Page 63 of Vitaly

She sighs and slouches in her seat but doesn’t speak again for the rest of the drive past the little house and down the path to the lake. I park the car at the shoreline and stare out at the glistening water, letting my hand relax on the wheel.

Memories surge, but I don’t allow myself to get lost in them. I turn off the car and sit back in my seat.

“This is it.”

Mila’s face scrunches as she looks around. “It’s a lake.” She eyes me warily. “I know you view me as a prisoner and all, but do you really think I haven’t seen a lake before?”

I gesture to the land with a splay of my hands. “This is where we would’ve gotten married if things had gone differently.”

The wrinkles on her face disappear as her lips relax. She looks around, trying to take in the area like I have, but she doesn’t have the memories I do.

“It was my father’s property,” I explain, looking out at the water. “He used to take me fishing here when I was a child while my mom read inside the little house back there. I didn’t realize it then, but I think he was mostly bringing us all out here so she could escape. Still, those are some of my favorite memories with him.”

I see him now, standing outside the window, a fishing pole in his hand, trying his hardest to explain life to me. He taught me so much, but I didn’t absorb any of it until he was dead.

“When I got older, it wastheparty spot,” I say, my eyes moving farther out while my finger lifts to point. “My friends and I used to throw bonfires every Friday night. I lost my virginity to Christy Finiky on a blanket by that tree over there.”

“Wow, that’s really romantic,” Mila deadpans. “No wonder you picked this spot to get married. What a lucky girl I would’ve been.”

I chuckle half-heartedly but let it die in my throat. “I didn’t choose it. My mother did.”

When I look over, Mila is watching me intently.

“It wasn’t a secret in my house that I didn’t want to get married, so I assure you, it wasn’t for my benefit. She just, uh…” I show my palm while remembering my mother telling me the wedding plans she’d decided for me. I hated the idea. Hated the idea of ruining the fun of this place. “She wanted you to be able to get married on more neutral ground. The mansion is big, cold, and intimidating, and she felt it wasn’t an accurate representation of the family you were marrying into… In truth, I think it just reminded her of my grandfather, and she wanted to have a shot at enjoying the day. And foryouto have a shot at enjoying the day.”

I look in the rearview but don’t spot the house. It’s too far back to see in the dark. “This was her favorite place in the world.”

“She sounds like a kindhearted woman.”

I nod. “She was. I wish you could’ve known her.”

Mila’s quiet for a moment. “So… She didn’t like your grandfather?”

My lips pull into a smile, though I feel very little amusement. It’s more bitterness that tilts my lips. Strange how I never felt such contempt for the man growing up.

“You were around. You know the answer to that.”

She opens and closes her mouth before looking at her lap. Whatever she knows, she looks too uncomfortable to say. It’s unlikely that I’ll be surprised.

“Not really.” She shrugs. “I know she left the mansion after you ran away. If she hated your grandfather, I’m sure she was glad to go.”

After Iran away.

My eyes narrow. Everything about her posture tells me she’s serious. She didn’t say it like a sarcastic dig. She said it matter-of-factly.

Because shereallybelieves I ran away.

Wow.

“She wouldn’t have been glad to go,” I say, remembering the worry my mother had in the days leading up to Mila’s arrival. She carefully picked out, decorated, then redecorated Mila’s room. Grilled me on etiquette. Practiced making traditional dishes, doing everything she could to make sure my future bride felt at home. “She was like you.Stubborn. Plus, both my parents cared for you deeply. She would’ve treated you like her own, marriage or no marriage. And Mila…”

I shift to fully face her. “I didn’trun away.I was a brat, but I never would’ve abandoned my mother like that. Or Alik. I wasforced onto a plane before my father was even in the ground. Then a week into being in Russia, the cops came to my door with a tip that I was a drug dealer. They found drugs that someone had planted in my apartment, then they tortured me until I gave a full, bogus confession. If I’d known what prison was going to be like, I probably would’ve just asked them to kill me.”

She stares at me for several moments, her jaw slack before she diverts her eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Your grandfather was … something else.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Sorry I called you a traitor,” she says with an apologetic frown. It’s sweet.

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