Page 26 of Carved in Ruin

I nod, shaking Anatoly’s hand. He is handsome, yes, but nothing compared to Rafael. Not that it matters.

“Nice to meet you,” I say simply, before stepping back and gesturing to the seat next to me. “Layla.”

She takes the chair, her radiant smile directed at Rafael. I sit beside her. It puts me directly across from Anatoly. Rafael is staring holes at me, but I ignore it.

The table fills with chatter as I sip my wine. Rafael’s presence looms, his voice husky as he speaks to my father and Anatoly. It grates against my nerves.

I glance at Layla. She’s glowing, absolutely beaming at Rafael like he’s already her husband. I plaster on a smile. I’m getting better at pretending like I’m not dying inside.

“You’re quiet tonight, Mila.” Rafael says.

I meet his eyes. “I didn’t realize I was required to entertain.”

Anatoly chuckles softly beside him, but Rafael’s pissed off expression doesn’t change. “Not required, no. But expected.”

I lift my glass, feigning a toast. “Then consider my silence a gift.”

His eyes darken, but he says nothing, turning his attention back to my father. I exhale slowly. This is my life now—feigned indifference and quiet suffering.

I’ll survive.

The conversation around the table quiets as my father stands and waits for the room to settle. “I’m pleased to announce,” Hebegins, “that my daughter Layla has chosen Mila as herKumafor the wedding.” He pauses as if he’s waiting for applause, but the room just listens. “In Serbian culture,Kuma’sare like bridesmaids,” he explains, his eyes flicking between the faces at the table. “They are for support, for strength. A true honor.”

I can feel my throat tighten, but I force myself to smile. He couldn’t even stop himself from making this all about me. God, I hope he doesn’t make me wear white to Layla’s wedding

“Oh, this is going to be the best part,” I blurt out, the words escaping before I can catch them. I laugh, not really meaning it, but needing to say something—anything—to break the tension. “The Kuma part, I mean,” I add quickly, as if anyone really needed clarification. “That’s what I’m most excited for in the whole wedding.”

I swear I hear Rafael’s low growl from across the table. It’s barely a sound, more of a vibration in the air. It’s enough to send a shiver down my spine. I tilt my head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye, trying to read him.

What the hell is his problem now? Does he want me to cry? Is that it? Sick motherfucker.

Father looks at Rafael. “And who will yourKumbe, Rafael?”

I glance over at him, waiting for his answer. He scoffs, as though the question is beneath him. “I don’t care about all this planning bullshit.”

The table stirs, a few uncomfortable glances exchanged.

“You must choose one, Rafael,” Father insists.

Rafael doesn’t look pleased. “Fine. Anatoly.”

I turn to Anatoly, who is watching Rafael’s casual dismissal of the entire situation.

“Save me a dance at the wedding, okay?” I ask Anatoly, my voice far too chipper for the way I feel.

“Of course,” he replies smoothly, lifting his glass in a casual toast. “We’ll have a few dances.”

We clink glasses. The sound of glass shattering echoes in the room. Everyone jumps, startled, their heads snapping in Rafael’s direction.

His hand is still raised, but now, there’s a jagged line of glass embedded in his palm, blood dripping slowly onto the table, staining the linen. The broken remains of the glass lie around him, a few fragments still clinging to his hand.

His expression is hard to read, a dangerous look flashing in his eyes as he wipes the remnants of the drink off his hand. His lips twitch, trying to mask whatever frustration he’s feeling, and he chuckles darkly.

“Your glasses are weak, Milos,” he mutters, attempting to pass it off as a joke.

The table laughs, though it’s forced. The tension is thick now. A maid hurries over, quickly cleaning up the glass shards and replacing his drink.

He removes the shards from his hand, and wipes it off, the blood staining his fingers. He is still looking at me, as if daring me to say something. I don’t.

---