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Pasha would have carried this for me.
Tears sting my eyes at the thought, and I blink them back. I can’t let myself cry. Not right now.
Not when I need to leave.
I haven’t told Asya or the family that I’m leaving. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m afraid they’ll inform Pasha, and he’ll only come after me out of some misplaced panic instead of genuine desire to fix things between us.
Maybe I just don’t want anyone to try to stop me.
I do leave a note on the kitchen island for whoever finds it first. If they have any follow-up questions, they know how to text me.
I give the penthouse one more longing glance when I reach the front door. Sanity demands that I focus on this just being a temporary trip; I’m only going to visit my sister and her family as a mini-vacation before I officially become a mother.
Reality whispers that this might be the last time I call this place “home.”
Ivan meets me in the foyer downstairs. He’s one of Pasha’s dedicated drivers who typically chauffeurs him around town, but for some reason, he was available today. And yesterday, when I needed to make a grocery trip. From how it sounds, Pasha hasn’t left his office building this whole time.
He’s stubborn like that. I’d believe it.
“Do you have everything?” Ivan asks me before he opens the door to the parking garage.
I pause. How is it possible to have everything I need and yet feel like I’m leaving with nothing at all?
“I think so.”
He nods once and takes my suitcase. We don’t speak to each other on the way to the car, or when he helps me climb in. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart while he loads and arranges our luggage in the trunk.
“Traffic is fairly clear right now,” he says once he’s buckled in. “We should be on the highway in no time.”
“Has Pasha contacted you?”
I don’t know why I ask. Correction: I don’t know why I allow the small flicker of hope in my heart to ask.
Ivan meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. Then he slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
I nod and choke back a few tears that threaten to ruin what little makeup I put on for my arrival at Mel’s.
It’s like that on the hour, every hour, for the duration of the drive across state lines. I don’t even have to voice the question; our eyes meet when we stop for a stretch break and Ivan knows what I’m too afraid to ask.
And each time, he gives me the same little shake of his head.
By the time we’re only an hour away from Melanie’s house, I’m unable to hold back the tears.
It’s over.
We’re over.
Pasha should be home by now. Someone should have stopped by the penthouse and notified him of my absence.
If he cared, my phone would be blowing up with calls and texts from him.
But it’s been silent. Not a word from him.
Or from Mak, or Sofi, or Asya. Do they know? Are they done with me, too?
I try to avoid looking at Ivan, but I catch a glimpse of his face in that rearview mirror. I’m sobbing uncontrollably, trying my damned hardest to wipe away the tears that refuse to stop flowing.
He looks worried. Worried and frustrated. He keeps glancing at his phone, which hasn’t pinged for at least three hours.
