Page 74 of Keeping Ruby

“Well, Anya, it’s lovely to meet you, too.” I finish drying my hands and am moving to the door when she stops me.

“When is it you married Kirill?” The way she says his name has something like dread awakening in my belly. It only expands as I meet her eyes again to see raw hatred there, before that hatred flashes to something else, something fake and dangerous.

“Um—a couple months ago.”

“Ah.” Her lips curl. “And when did you meet?”

I shift in discomfort. “A couple months before that.”

“Very fast, you move.”

“It was, yes.”

She turns to the sink with her lipstick, dabbing full, beautiful lips. But her green eyes are on me as she says, “It would have been nice if he hadn’t been fucking me while he was courting you. Nicer to know that he never planned to give me the ring you wear now. You know, he told me I would make a good wife.” Her lip curls as her eyes drop over the length of me, finding me, obviously, lacking. “Before you.”

Ice washes over me. I feel as though I’ve been hit by a violent wave of cold water as I gasp for breath. My ears ring, but somehow, I manage to return her mean smile with one that is far too gracious. “Have a nice night, Anya.”

With that, I turn and flee. I feel dizzy as I slam into a broad chest only steps outside the bathroom. My hands are shaking, and my heart is rioting in my chest. What began as a beautiful, fairy-tale night has turned into something violently ugly. Now, I only want to escape.

“Sorry,” I murmur as large hands grip my waist, steadying me. The touch is far too familiar as it lingers, and I feel my eyes drift upward to a face that stops my wild heart in its track.

The man from the picture.

“It’s no problem, little angel.” That voice—the voice from the phone call. The one that pushed me to marry my obviously lying, cheating husband.

That voice—this face—was supposed to be my salvation.

It had been a nightmare, instead.

“Let me go.” I shove away, fear sparking hot and quick, like lightning, inside me.

His face changes, the warmth in his eyes vanishing quickly. I’m not even sure there was warmth there at all. “You know who I am?”

I say nothing. My heart is a violent drum in my ears. I feel wobbly and weak. Like I might faint.

I will not faint.

The man speaks again. “Whatever he told you, is a lie.”

“I heard everything,” I say, lifting my chin. “The entire phone call.”

The pretense washes from his eyes as fast as it fell into place. “What was he like when he was with you?”

My head is spinning like a top. I can’t keep up with my raging emotions, and this white-hot fear. “What?”

“Father. What was he like when he was with you? Who was he?” His eyes are so cold. Glacial. “When he disappeared on us, leaving my mother alone for weeks, he was with you. I want to know who he was when was pretending that we didn’t exist.”

“I—I didn’t know.”

“We knew. We all knew about his little angel and the whore he was addicted to. My mother knew.” If he could spit in my face without drawing attention, I’m sure he would. This man—my half-brother—hates me. “She had to pretend that it didn’t hurt her how he would come home and beat her after talking about the perfection of his second family.”

I whimper, shaking my head. “I didn’t?—”

He interrupts me. “He raised us with violence. He pit us against each other, beat my mother until she was bloody and broken, again and again.” His lip curls. “How was he with you, and your mother? I want to know. I want to know what is so special about you, that he left you, his fortune?”

My mind is still reeling at the thought of this other family my father had had and hid. How he’d been cruel with them, when I only remember him being loving and gentle with us. My mind snaps to his last sentence. “I don’t want his money.”

“Everyone wants money.”

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