Page 18 of Ruby Menace

I shake my head, unable to speak, my emotions a roiling storm within me.

“You know this is true,” she presses. She runs a hand up my arm to my shoulder, squeezing gently. “You know they couldn’t have done anything more for her.”

“They did not…” I stop talking when I realize that my voice is breaking.

“There was nothing they could do.” Tiana steps closer, close enough for me to feel her warmth. “She wasn’t well. You know that. It’s why you had them here.”

I let out a pent-up breath, feeling some of the rage dissipate with it. “Yes,” I finally say. “Yes, you are right.” When she reaches up to cup my cheek, I find myself pressing my face against the warmth of her palm.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers again. I shut my eyes for a second, then open them and stare into the soft darkness of hers. The tenderness there almost overwhelms me.

“It is the way of things,” I say. Tiana is right. My mother’s health has been failing. Of course I’ve been aware of it. Her heart condition has been deteriorating even more rapidly than her mind. I just didn’t want to believe it. I heave a breath, more of the anger beginning to seep from me as acceptance begins to take hold.

“What did she tell you about me?” Tiana asks, after a long silence.

Still reeling, I struggle to focus on giving the right answer. “She called you ‘moy solnyshko’,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion. “My little sun. She cared for you.”

Tiana’s throat works as she swallows. “Oh, Kirill…”

“What’s happening here?” a voice intrudes.

I spin around to see Zoya gliding into the room, her hair loose around her shoulders, a sheer robe swirling around her legs.

Blyad!

Dima steps forward, his hand raised. “Mrs. Vyronov-” He stops and looks at Tiana, probably because he’s uncomfortable addressing Zoya this way in front of her.

“My mother has passed,” I say to her bluntly, then turn my attention back to the physician. He visibly cringes. “I am sure there is paperwork to be finalized. Do what is necessary. Make the arrangements.”

“Kirill! Bozhe moy, our poor Mama-” Zoya interrupts, a hand clasped to her chest, her eyes wide. I ignore her. She and my mother were never close; I have no idea what this display of emotion is about. Tiana is a short distance from me, but I don’t close the space between us. Turning my back on both of them, I focus on Dima.

“We must plan the funeral. Make sure that everything is in order.” Without another word, I take a breath, straighten my shoulders, and stride out of the room.

Chapter Seven

Tiana

“The funeral parlor is sending me copies of the order of service this afternoon.” I smile at Dima, who looks mildly satisfied. I’ve come to the conclusion that the man never smiles.

“The flowers?” he presses.

“Lilies and white roses,” I tell him.

“And you were sure that—”

“I made certain that there will be thirty roses in each arrangement. It is an even number – according to Russian tradition,” I tell him. I’d done my homework before getting into this.

“Da.” He gives a curt nod before leaving the room. I settle back onto the plush cream couch, glancing at the notes spread out across the coffee table in front of me. A cup of herbal tea and a plate of saltines is set off to one side – all that I can manage to tolerate most mornings.

Dima had been surprised when I told him that I wanted to plan Irina’s funeral. But it’s given me something to focus on during this difficult phase. I didn’t know her long, but in the short time we spent together, I grew to care for her deeply. We may have had many communication barriers, but she was the only real mother figure I’ve ever had.

I never knew my mother and my relationship with my father was complicated, to say the least.

Yeah, right.

Complicated.

I huff out a small snort. If you could call selling your own daughter “complicated.” But he was my dad, and like any human, he had his flaws. He was controlling and demanding, just like Kirill can be. But he never showed me affection or made me feel loved, not the way Kirill does… in his own twisted way. Nobody has ever made me so cared for. With Kirill, as dysfunctional and complicated as the relationship is, there’s passion there. Obsession, even. I can feel how much he wants me, needs me. It scares me, but it also makes me feel alive.

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