Page 56 of Emerald Vices

“You’re scared.”

Despite the truth in her statement, I glower. “It’s not fear?—”

“Well, something is holding you back. And it’s not anything that Natalia has done.”

“She did shoot me,” I drawl. “Some men might take issue with that.”

“And if that had bothered you, you wouldn’t have gone chasing after her to bring her home. You wouldn’t have her out in your back lawn doing gun training.” Her eyes brighten as she leans forward and fixes me with a penetrating stare. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Andrey. I know the signs.”

“Signs of what?”

“The signs of someone who is too lost in their past to see their future.”

I shift my gaze to the window. Just like her niece, this woman sees too damn much. “I wasn’t aware I hired you as my therapist.”

Annie chuckles. “I have to earn my keep somehow, don’t I?”

“I would prefer you just put your feet up and relax. Enjoy your golden years.”

“I won’t be able to enjoy anything until I know my Nat is happy. That is my only priority. You’ll understand in a few months—the moment you set eyes on those baby girls.”

I do the mental calculations in my head. She’s right: in only a couple months, I’ll be a father. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Did you ever consider that maybe Natalia is better off without me in her life?”

Annie snorts. “Honey, she’s carrying your children. That ship has sailed and the two of you are adrift at sea.” She does kick her feet up, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s nowhere close to relaxing. “I’d consider trying to save her, but it’s not what she wants.”

My jaw clenches. “What does she want?”

“You.” She says it simply, without hesitation. “And you want her, too. If you ask me, it seems like a damn shame to deprive your babies of two happy parents for no good reason. Now, run along. I’m an old lady and it’s long past my bedtime.”

When I leave Annie’s room, I find myself walking the hallway to Natalia’s.

Annie made it all sound so simple. So easy. I could knock on her door, lay my shitty hand of cards on the table the way she did, and see if Natalia wants to play.

But as I approach her room, Leonty steps out of the shadows. I almost forgot he’s been posted outside here.

“No nightmares tonight,” he offers before I even ask. “Actually, she hasn’t had any for a few days. Things have been quiet.”

Ever since I started keeping my distance.

“Good,” I mumble with a nod. Then I keep walking to my room.

Natalia is doing okay without me—better, even. I’ve given her enough nightmares for one lifetime.

It’s overcast as I walk through the cemetery. I can’t complain, though—the cold breeze matches my insides. I clutch the large bouquet of flowers I brought with me and brace myself against the pushing wind.

I picked a quiet, shady spot for Maria’s final resting place. Not many people make it out this way unless they know who they’re looking for. I know exactly who left the wilted purple petunias on her grave.

I sit cross-legged in front of the dark stone, reading the words instinctively, though they’re ingrained in my head every bit as permanently as they are in the granite.

Here rests Maria Balakirev, beloved daughter, sister, friend.

There’s no sign of me on that headstone.

She wasn’t my wife; she didn’t get the chance to have my child. More and more these days, our relationship feels like a figment of my imagination. My guilt is the only steady reminder we were anything to each other at all.

At her funeral, her mother sobbed, inconsolable. I tried to comfort her, but this was my fault. I was the reason her daughter was dead. What kind of comfort could I offer?

---