When he nods, I want to hate him. I want to place the blame for a decade of hurt solely on his shoulders. But I also understand why he did what he did.
Ten years of heartache has nothing on a lifetime, and that is what Mikhail and I would have faced if the federation that once ruled this country had made the same mistake Andrik did.
There would have been no second chances then.
“During the first year of your separation, Mikhail tried many times to see you, buttheyalways found a way to detour his thoughts.” The disdain in Andrik’s voice announces who he is referencing.
My name never left his grandfather’s “unworthy” list.
Shock rains down on me when my arrow veers toward the bullseye before it misses its target.
“The federation had used Mikhail to control me for years, but I had no clue they had gone that far.” My fists clench along withAndrik’s when he mutters, “They almost killed him when they forced him off the road on your birthday the first year you were apart, and although he didn’t fear dying, he believed in fate.” I can’t breathe through my shock, and he worsens it. “I don’t know if the numerous DUIs Mikhail collected over the years were poor judgment on Mikhail’s part or the federation’s doing, but I will find out. I promise you that.”
His word should mean nothing to me, but his love and respect for Mikhail are undeniable, so I absentmindedly nod instead of responding how I really want to—with violence.
After a deliberation nowhere near long enough to lift my confusion, I lock eyes with Andrik and say, “I understand why you did what you did, but it doesn’t make it right.”
“I know,” he repeats, his expression sorrowed, even though it is still somewhat firm.
It becomes unreadable when I add, “I don’t see Mikhail moving past this as easily as I have. I don’t know if he will be as forgiving. You are theonlyperson he trusts, and you broke that. He may not forgive you.”
“I know,” Andrik parrots, his heartache undeniable despite his hard expression. “But that is a sacrifice I am willing to make to fix my mistakes.”
Mikhail and Andrik endured years of abuse together. They assisted each other through it, and it made their bond unbreakable. I don’t want this to tear them apart. Enough heartbreak has already occurred. I would give anything for it to end here, and I think I know a way to achieve that.
“I don’t think we should tell him yet.” Zoya and Andrik gasp in sync. As my eyes bounce between theirs, I say, “He deserves to know the truth, and I will tell him, but I don’t think now is the right time.”
They see what everyone does when you look at Mikhail—a cocky, confident man. That isn’t what I’ve seen reflecting in hisbeautifully tormented eyes over the past few days. I see the boy hiding behind the cloak his grandfather and father forced him to wear when he was a toddler. The facade all men wear to stop them from getting hurt again.
Mikhail was told for years that he was unlovable, and his belief that I had left him at the altar would have validated their lies.
With Zoya and Andrik still needing convincing, but unwilling to share parts of Mikhail he has only ever shared with me, I say, “You’re his family, his one constant. I don’t want to take that away from him.” I lock eyes with Zoya. “He only just got you back. I don’t want anything to take you away from him either.” I drink in their bond not even the massive pain in my chest can discount. “This could affect that.”
“I understand,” Zoya says. “That’s why Andrik made the decision he did. But I don’t think keeping this from Mikhail is the right thing to do. He thinks you broke his heart, Emerson. He thinks you left him.”
“He does,” I agree, fighting not to cry as Zoya’s hormones forced her to do during her caution. “But even believing that, he still helped me. He still went through with this…” I mimic her earlier wave, my hand freezing halfway when I recall how he helped me last night. “He still held back my hair despite his dislike of vomit.”
When Mikhail was a child, he mistook a bowl of vomit for a bowl of porridge. His mother couldn’t make it to the bathroom in enough time, and since Mikhail was in a hurry to rush back to Andrik’s side, he scooped and swallowed too fast to be cautioned by the kitchen staff.
As memories of Mikhail wiping a smidge of vomit from my bottom lip last night filter through my head, I shift the tension by saying with a laugh, “I also have ways I can encourage his forgiveness in a manner neither of you can.”
“That is true.” Zoya giggles, wiping at her wet cheeks, the humor in my tone lifting some of the tension hanging heavily in the air.
Our plan seems as firm as concrete until Andrik says, “And if he finds out before you tell him?”
I take some time to deliberate. It is nowhere near as long as it deserves, but I’ve lost too much time to dilly-dally now. “We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then…”
I leap to my feet like my legs aren’t as wobbly as Jell-O before shooing them out of Mikhail’s office, doubling their shocked expressions.
Chapter 29
Mikhail
My stomach riots as I stumble through the front door of Zelenolsk Manor. What should be a familiar scent of home is tainted and murky. It stirs up bad memories and has me grateful I left the first bar I came across with a recently opened bottle of whiskey.
The whispered murmurs of the staff not accustomed to seeing a Dokovic so out of sorts blend into the cacophony that matches the mayhem in my heart as I dismiss them with an arrogant wave of my hand.
Whiskey sloshes out of the bottle and onto the floor when I jackknife toward the owner’s suite.
