Page 117 of Scarlet Vows
Now it’s her turn to blush. “I was joking about the gruesome details. But I do want to know, emotionally speaking, of course.”
“It was…amazing,” I finally admit.
How can I not?
I wrap my hands around my mug. “I never thought I’d connect with someone after losing Max. And for me and Ilya, it just feels right.”
I look down and set my cup on the table, only for Isla to squeeze my hand.
“If anyone deserves to find love again, it’s you.”
“We’re not in love, Isla.” I roll my eyes, even as Albert whines. “Okay?”
She just looks at me. “Well, what would you call it, then?”
“Sex?”
“No shit. And that’s not an answer.”
She’s got a point, but I struggle to come up with an appropriate answer. I can lie to her, but not to myself. Is there another answer that isn’t a lie? Or an insult to the beautiful and exciting thing that happened?
I remember what I said to Max, that I was falling again.
Why did I do that? Because here and now, it’s not something I want to think about, even though it’s taking up a huge part of my head.
I think I wanted to sound it out with Max, his ghost, his grave, the idea of him. I wanted it to be okay if it was true. Because at Max’s resting place, I’d know if it was wrong.
Inside. I’d know.
But again, it’s right in front of me. I’m falling in love.
Is that what the rushing swoop of emotion is when I see Ilya?
Am I falling in love with him? Honestly, truly?
Maybe.
Maybe I am.
I wait.
But for once, the idea doesn’t terrify me. It doesn’t threaten to drown me in guilt and betrayal and confusion.
Instead, it fills me with something new.
Hope.
When I get home,after a detour to the supermarket, where Gus waits with an anxious Albert, I start to prep my planned meal for Ilya.
Albert’s happy to supervise and investigate outside in the little herb garden outside by the kitchen doors. Of course, histummy is full of fresh meat from the butcher, his reward for being good.
Svetlana hurries in to see if she can help. I swear she’s somehow related to Magda with her sixth sense of someone in their domain.
She may be the head of the house in terms of keeping it running, but Svetlana, like Magda, takes pride in cooking.
“Pelmeni!” She beams with approval when she sees what I’m making and lays out the appropriate essentials for me from the cupboards and the pantry. “It’s a good choice.”
I haven’t even opened up the recipe on my tablet.
