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“So what?”
“Give me a reason, Lucia,” I clarify.
She’s still confused. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Do you still love him?” I ask bluntly.
She shakes her head in lieu of answering.
“Did you ever love him?”
“No,” she breathes.
And I hate that I feel immense relief at that. Because it’ll only hurt my brother. Contrary to how it may seem, the last thing I want to do is hurt Alexei. He’s the only family I have left. I would do anything for him. I’ve proven that so many times. I’ve gone to war for my brother.
For the first time in my life, I actually want something for myself. I want someone. And I’m unused to that feeling. I would be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t at least try to pursue it.
If I thought Alexei had even a slight chance with Lucia, I would give up right now. But I see that fire in her eyes, and I know without a doubt that I can match it. My brother can’t. She may have been put in his path first. But she was always meant to be in mine.
“Come on,milaya,” I say, getting to my feet. “Let’s eat breakfast.”
“And then what?”
I ponder that for a second. “Then we can start getting to know each other. If I remember correctly, you didn’t want to marry a stranger.”
CHAPTER 15
Lucia
Ican't figure him out. People are like puzzles—pieces that fit together once you find the right combination. Usually, I can see through them, understand what drives them, what makes them tick.
But Ivan Volkov? He's the one puzzle I just can't solve.
“What do you like to eat?” Ivan asks.
It’s noon and we’re seated beside the pool at the back of the villa. The sun is warm on my skin, the clear blue water glistening under the morning light. Ivan is in a reclining lounge chair next to mine. He’s relaxed, leaning back in his chair, but there’s always this underlying intensity about him that makes me curious about why it’s there.
“I noticed you turned down the pancakes the chef offered earlier,” he states.
“They were blueberry pancakes. I prefer them plain,” I reply easily. “Plus, I’m not a fan of heavy breakfasts.”
“You don’t seem to be a fan of most foods,” he points out.
I shrug. “I’m a picky eater, remember?”
“So what do you like?” he asks, seemingly genuinely curious.
When he said he wanted us to get to know each other, I didn’t think he would be so relentless about it. Especially in the face ofyesterday’s revelations. When I woke up this morning, a part of me was so sure that it was all over and I’d get to go back home. I thought it would be my chance to close the door on this entire situation. But Ivan’s more stubborn than I give him credit for.
Maybe his relationship with his brother is strong enough to withstand something like this. Or maybe it isn’t. I’m curious, too, which is why I’m trying to figure him out as well.
“I like Mexican food. Tacos, enchiladas. Guacamole and nachos is, like, my favorite food ever. My sister makes the best guacamole; I used to have it almost every day after school when I was younger. Oh, and before you question my Italian heritage, I really like risotto. Tiramisu’s my favorite dessert. Despite desserts not really being my thing. And like most normal people, I like ice cream.”
“What flavor?” Ivan asks.
I wrinkle my nose, trying to hide my smile. “Please don’t be one of those people who judges me just because my favorite kind is mint chocolate chip.”
He shakes his head with a small smile of his own. “I would never,milaya. I happen to like it as well. Then again, I like most things. I can’t say I’m really partial to any foods.”
