I’ve been here for hours, sitting on the balcony outside the bedroom. It was just after midnight when last I checked. Usually when I get like this, the pool would have seen me by now.
But the cacophony of emotions tearing me apart feels different to anything else I’ve ever experienced. I’m scared that if I move, I’ll fade away and become nothing, not even a memory. LikeMischa Butyrskaya.
Is that really who I am?
If that’s me, what happened? How did I get to be here, living the life of Anastasia Sidorov?
And what happened to the real Anastasia?
Mischa Butyrskaya.
I‘ve tried on the name several times in my mind and on my tongue since Desmier gave me the shocking news that pushed me further into the dark abyss of confusion.
While I can’t get used to it, the concept of me being someone else makes sense. It makes more sense than anything I’ve ever been told.
When I think back to how my mother acted around me for years after the accident, it was as if she didn’t know me. But I thought it was because I didn’t know her.
That was the giveaway—I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t remember anyone, and those who were supposed to know me didn’t know me either.
So, what the fuck happened?
Dad, what did you do?
Dad?
He’s not my father.
I’m already thinking like this is true because it’s just the kind of fucked-up thing Uther Sidorov would do.
I just don’t know what he did. Did he steal me from my family? Is that what he did?
Jesus.
I’ve been living this life for so long, slipping into another person’s shoes, and I never guessed things were off because I wasn’t the girl people thought me to be.
I reach for the little picture in a golden frame I picked up downstairs earlier. It’s of the Butyrskayas. Pavel, Vittoria, and their baby boy.
I’ve seen this picture and other paintings of them maybe a thousand times since I’ve been here. To me they are just people. I don’t recognize any of them, and I barely look like them. It’s just Pavel who has really light blond hair like mine. Vittoria’s is brown and so is their sons. But Vittoria has the ice-blue eyes.
Myice-blue eyes.
I can’t believe I could be here looking at pictures of my family without recognizing them as such, and I don’t remember them.
The soft pad of footsteps has me lifting my head.
Desmier comes outside and walks toward me. In my angst-filled state, I’m surprised I can think of him as the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life. And he just rolled out of bed with his hair a sexy mess.
He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and the moonlight bathes his dangerously gorgeous, tattooed body in a sexy silver glow.
I always want him, always need him even when I don’t know I do. But is he still mine after we received this news?
He lowers his body next to me and takes the picture out of my hands.
“I wish I never had to tell you.” His deep baritone voice, rusty with sleep, cuts into the silence.
“I needed to know. The time of truth that I’ve been waiting for has come. I’m just not ready for it, and if this is real, I’m not sure how to deal with it.”
“Together. We deal with it together. The way husband and wife should.” He holds my gaze, and I wonder if he means those words.