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Weirdly enough, it reminds of Milana’s anguish when she told me what her past had done to her, what her pimp had taken from her. It’s the kind of anguish that has to be kept caged so it doesn’t destroy everything in its path.
Milana looks up and spies me standing by the door, watching the scene unfold. She walks over, the sound of her heels muted by the thick carpet underneath her footsteps.
“Why don’t you head upstairs, June?” she suggests. Her tone is polite, but there’s no denying that it’s a dismissal. “You look tired.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking past her.
Kolya gets to his feet. “Milana.”
Milana gives me a bracing nod and the two of them trade places. I expect him to give me an explanation, but all he says is, “You should go upstairs now.”
I bristle at the harshness in his tone. What hurts the most is the fact that I feel like it’s deliberate. A way of discouraging me from asking questions.Stay in your little corner, Junepenny. Don’t even pretend you belong in rooms like this.
“Who is she?” I ask anyway.
“I need you to go upstairs, June. Now.”
I swallow my pride and go.
44
JUNE
I manage about three hours of fragmented sleep after that, and then I find myself wide awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I’m going to get through the night.
I abandon any hope of sleep and pull on my green silk robe, then leave my bedroom and walk downstairs in search of a glass of water and leftovers from the fridge.
The house feels different at this time of the night. Quiet, calm, teeming with secrets I’ve yet to uncover and stories I’ve yet to hear.
On the first floor, I’m about to veer towards the kitchen when I notice the golden glow of the fireplace emitting from the open door of the sitting room. I change course and go toward it.
She’s still here—the girl from before. She’s in different clothes now, though. Dark sweats and a long-sleeved pajama top, both of which look a little too big for her.
She catches my shadow from the corner of her eye and jerks to the side, her eyes going wide with fear.
I hold up my hands and freeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The girl’s eyes relax just a little, but her body stays curled in the same defensive position. “Who are you?” Her voice is soaked in fear and suspicion.
“My name’s June. Who are you?”
“I’m Star.” Then her eyebrows pinch together as if something in what she said pained her. “That’s not my real name. I don’t know why I said that. I’m Angela, actually.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Angela. Do you mind if I join you?”
She shakes her head, so I sit down in front of the fireplace, keeping a good three feet of space between us for her benefit.
She has a lovely face, heart-shaped and delicate. Her eyes are a deep, warm brown that matches the color of her hair perfectly. But things are swimming in there that I’m not sure I was meant to see. Harsh fears, bad dreams. Memories she’d rather forget.
I turn my gaze to the fireplace, only because I don’t want her to catch me staring at all the scars on her body. There are two fresh wounds on her face, and several old ones scampering down her arms.
“Are you like me?” she asks abruptly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you come to Don Uvarov for help, like me?” she asks. “I… I didn’t know for sure if the rumors were true, but I knew I had to try. I thought, if there was a chance it was true, and Don Uvarov was helping girls like me… then I had to try.”
Despite the heat coming off the fireplace, I feel suddenly cold inside. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “For everything you’ve been through.” It’s just a guess, but it feels like the right thing to say.
