Page 4 of Cruel Longing

“Not with the family. I’m the youngest. Out of all the cousins. You’re the next Pakhan. We all know it. All I have is this, big brother. This one night when everyone sees me and only me.”

I pulled her a little closer, wishing her words weren’t true, yet knowing if I tried to argue with her, I would only lie. She would see right through it.

“Are you having a good time?” I asked.

She nodded. “I am. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

I surveyed our surroundings. My parents had spared no expense. We danced beneath white silk tents, dotted with lights. Fountains had been brought in and placed throughout the gardens. If the band stopped playing for even a second, the babbling rush of water carried throughout the party. It was magical.

“It couldn’t be more perfect for you.”

I led her under my arm and back into place. I thought I saw the wedding photographer snap a few photos of us dancing.

“Have you called her?” Katya’s big blue eyes looked up at me.

“Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m neither Mother nor Papa. You don’t have to pretend. Have you seen her? The Italian girl who stole Papa’s hotel.”

“Why would I see her?” I tried to be heartless. I wanted to feel nothing at the mention of her, but my heart began to beat out of rhythm. My chest contracted, assaulted with pain.

Katy pushed up on her tiptoes in her satin ballet flats to whisper in my ear. “Go see her. Go get her. Take her back to France with you. You could if you really wanted to, Luka.”

I closed my eyes. I had to force myself not to sway under the influence of too many vodka shots and my sister’s impulsive suggestion.

“Katya, stop,” I snapped.

Her blue eyes blinked. I had rattled her. “I only…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I spun her around as the song began to wind down. I didn’t want to argue with her on the one night she was having a good time. “I’m sure Andrey would love to dance with his wife. You don’t want to spend your entire reception apart.” I led her to where the groom was having drinks with the groomsmen. He hadn’t noticed I’d brought the bride toward him.

I kissed my sister on the cheek and placed her hand on his arm. “You two enjoy the rest of your reception.” I nodded at Andrey.

I pushed my way through the crowd, exiting the main party and wandered through a row of hedges that created a maze. I exhaled, balling my fists at my side.

Tomorrow morning I would be on the first flight back to Paris. I couldn’t be in this city when Amara was only miles away. I couldn’t be under the same stars or sky. I couldn’t breathe air she breathed. Fuck. I couldn’t see her.

Not after what I had done to her.

“My Luka, sit.”

I turned, surprised to see Babushka on a concrete bench near one of the temporary fountains brought in for the wedding.

“Babushka.” I kissed her on each cheek.

“Terrible wedding, isn’t it?” she spoke in Russian.

“I guess that depends on if you ask the men who made the deal or the couple who must suffer through it.” Babushka thought every gathering was terrible. She had a grim outlook on life.

“You have always been my favorite because you see exactly the way things are.”

“I didn’t think grandmothers were supposed to choose favorites. What about my cousins in Russia?” I teased.

She swatted the air. The diamonds on her hands caught the glow from the dangling lights overhead. She had been collecting diamonds since she was old enough to marry at eighteen.

“I choose wisely. Just like you.” The music from the band floated over the hedges. “It is why I’m proud of you for staying away from the Italian girl.”

Fuck. Was no one in this family going to let me forget Amara tonight?

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