Page 79 of Scarlet Vows
At six, I pack up, ready to leave, and I’ve just texted Gus, who I’m sure is hanging out nearby, when my phone lights up.
When I see who the text is from, my heart leaps and spins because it really doesn’t seem interested in receiving any of the memos my brain sends it.
It can’t keep a thing straight, not about Max or guilt or Ilya. Not about warm, gooey feelings and panic and fear. My heart’s a mess.
Ilya
Malyshka, I got takeout, your fav Thai place. And when you get home, we are going to sit down and talk.
Me
Thanks 4 the takeout, but I’m not hungry.
Ilya
We’re talking whether you want to or not. It’s time we clear the air. No?
I suck in a breath as Gus opens the door for me, and then I get in. I’m vaguely aware of Jane goggling the fancy car with a driver, but I don’t have the bandwidth to care.
Normally, Gus picks me up a few doors down.
As we head back, I think of asking Gus to take me to Demyan’s, but that’s just plain old cowardly and cruel. I’m not cruel. And I don’t want to be a coward.
Ilya doesn’t deserve that, and neither does the Max in my heart.
Max would be so disappointed.
Me
Ok. B home soon.
Shit, I may as well talk with him. I lost Albert, so the day really can’t get much worse.
Ilya’s there at the front door when I go to open it.
He takes my face in both hands and says, “I hate that you’ve been avoiding me. I can deal with you not wanting me or just wanting to be friends, but I can’t lose my friend.”
“I’m not… What?”
I can’t breathe. I don’t know what he’s saying. Wanting me? No, he didn’t say that. He said me not wanting him.
“What?” I repeat.
“I want you to know, Alina. I want to make it clear thatI’d love nothing more than to sleep with you, to pleasure you in ways you’ve only imagined. I want you to know I want you. I figure that’s been obvious since the kiss. But I won’t ever do it if it means losing you altogether.”
I stare at him, my heart slamming hard. “You want me?”
“Of course I do. But I mean it—not at the risk of losing you and not if you’re not ready.”
I open my mouth to make up an excuse when different words come out.
“Ilya,” I whisper, “I want that, too. I want you. I can’t help it. I’m trying to fight it, but I just…”
Tears blur my vision and fall down my cheeks.
He wipes them away with his thumbs.
“But you feel guilty?” he asks.
