Shame tears through me like a fire, feeding the nausea. I push the bowl of soup away. “I know, I know, it’s just… it was easier to let Konstantin be the villain.”
“Mmm. A man like him, it usually is, right?” Chrissy’s eyes are sharp, a reprimand. Letting her, or anyone, think that he’s some loser who walks away from his child was wrong. Especially when I literally asked for it.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything.” Taking a deep breath, I explain that night in the hospital. “I just couldn’t see a way forward then. A way for me and the baby, or Konstantin, to be safe.”
She softens. “Audrey… I’ve never seen you like this. You loved him.”
I nod.
“And he loved you.”
I look down.
“He still does,” she adds. “Men like that… they don’t know how to let go. He’s only keeping his distance because you told him to, which proves just how much he’s obsessed with you. Because you told him it was the only option.”
Tears sting my eyes. “What if it is?”
“Then that’s your decision. But if it’s not—if what you want is to fight for this—then fight for it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Then find him.”
There’s a problem, though—a man like Konstantin Martynov could find anyone. He has the resources, the manpower, the resolve.
I’m just a woman in love.
It’s almost dark when the cab pulls up outside thetownhouse. “Can you wait?” I ask the driver, who glances in the mirror before nodding. He doesn’t seem to recognize, or care, where we are. Which is a good thing.
Stepping out of the car, I tilt my head back and look up. The windows are black. The driveway is empty. The house looks like it’s sleeping.
I step up to the front door and knock.
Nothing.
No guards materializing out of the darkness, no security system clicking and humming to life. I try the buzzer anyway. Wait. Knock again.
Still nothing.
He’s gone.
I’m halfway back down the steps when a familiar voice murmurs behind me.
“You’re persistent.”
I spin, nearly losing my balance despite being in flats.
Olenastands on the sidewalk, dressed in slate gray, a cigarette between her fingers and a look of thinly veiled amusement on her face.
“How long have you been watching me?” I ask, catching my breath.
“Long enough to see you pout like a petulant child.” Then her features twist from amusement to something sour. “Longer. A few weeks now.”
That information sinks in. I’m tempted to ask if that was Konstantin’s idea—or hers. But Olena isn’t the kind of woman to chat, to give all her secrets away, so I ask the most important question instead: “Do you know where he is?”
She smirks. “You’re not very subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
