Page 122 of Unrequited
But I didn’t marry a stranger. Not some woman dragged off the street.
She was raised by Rafail Kopolov himself. She knows howto survive under fire. She was forged in it. And yet… I hate this. I hate the pain of being apart.
I haven’t felt like this in years. Not since the last time I made a reckless, desperate move. I’ve spent years crawling back into my father’s good graces. Rebuilding the broken bridge of his trust, brick by agonizing brick.
And now, here I am.
His phone chimes, and he glances down. “Your mother says it’s time for dinner,” he says, clipped.
Annoyance flickers in his eyes. Probably not at me, at her. Maybe both.
I guess she’s calling for him. I push up to my feet, exhale hard, and nod. A silent reprieve. A moment to breathe.
An escape. Dinner’s early tonight. We don’t usually eat this early. It feels off.
I know I’m not finished here, not by a long shot. But I’ll take the moment anyway.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“Aye, you will. And you’ll behave in front of your mother.”
He snaps the words at me like an order. I stop and turn toward him.
“I’m not a child anymore.”
For the first time, we meet eye to eye. I look down at him and realize… he’s shorter than I remember.
Time has taken something from him. He’s still strong, stillbuilt like the soldier he once was. He still trains, still lifts, still carries the weight of the past on his shoulders.
But I’ve grown. I’m in my prime. And he knows he can’t overpower me now.
I see it in his eyes, the flicker of something like fear. “Da,” I say softly. “Please. Trust me.”
His jaw locks as his gaze bores into mine. “You’ve left me no choice.”
“I know,” I whisper, letting go of his wrist.
“Let’s go to dinner.”
I step past him, across the threshold. His glare lingers behind me. But I have other priorities.
I need to get back to Zoya.
I’m not letting the hammer drop. Not tonight.
But tonight, it’s time for a call to Matvei Kopolov.
Chapter 22
ZOYA
“Aren’t you a wonder,”Caitlin says, her voice warm as she places a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into a quick hug. “No wonder Seamus loves you so much.”
Her words catch me off guard. Make me ache. I think of my mother.
“Did your mother teach you to cook like this?” she asks, her eyes bright, looking at the honey cake cooling on the counter.
I shake my head, looking away. “No. She’s been gone a long time. I was just a child when she died.”
