
I clench my jaw and smile tightly.
“Shall we get going?”
“Sure.” Ard nods. “Come on, my love, you’ve been craving those butterscotch pancakes for weeks now.” He places his hand on Belle’s lower back and gently pushes her out of the living room.
“Bye, Anya,” Belle calls out as she walks towards the door. She heads out into the front garden area, and I follow them, leaving Anya in the living room.
Before I can leave the house, Ardalion grabs my arm and pulls me aside.
In a harsh whispered tone, he demands to know what’s going on.
“That’s Kristopher’s sister,” he hisses. “What the hell are you doing with your enemy’s sister?” his eyes are narrowed as he stares at me.
Ardalion doesn’t know about the history between Anya and me. He doesn’t know that I’ve been in agony for the past five years since she left me.
He has supported me through everything, but this was too much to share. I tried to bury it, tried to push it down, instead of asking him for help to deal with it.
I clear my throat and answer carefully.
“I’ve got this handled, Ard. There is nothing for you to worry about, and I will not involve you in any of it.”
He shakes his head, his mouth pulled tight. “I don’t like this, Em.”
“I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about,” I say again, nodding, locking my eyes with his.
He sighs and tilts his head to the side, studying my face. “Alright. But I’m here, if you need anything. Support. Defense. Whatever.”
I grin and slap his shoulder. “Don’t be so dramatic,” I tease him, trying to make light of the situation.
But his expression tells me he isn’t falling for it that easily.
“Let’s go get some food,” he sighs, walking out to the car, towards his wife.
Thankfully, Ardalion doesn’t bring it up again.
Not when we have our business meeting late that afternoon, and not the next day when I invite him and Belle for dinner at the mansion.
He’s already seen Anya, so it hardly matters if he spends time with her, and he’s shown that he’s willing to stand back and not ask questions.
Anya is thrilled when I tell her that my cousin will be joining us for dinner with his wife. I think she’s lonely at the mansion. We hardly speak to each other, and she spends most of her time in her bedroom alone. It’ll be good for her to see other people, and at least they are people I can trust.
Ard and Belle arrive before sunset as we are having dinner outside on the patio with ocean views and a gentle sea breeze.
The air is warm and fresh, and Anya comes down wearing a beautiful summer dress that floats around her thighs, teasing my imagination.
She’s taken off the bandage wrapped around her leg and just left the stuck-on plaster with fresh gauze.
She leans against the kitchen counter, her breasts pressing together, making it difficult to tear my eyes off her.
“Do you need help with anything?” she asks.
“How is your leg?”
“It’s much better. There isn’t much pain anymore, not like the first day. Whatever the cream was that you put on seems to have helped it close up faster.”
“You still have to be careful with it,” I warn her, keeping my eyes on the drink I’m making. “Do you want a gin and tonic?”
“Yes, please. Have you got blueberries? I love—"
I hold up the little tub of blueberries. “I know,” I say.
She grins, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. “You remembered,” she says softly.
I hate that I remember.
I hate that I remember everything she loves.
Her perfume. Blueberries in her gin. That rose-scented bubble bath, the bottle with the pink lid, not the white one.
Her favorite color being bright coral peach, except on her toenails.
She loves mint blue on her toes. She wishes lilies came in blue.
She loves eating crumb cake on the beach at sunset.
Her favorite author is HP Lovecraft, which always seemed so contradictory to her sweet nature.
She loves the thunder and rain, but loves the sun just as much.
Being cold makes her feel alive, but being bundled up in soft blankets makes her smile.
She loves rabbits and kittens, especially those extra fluffy angora bunnies.
And we were supposed to get a Maine Coon when we moved in together. We were going to pick him out; I’d already found the breeder and was going to surprise her with a trip to meet some kittens just before she left me.
That’s how she got her nickname from me. Kitten. My kitten.
I hand Anya a blue gin with three blueberries swirling around in the glass.
“Thank you,” she smiles, her brows scrunching for just a moment when she sees my expression. I hate letting my emotions slip.
I wipe the memories from my mind and flex my brows to refresh my face. “They’ll be here in a minute or two,” I say. “Shall we go sit outside in the sun?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” Anya follows me outside onto the patio and into the warm sun.
She sits down next to me and stretches her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes and wiggling them as she smiles and sips her gin. Mint. Pretty mint colored varnish on her toes.
“This is so nice,” she smiles, closing her eyes and taking a slow breath.
“Hello, you two lazy sun lizards,” Ardalion’s loud voice booms from behind us.
“You’re just in time. The ice is still frozen in your drink,” I say happily.
No matter what is going on inside my head, I know how to hide things. I know how to blend in and push thoughts away to enjoy an evening. I know how to pretend, and sometimes I can even fool myself into believing I’m okay, even if it’s just for a few hours around people I care about.
Anya gets up to hug Bella. “Can I make you a gin?” she asks, the perfect hostess.
“That would be lovely,” Belle says, and Anya takes her hand and leads her inside.
“How are things going?” Ard asks, sitting in the sun as well.
“Good, the chef cooked up a seafood feast for us.”
“You know I wasn’t asking about food.” He raises one brow.
“Things are good,” I say more solemnly.
He nods. That’s all he’ll say about it.
Around the dinner table with the sky turning orange and blue over the ocean horizon, we look like an old group of friends. Anya is beautiful, charismatic, charming, and sweet. She’s attentive, amusing, and full of laughter.
She’s perfect.
And I’m struggling, watching her, remembering how sweet she used to be to me.
Every time someone needs something, she’s up to get it for them.
She’s quick to refill drinks and listens when people tell stories, asking questions and sharing their enthusiasm, no matter what the topic is. I’ve missed her so much.
I’m struggling deeply, but I don’t let it show, not for a second.
Because no matter how good she is at playing this perfect version of herself, I know the real her. The version that’s capable of leaving me drowning in my own pain while she turns her back and carries on with her life as though nothing was ever real between us. Because for her it wasn’t.
While for me it was everything.