Page 88 of Little Blue

Fucking hell. I didn’t know. “I’ll get you another.”

She just cries harder. Gently, I pry the empty container from her hands to set it on the ledge of the tub. Then I lift her into my arms as she sobs, and sobs, and sobs. I would give any sum of money, commit any sin, just to make her tears stop.

“My heart, please,” I beg against her temple as I walk her to the bed, the cat following. “Please stop crying.”

She doesn’t stop crying as I lay her down in the bed. Then, without taking off anything, I lay with her. As uncomfortable as it is to lay in my suit, I can’t leave her right now.

Tightening my arms around her as she snuggles into my embrace, her cat laying close, it takes a while before her sobs begin to settle. Still, she’s crying when she asks in a small voice, “Why did he leave me?”

My heart knocks in my chest. Who the fuck is she talking about?

“Who?” I feel jealous, until she whispers, “My dad.”

As soon as she speaks, I feel like an asshole. “I don’t know, Little Blue.”

“He loved Mom so much.” Another sob hitches her breath. “They had been together so long, but they were always touching each other. I remember thinking they kissed way more than other parents. And when they watched movies together, they were always snuggled up together. I wasn’t left out, either. Mom always made room for me. They made space for me inside their love.” Her voice is tragic. “I thought he loved me, too.”

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” I tell her, feeling her sad eyes on my face. “Men are weak. I truly believe that when a man loves a woman, it’s an all-encompassing love. It’s the blood in our veins. The flicker of light in our soul. The beat of our heart. Loving her becomes our life. And if we lose her, sometimes, we lose the will to live. It’s a weakness. It’s devastating. But it does not mean your father did not love you. He simply lost his ability to breathe without her.”

For a long moment, she is silent. Then our dynamics shift, because she pushes herself up in the bed, in my embrace. And then her lips are on mine. It’s the first kiss she’s initiated, and I feel it like fire in my blood. I force myself to stay still, for the first time not wishing to take more than she wants to give me.

When she pulls back, I can taste the sweet scent of her in my lungs. I know for a fact, that if I lose her, I’d lose all air.

“Thank you, Ilya.”

She settles into my chest, surely listening to the rage of my heart behind its rickety cage. It feels like any moment, and it’ll break free to live the rest of its days in the palm of her hands.

Into her hair, I whisper, “I love you.”

Her only reply is to snuggle deeper into my embrace.

With the cat rumbling his purr into the silence, she falls into sleep quickly.

I spend the night in my suit.

Thirty-Six

Irelynn

I slap my hand on the table before I shoot up to stand, taunting, “Who’s the queen of Yahtzee?”

Luka laughs as Boris peers up at me from beneath bushy brows, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips even as he shakes his head. I feel even more pride, because Boris, I’ve come to realize, is a hard sell. But I’m making progress. Despite his attempts to keep me out, I’ve done my absolute best to be his friend.

Ilya has appointed him and Luka my guards, so I spend a lot of time with the men. It’s important to be friendly.

“Luck of the die,” Boris excuses.

“Oh, boo.” I roll my eyes, but I’m beaming like the sun.

Luka claps a hand against Boris’s broad back. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

Boris sends an almost playful fist into Luka’s gut. I giggle as I skip past Boris on my way into the kitchen to grab another of the warm-from-the-oven cookies Polina baked. On my way, I give his hair a ruffle, saying, “Don’t worry. I still like you, even if you lose every time.”

Polina gives me a wink as I snatch a cookie, fuel for another round, when Boris suddenly stands. His dark eyes are fixed on me as I take a nibble from my cookie, and he looks strangely stricken. I feel my smile fall as my brows furrow in confusion and worry.

“What’s—” I’d been about to ask what’s wrong when he shakes his head, turns, and leaves the kitchen.

I drop into my chair, wounded. I sigh, “I thought I was making progress.”

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