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Kolya snorts. “He was more than willing to have a relationship with me when he needed something,” he says. “He just never told you when he decided to pull out the begging bowl.”
My mouth is already open before I realize I have nothing to say. I snap it shut and turn to the side so that he can see only my profile. Not that I can hide from him. The longer I spend with Kolya Uvarov, the more confident I am that there isn’t one single, solitary pocket of shadow on this entire godforsaken planet that he can’t see into.
“It’s not right,” I say quietly, after the silence has seeped into my pores and turned my body cold to the touch. “To attack a dead man, I mean. It’s not right. It’s not like he can defend himself.”
“Why would he need to?” Kolya asks. “With you here to do it for him?”
“I’m his girlfriend!” I cry out, turning to face him again.
“You were. Not anymore. He’s not coming back.”
I recognize the emotion in his voice—anger meets grief—maybe because I’m trying very hard to suppress my own dose of the stuff.
“I have a right to mourn.”
His blue eyes flash with fury, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he has to be so angry about. Adrian may have stolen his story, but Kolya doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d be so infuriated by something like that.
“Is that really why you fell in love with him?” Kolya asks suddenly. “That story?”
I feel the color rush to my face. I try to hide my blush behind the answer. “Yes,” I mumble. “I mean, it wasn’t the only reason. But it was a part of it.”
Kolya shakes his head. I notice how his jaw tightens, his fingers clench. Like he’s trying to hold himself back. It’s as if every demon he’s spent a lifetime burying in that deep, dark hole he calls a heart is clawing up at the surface now. I can practically see them prodding at the underside of his skin.
And for some reason, that devastates me.
“You’re really not lying to me, are you?” I ask softly. “You meant what you said. It’s your story, not his.”
His eyes splinter, but inwardly this time. Not aimed at me but at himself. “If you doubt me,” he growls, voice so low it’s barely audible, “then talk to Milana.”
That throws me for a loop. “Why would I talk to Milana?”
“Because she was there,” he says. “She was the girl in the story.”
I feel a strange kind of coldness spread across my body. Or maybe it’s not cold at all.
Maybe this is just how betrayal feels.
I don’t remember sitting down, but when I look up again, I realize I’m on the sofa right opposite Kolya. “Why did you tell me?” I blurt. “You could have let me believe that Adrian was the savior. That his story was true. Why expose him now?”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is drawn tight and haggard. “I figured that you’d been lied to enough for one lifetime. I thought you’d appreciate something different for a change.”
I don’t know why I struggle with those words. It’s a beautiful answer, but I’m scrutinizing it from every angle, looking for—hopingfor—a crack in the facade.
And then I find it. Whether I truly wanted it or not, I’m still not sure, but I find it.
“You want to show me that you’re different from him.”
Kolya’s eyes boil dark as he gets to his feet. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me. You’re the one determined to compare us.”
Then he turns away from me and stalks into the bedroom.
A smarter, more patient woman might have just stayed put and given him time to cool off. But apparently, I’m not very smart, or very patient, because I follow him to find him angrily ripping the comforter out of its neatly tucked corners.
“What are you doing?”
“I hate made beds.”
I’m on the verge of laughing at the ridiculousness of something so petty when I see it again: another crack in the facade. Another ugly truth lurking behind the beautiful lie.
