The necklace slithered away and she fetched the velvet box, handing it to him along with the earrings, then wormed her way out of her gown.
“Trina better be a rich woman, after everything he put her through. It doesn’t seem real.” She knew she was babbling. She was processing aloud, maybe because she was afraid of what would be said if she wasn’t already doing the talking. “I’ve never been able to trust the times when I’ve thought I was rid of him. Even after I was living with Hildy, things would come up with Trina and I’d realize he was still a specter in my life. I was so sure the wedding was going to be it. Snip, snip, snip.”
She made little scissors with her fingers, cutting ties to her stepfather, then bounced her butt into the seat of her jeans and zipped. Her push-up bra was overkill, but she pulled a T-shirt over it, not bothering to change into a different one.
“Now it’s really here. He’s dead. No longer able to wreck my life.”
She made herself face him. Face it. The truth she had been avoiding.
“I’m finally safe from him.”
Which meant Mikolas had no reason to keep her.
* * *
Mikolas was a quick study, always had been. He had seen the light of the train coming at him from the end of the tunnel the moment her lips had shaped the words, He’s dead.
He had watched her pack and change and had listened to her walk herself to the platform and he still wasn’t ready when her pale, pale face tilted up to his to say goodbye.
I can rebook with Aleksy. That was as close as he could come to stating that he was willing to continue their affair. He wasn’t offering her solace. She wasn’t upset beyond concern for her sister. God knew she didn’t need him. He had deliberately stifled that expectation in her.
She looked down so all he could see of her expression was her pleated brow. “If you could give me some time to work out how to manage things with Aunt Hildy—”
He turned away, instantly pissed off. So pissed off. But he was unable to blame anyone but himself. He was the one who had fought letting ties form between them. He’d called what they had chemistry, sexual infatuation, protection.
“We’re square,” he growled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Hardly. I’ll get her house on the market as soon as I can—”
“I have what I wanted,” he insisted, while a voice in his head asked, Do you? “I’m in,” he continued doggedly. “None of the contacts I’ve made can turn their backs on me now.”
* * *
“Mikolas—” She lowered to the padded bench in front of the vanity, inwardly quailing. Don’t humiliate yourself, she thought, but stumbled forward like a love-drunk fool. “I care for you.” Her voice thickened. “A lot.” She had to clear her throat and swallow. Blink. Her fingers were a tangled mess against her knees. “If you would prefer we stay together...just say it. I know that’s hard for you, but...” She warily lifted her gaze.
He was a statue, hands fisted in his pockets, immobile. Unmoved.
Her heart sank. “I can’t make an assumption. I would feel like I’m still something you took on. I have to be something...” You want. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words. This was hopeless. She could see it.
* * *
Mikolas’s fists were so tight he thought his bones would crack. The shell around his heart was brittle as an egg’s, threatening to crack.
“It’s never going to work between us,” he said, speaking as gently as he could, trying so hard not to bruise her. “You want things that I don’t. Things I can’t give you.” He was trying to be decent, but he knew each word was a splash of acid. He felt the blisters forming in his soul. “It’s better to end it here.”
It happens to the best of us.
What about the worst? What about the ones who pushed it away before they knew what they were refusing?
What about the ones who were afraid because it meant succumbing to something bigger than themselves? Because it meant handing someone, everyone, the power to hurt him?
The room seemed to dim and quiet.
She nodded wordlessly, lashes low. Her gorgeous, kissable mouth pursed in melancholy.