She wants to draw us all together. So do I. But Demyan’s looking for the smallest thing, and Ilya’s not even trying to open up any pathways.
I want to cry because this was meant to be our night, a little celebration of new beginnings, of something real, and for once, I felt good enough for the nausea to take a back seat. I’m not saying I’d have chosen wildly rich food, but I might have gone for the duck. Or the Bolognese risotto that sounded both divine and beyond rich.
The thought of either made my stomach head into a tailspin the moment I caught sight of my brother.
As we finish and Ilya asks me about dessert, Erin stands and comes over to take my hand. “We’ll get dessert and a drink at the bar.”
“You’ll stay here,” Demyan says.
She ignores him. I almost laugh at the expression of annoyance, love, and admiration on his face when she jerks her head for me to follow. Not many people dare to defy Demyan, and once Erin wouldn’t have, but now… Now she knows the limits, and she knows how much he loves her. And he knows how deeply she loves him.
Not that any of that makes me forgive him.
Not at all.
“Alina, maybe going off isn’t a good idea,” Ilya says, earning a snort of derision from Demyan.
“Is that how you run your business?” Demyan snaps. “Because no wonder you?—”
“We’re going,” Erin insists. “We’ll be safe, and while we enjoy our friendship and chat, I’d suggest you, Demyan, and you, Ilya, use the time to sort your shit. Stop acting like the sandpit’s the world and remember how to play together. Sasha’s more mature than you. This is getting beyond ridiculous.”
With that, Erin drags me off to the bar area, which is elegant and dark. We both ignore the hostile glares thrown our way from Demyan.
I’m shaking by the time she maneuvers me into a seat at the bar. I look over my shoulder.
Demyan could give Satan a run for his money with the look he gives me.
I shudder. “Are you sure leaving them alone’s a good idea? Ilya can also be dangerous when backed in a corner.”
“And he can be dangerous over you.” She turns and orders two glasses of their most expensive red, billed to Demyan’s table. Then she looks at me, leaning on the bar as she tucks her blondehair behind her ear, and rolls her eyes. “Can it make things worse?”
“Good point,” I say, finding a smile.
“I always make a good point.” When the wine arrives along with two waters, she takes a sip of hers.
I reach for the water.
“Gorgeous dress, by the way.”
“Ilya got it for me.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Bold move, considering Demyan forced you back home.”
“It was on my bed. I think he forgot he ordered it.”
She presses a hand to her heart. “Ilya picked it for you before Demyan dragged you off. That’s romance at its best.”
I take a swallow of water and hide my smile. It is a pretty badass romantic move, the kind of subtle, thoughtful thing that Ilya always does.
It seems he barely thinks about the sweet things he’s always done for me, whether it’s getting me a book or a candy or something else I like.
Maybe that’s why I fell so hard and fast for Max. He did the same.
Ilya’s always done it for me as long as I can remember, the dress the latest in a long list, and it strikes me then how very lucky I’ve been. To have two men who did that for me.
I was loved by Max.
I’m loved by Ilya.
