My brother watched me with a serious expression. “You may think I got the short end of the stick between us growing up, but you’ve forgotten you were the one living in closets for years or being beat up by our mother and her clients.”
I raised a brow. “Are we taking a trip down memory lane?”
“I think it’s time, don’t you?”
“No.”
“I may be slightly out of touch with human emotion, but at least I understand it.”
I glared at him. “I understand it just fine.”
“Coming from the man who rationalizes unrequited love for the Mikhailov girl to her stealing from you.”
Being accused of “love” made me feel . . . awkward, so I deflected. “Firstly, nothing here is unrequited.” If it was, I would make it requited. “Secondly, I’ve seen the Hallmark Channel. This isn’t how love works.”
Kristian laughed. “I thought I might have to explain sex tips to my younger brother. Not love.”
“Think I got the sex thing down, but thanks.”
Staring into his tumbler glass, he swirled the vodka in his glass. “I loved Gianna for years before she ever even looked at me. Love isn’t hearts and flowers. Sometimes, it fucking sucks.”
“You’re really selling this to me,” I said drily.
“I don’t have to sell it. You’ve already gone and fallen for Alexei Mikhailov’s daughter.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t.
“I know you blame yourself for what happened to me.” The silence was heavy. “You feel so guilty over that shit you can’t let yourself care for other people—because if you couldn’t protect your own brother, why should you deserve any other meaningful relationships? Well, you need to get the fuck over it.”
Sometimes, I hated his unnatural insight. Other times, it made things easier for me because I never would have said that shit out loud.
“I feel like I should be lying on a psychologist’s couch.”
“You do have a pile of trauma-induced emotional issues on top of that if you want me to get into them.”
I gave him a “fuck off” look.
He smiled. “If anything, I should have been there for you more. I was the older brother. I shouldn’t have left the second I was released—especially knowing now how fucked-up you are.”
“This is truly therapeutic.”
“Good. Now, you can stop hitting people and start rehearsing how you’re going to tell Mila you love her.”
I chuckled. “Unfortunately, there’s no mirror in here, and I need to see myself during rehearsals.”
“By the way, welcome to the club,” he said with relish. “I’ve been waiting for the day I could call you whipped.”
Fuck.
I’d always avoided the word “love” like it was a disease, but now he’d put the idea in my head, it festered.
All that random stuff that came out of my mouth when I thought she could die was true. I’d fought death more times than I could count, but I knew I’d welcome it if it ever came down between me or her. I’d warned her about being selfless, and now it seemed I was practically sacrificial in regard to her.
The sickly-sweet girl with a soft heart and love of yellow had somehow filled a blank space inside me. And I couldn’t handle the thought of her anywhere else but with me.
Pros: My crystal glasses were safe.
Cons: It might really be unrequited.