Page 12 of The Lies Between Lovers

“You can’t make me stay, either.”

Fuck him.

And the funeral.

She didn’t wait for Feliks to attempt some shitty apology or anything else, for that matter. Rounding the large angel statue to head back on the same pathway they’d come from, she hadn’t been taking careful note of the cracks that could be dangerous for someone walking in heels. Never mind someone who also had a weak ankle.

One of them caught the inch-high heel of her shoe, and she didn’t have time to catch her fall when her ankle rolled from the pressure the sudden awkward angle put on her foot. The cry of surprise that accompanied her fall mixed on her tongue with the spear of agony that ripped through her ankle.

“Jesus, get up.”

“Go to hell,” she snarled back.

Feliks swore, and offered to help after demanding she get up herself, but pride kept her on all fours for longer than she might have remained on the ground had it been someone else who witnessed her fall.

But then she heard another voice, too. A familiar one.

And for his call, she looked up.

“Vera!”

She hadn’t even seen him in the crowd of people gathered at the grave, but they parted like the red sea to let him through when he shouted her name a second time and started down the grassy knoll. Had he been there attending the funeral the whole time?

How had she not noticed?

Vera shouldn’t be happy to see him. Their last encounter had left her cold, unsure, and with far too many questions answered. Yet, the sight of him coming down the hill with determined strides, his scarred face making everyone who moved for him to pass through look away, had her heart picking up speed.

Just a little.

Enough to feel good.

Even if everything else surrounding the man was bad, that was the one thing that seemed to be right. At least, in that moment. With humiliation still thick in her blood, she’d take what she could get. Right, or wrong.

“Vas,” she whispered.

4.

Vaslav couldn’t think of a time when he’d descended a hill quite as fast as the one in the cemetery. He’d not actually witnessed Vera when she fell, but he had noticed the way a portion of the gatherers at the burial site turned at the commotion. By the time he was halfway down the grassy knoll, not even bothering with the pathway, she looked his way.

And so was her companion.

Feliks.

Had he not been so focused on reaching Vera, uncaring that the burial would be disrupted, then Vaslav might have paid more attention to Feliks. Except that asshole was barely even worth sharing another person’s breath, let alone their space.

Besides, once he was sure Vera hadn’t been hurt when she fell, then he could deal with Feliks. It wasn’t as if he was surprised to see the man at Nico’s funeral. It would have been more unusual—and a huge sign of disrespect to a high-ranking vor—if the man didn’t show his face. Even if no other man in the mafiya would grace the disgraced Feliks with their attention or time.

Vera was already beginning to stand—albeit, on shaky legs—when Vaslav reached her spot. He could see fine and well that she would be able to right herself without help, but he didn’t hesitate to bend down and wipe away the grass and dirt from her knees when she tried to do it first.

“I’m okay,” she told him quietly. “I just walked too far in these shoes, I think.”

Barely above a whisper.

She wouldn’t even meet his eyes when he straightened to his full height, running his palms over the capped sleeves of her black cocktail dress to make sure she felt steady. A quick glance down at her feet in the grass explained her excuse for the fall. The simple pumps with a short, but thin, heel was likely a dangerous shoe choice for a woman walking across grass. Not to mention, if she already had a weak ankle from an old injury.

Foolishness.

“Okay is a matter of opinion,” he muttered back. “Who told you to wear heels?”