Page 222 of Wicked Proposal
“You’re fuckinglying!” I tear my hand from hers. “That didn’t happen. I would have known, I?—”
“You were distracted.” Her voice cracks, eyes brimming with tears. “You were desperately trying not to think about me. You had your job, your Bratva?—”
“You wouldn’t have done that to me.” Jealousy like I’ve never felt before grips my chest, its burning claws sinking deeper than I knew they could go. “You wouldn’t have done that to yourself.”
“But I did,” she croaks. Her face looks so guilty—so filled with shame. “I’m sorry, Yulian. We were both lying to each other.”
My certainty starts to waver. The image of Mia in my heart—strong, kind, loyal—abruptly finds itself at war with this other Mia: a weaker, selfish, treacherous version of herself, dressed in white like Brad’s little toy.
And suddenly, I can’t tell which one’s real.
“It’s over,” she repeats. “I want you to leave now.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t mean a word you just said.”
“Guess that makes two of us, then.” Her features turn hard. “Because you didn’t mean a word you said to me, either.”
“Like hell I didn’t,” I snarl. “You’re myfamily.You and Eli, you’re?—”
“Your family’s dead!” she bursts. “They’re dead, Yulian. Dead and buried because of your failure. And we arenotyours.”
It’s the last straw.
All this time, I’ve been killing myself not to love her. To forget the girl in the parking lot, the spitfire nurse who stood up to me when no one else would.
But if this is what she thinks of me…
Then perhaps she’s right.
We really have been lying to each other all along.
“He won’t change, you know.” I grind out those words like grit from a wound. “He’ll never change. Not for you, not for him. People don’t change, Mia.”
“I know.” Her gaze turns to steel on me. “I’ve finally learned my lesson. Looks like I’ve got you to thank for that.”
I don’t stay a second longer after that.
I push past her. She doesn’t stop me.
I throw open the door. She doesn’t stop me.
I drive off. She doesn’t stop me.
The Garfield plushie rolls down under the front seat. Cold, battered, abandoned.
Lesson fucking learned.
67
MIA
“I’m getting Eli.” Yulian sounds mad, mad, mad, angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “Then you’re going to get in my car, and we’re going to talk at your apartment. You’re free to do whatever you want after that.”
He turns.No, no, no—don’t turn. Don’t go into that room.
