Page 103 of Hidden Empire

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles, eyes turning hazy.

“Nothing you feel could ever be stupid, Ivan Morozov.”

A shaky breath falls from his lips. “A lot of reasons, I think.”

“Yeah?” I ask, cuddling back up to him. “Like what?”

“Like, I’ll never marry either way, so it doesn’t exactly matter. And if I did want to love someone, I wouldn’t want to be fearful because of it. I definitely wouldn’t want my partner to be.”

“Who should you have to fear?” I ask, frowning. “You’re a Morozov.”

“Exactly,” he answers sadly. “Homosexuality wasn’t decriminalized in Russia until 1993. How do you think my family there would feel about me? I don’t even know how my father will feel, let alone…”

“Dmitri?” I gasp. “You can’t possibly think—Ivan, your brother loves you so much. He’d never?—”

“Maybe,” Ivan interrupts lightly. “But I’m not willing to take the risk. He’ll be disgusted with me, or he won’t care and other people will be disgusted with him. It’s not like your family Jade. The older generations still have a lot of power, and I won’t make Dmitri a target for me. Maybe when they all die?—”

“I can make that happen,” I tell him darkly.

He chuckles, dropping a kiss to my hair. “So fierce.”

“I was being serious,” I pout.

“I know you were,” he replies. “That’s why I told you.”

I’m caught between feeling immensely flattered by this show of friendship and feeling horrible that Ivan feels like he can’t tell anyone else.

“For what it’s worth, all of my brothers love Nico just the way he is,” I tell him, understanding it’s not exactly the same. “I know our families aren’t the same, but the love you and Dmitri have isn’t different from the love my brothers have for each other.”

“No? You don’t think so?”

“Nope,” I swear.

I take one of Ivan’s hands, isolating his index finger, and lift it to my face. Before he can question what I’m doing, I rub it over the small scar on the bridge of my nose, gently gliding his finger over the mark.

“Do you feel that?” I ask, rubbing it another time.

“A scar?” he asks, moving in closer to see it and guiding his finger along it himself.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I conceal it with a little makeup.”

I didn’t used to. But any time my dad or brothers look at my face for too long, I can feel their eyes lead their gaze there. They do a good job hiding their anger that comes with seeing it, but it’s hard for me either way. I lied about it, and now that we’re close like a real family, I feel guilty. But maybe telling Ivan will help.

A secret for a secret.

“When I first met my family, Matteo noticed it, and asked if I’d broken my nose before,” I tell him, and his fingers slowly leave my face. “It was at dinner with everyone, and I didn’t really know what to say, so I told them I did, and I explained how.”

I still wonder if Apollo picked up on my lying but haven’t been brave enough to ask. He told me I was a horrible liar before he started coaching me in the art, but he never tried to call me out for this one.

“I told them that when I was five, I fell off a kitchen counter and hit my face on the tile,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I wasn’t five.”

“No?” he asks, voice wavering.

“I was three,” I croak, looking back at him with wet eyes. “And I didn’t fall.”

“Oh, Jade.” Ivan tucks me into his chest, not caring when I start to bawl into his T-shirt, soaking the fabric.

“I was j-just hungry,” I whimper, still trying to tell all of my secret. “I didn’t even get into the cabinet before I felt hands shoving me off from behind. I hit the ground so hard, I thought m-my brain shook.”

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