Page 71 of Little Blue

I miss my mom.

“You have no idea,” Ilya’s reply is dry. There’s a dash of humor in it I don’t quite understand, though.

Still, at his reply, the woman’s eyes sharpen as she steps back, and they slide from him to me. She studies me for far too long before she looks beyond us to the counter. “Banana bread. I love banana bread.”

As for me, I’m struck a little dumb by the fact I’d forgotten all about the banana bread I’d been making.

That’s what the man does to me, though. He makes me forget myself. His touch makes me forget how he stole me. His kisses turn my mind to mush.

My eyes drift longingly to the window where snow spirals. The urge to run has my muscles tensing tight, my heart beating fast.

Lucy…

And what would I be running back to, anyway? It’s not like I was happy.

But you had choice.

I’m conflicted.

“Ilya.” The woman’s voice calls my eyes away from the window. “Why don’t you let me get to know your lovely fiancée? Go see to whatever work you have.” She pats his broad chest. “I know just how much there always is to do.”

“Mother,” Ilya says it like a warning. My eyes snap from her to him. She’s wearing a conniving smile I can’t say I like, but he’s wearing a look of dark warning that has my internal alarm screaming. Then, with a low chuckle, he shakes his head as he leans forward to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Be good. She is—” His eyes feel mocking somehow as they settle on me. A smile twists his lips. “Skittish.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I would imagine she is.”

To me, Ilya leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My jittery heart flip-flops as butterflies swoop inside my belly. “I’ll check in soon,” he promises. And then he leaves me alone with his mother.

Twenty-Nine

Irelynn

“My name is Tara.” Ilya’s mother introduces herself when we’re alone. Her dark eyes watch me just as closely as her son’s icy blues. “As you know, I’m Ilya’s mother.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I lie. Then I inhale a deep breath and add, “I’m Irelynn.”

“What a beautiful name.” A small frown puckers her brow. “You are American?”

“Mmhmm.” I nod and give her nothing more.

For a moment she waits, then she snaps her fingers to a waiting Abu, “Go find Polina. She has treats.” Abu yaps in reply, and then he trots off. Tara nods to the ingredients on the counter, easily picking up where I’d left off when Ilya interrupted me. “I’m American, too. Or I was until I met and married my husband.” I say nothing as she takes the mashed bananas, mixing them into the wet ingredients. “How did you and Ilya meet?”

Am I supposed to tell her the truth? A lie?

What if she doesn’t believe me?

What if she does?

My nerves can’t take this kind of stress. Honestly, it’s going to kill me far too soon.

Clearing my throat, I give her as much of the truth as I feel safe giving. “I first met Ilya in a casino. The company I worked—the company I work for was hosting their annual Christmas party at the casino. Ilya was there. He saw me and talked to me.” I let the words trail off with a shrug.

I don’t know what else to say—what to tell her.

Would she help me if I told her, her beloved son had kidnapped me, and was holding me against my will in his mansion, in a country I wasn’t legally supposed to be in?

Would she stand against the dangerous, brutal, murderous monster she created?

Peering at her, I watch as she pours the dry ingredients into the wet. Her face is smooth and soft, even in age. Her eyes are bright and somehow knowing.

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