Page 16 of Emerald Vices

He shrugs. “Orders.”

No prizes for guessing whose orders they were. “Where’s Andrey?”

“Not here.”

“Then I’ll just have to find another time to yell at him,” I mutter. “Let me know the moment he’s back.”

Judging by the look on Leonty’s face, he’s not going to tell me shit. But I’m too tired from last night to insist. Instead, I make my way downstairs towards Misha’s room.

“You’re following me now?” I ask, when I realize that Leonty is shadowing me.

“Just going in the same direction,” he replies innocently.

I exchange a glance with Remi. “He thinks I was born yesterday.”

Leonty suppresses a smile. “How did you sleep?” He asks the question with a deceptively innocuous inflection that makes me twist around and jab a finger into his chest. “Ouch,” he complains.

“Don’t you dare tell Andrey anything about last night.”

“Nat, you’re struggling?—”

“You’re the one who’s gonna be struggling if you tell Andrey anything. They were just dreams, Leonty.”

He looks even less convinced than Remi. “Maybe it would help to talk about them…?”

“I’d rather not relive them, thanks.” I step towards Misha’s door, ready to end this conversation. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on Misha.”

I step inside and shut the door on his open mouth, cutting off whatever else he was going to say to me.

When I turn around, Misha is sitting on the divan in front of his bed, a textbook splayed open across his lap. He tucks it away when he sees me, clearing space for Remi to jump up next to him.

“How’re you doing?” I chirp, my voice full of fake cheer.

“Fine.”

Misha is smiling down at Remi, so I don’t immediately notice the dark circles under his eyes that are even worse than Leonty’s. Or the puffiness around them.

Has he been crying…?

My whole body stiffens with unease. But I can’t exactly fault him for keeping his feelings close to his chest when I’m guilty of the same thing.

I decide to try a different approach. “What do you say we go out today? Take a car and grab lunch somewhere?”

Misha looks less than enthusiastic. “I have physical therapy in a couple of hours. And the concussion makes me tired.”

“That’s okay. We can just talk here.”

He looks alarmed like I’ve just sprung a pop quiz on him. “Talk about what?”

“About the fact that you’re upset with me but you’re trying to hide it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” he protests. But he looks at Remi when he says it.

I inch close enough to place my hand on his knee. “Misha, you have every right to be mad at me. I know I hurt you when I tried to leave.”

“Which time?”

I raise my eyebrows.

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