Page 83 of Emerald Malice

“Hush now, child.” Her voice is soothing, and I find myself falling silent as I let her lead me into the kitchen.

She seats me in one of the chairs around the breakfast table. The bright light sweeping in through the sunroof stands in cruel contrast to my mood. All I want to do is get in bed, curl into a fetal position, and stay there until the pain in my chest disappears.

If it ever disappears, that is.

“Come now, malysh, it can’t be all bad,” Yelena insists in a murmur. “Don’t cry now or the baby inside you will be born sad.”

It’s the kind of old wives’ tale that makes me roll my eyes and dry my tears at the same time. I wonder idly where Yelena heard it. Which wizened old woman sat her down in a kitchen, dabbed away her tears, and gave her that pearl to one day pass onto me?

With a jolt, I realize that she can’t be much older than my mother would have been if she was still alive.

“Now, tell me: what’s wrong?”

I look up at her kind face and try to imagine that she is my mother. The problem is, I can’t see my mother as an older woman. To me, she’s frozen in place at thirty-four—dark-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful as ever.

“I-it’s… not important,” I mumble.

Yelena makes an impatient click with her tongue. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I wish I could tell you something different—but the truth is, malysh, this is who Andrey has always been.”

My heart plummets.

“He just doesn’t see that what he’s doing is hurting you.”

I wipe away a fresh wave of tears. “Yes, he does. He just doesn’t care.”

“I’ve known him a long time, my dear. Andrey’s the type of man who will put himself in front of a bullet if it means protecting you and that baby. But I’m afraid when it comes to feelings, conversation, intimacy…” She shakes her head. “That’s never been his strong suit.”

“How did he get to be that way?”

Dropped on his head as a baby. Vitamin deficiency. I want it to be something easy and straightforward like that, if only so I can tell myself that he’s not actively choosing to break my heart.

“Necessity, perhaps,” she suggests, which dashes all my hopes. “Or maybe it’s just self-preservation. All I know is that he’ll never give you his heart, my dear. There’s no point in coveting it.”

She’s righter than she knows. You can only covet something you have no right to. Something that was never yours.

And God knows Andrey Kuznetsov has never, ever been mine.

28

NATALIA

I’m almost at the pool house when I hear something… A scream? Or…?

No. Couldn’t be that… could it?

“Hello?”

There’s the rustle of leaves and then: “Just me!”

Mila appears from around the corner, running a hand through her messy hair. Is her blouse on backwards?

“What happened to you?” I ask.

She continues to try to pat down her hair. “Uh, I might ask you the same thing. Have you been crying?”

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