Page 43 of Brutal Vows

“And what am I supposed to do?” I’m a real jailbird now.

He blinks at me. “Stay put⁠—”

“As if I can go anywhere!” I cut in.

“—and work on that sourdough starter,” he finishes his sentence.

Our gazes lock, mine shooting bullets, his quiet and calm, with that twinkle I’m starting to find annoying. In my continuously low-simmering rage, I didn’t register he was joking.

That doesn’t stop me though. “I’m not your fucking trad wife!” I spit out.

“God forbid! A real trad wife! Don’t despair, princess, I haven’t lost hope yet.” He shoots me a wicked grin before strolling out and shutting the door behind him, his dry chuckles seeming to echo down the corridor outside.

I stare at the empty space he’s left, our whole interchange playing on repeat in my mind. Luca isn’t the family clown, he’s the bomb defuser. I can see it now, Luca, as a young boy, defusing tension in his family with jokes. He’s probably been at it his entire life. Or did he make them just to be heard? To be seen?

Once the silence in the apartment becomes so deafening I want to scream, I pad over to the piano and rip off the thick velvet ribbon and elaborate bow, tossing them aside. I open the lid and prop it up, inhaling the calming scent of aged spruce. The interior is pristine and so glaringly new, my soul sighs at the beauty of the instrument. This is special. He spent all this money on someone he doesn’t know at all, but my true colors and little cracks are already showing. God help me, he’s going to break me open like a pistachio nut.

Shrugging off the thought, I run my fingers over the smooth lacquered wood, trying to ignore my current conundrum and bring back the magic. Irrespective of everything going on, he is a thoughtful man. I’ve played on beautiful pianos before, but so rarely in the public sphere that getting onto a concert stage in front of thousands would freak me out. Being here alone, with this beautiful piano, might help me out of my funk.

As I sink down on the bench, the realization hits me. Like Luca, I’ve also only lived a shadow life. Hiding behind this instrument, practicing my perfect excuse. Opening the keyboard, I stare at the keys. They stare back. I will my fingertips to settle on them, my hands perfectly arched, praying for the notes to flow and fill the cave-like hollowness of this apartment, but I can’t get myself to do it. My hands fall to my lap, as if they’ve gone lame.

I have no clue how long I sit there, staring into the abyss, but when male voices sound, I don’t turn back to look at them.

“Milana?”

Luca’s voice, laced with concern, makes me heave a sigh.

“Yes?”

“Jesus, you had me worried there, sitting like a statue.”

He walks over, and I glance at him. Another man is following in his footsteps, tall, glaringly handsome with unkept dark hair that curls and falls over his high brow.

“I’m fine,” I say as I stand and turn toward them. “Benedict, I presume?”

“Just Ben if you like,” he says, holding out a hand for me to shake, as his gaze soaks me up like a dry sponge. “Nice to meet you, Milana.”

“Likewise.” Meeting people is going to become a rare treat. Have no fear, I’ll find my way out, I just have to play along for now.

“This is for you,” Luca says, holding my phone out to me.

“And what have you boys learned?” I ask, feeling like it’s my turn to stir up the shit.

“Classy burner phone you have,” Luca says with a smirk. “Where’s the real one?”

I laugh. “Go ahead, raid my things. This is all I have.”

A phone with nothing but a few essentials. I scrubbed it before leaving Russia and scrubbed what was left once locked up in Ivan’s compound. Just the essential apps, and a few contacts, every single one memorized. I can walk out of here with nothing. Ivan. Yuri. Masha. Nobody else mattered anymore. Nobody else would phone me.

“Are we done here?” I ask, wanting to leave for the peace and quiet of my room.

“Why don’t you play us something?” Luca suggests as he walks over to the kitchen.

In my mental and emotional state, I can’t even do it for myself, let alone for an audience. “I don’t feel like performing. I don’t feel like earning anything right now.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “How about dinner? I won’t let my wife starve.”

There is a new tone of authority in his voice, telling me he won’t take my shit when it comes to food.