Page 15 of Unrequited
And still, after six months… all he does is buy me a drink. Walk me out. Keep his distance.
He’s always there.
Always watching.
I tell myself that I’m safe with him. It’s okay that I’m sneaking around without a guard because James wouldn’t let anyone touch me.
Sometimes he asks questions, so casually that it almost slips past me.
“Did your brother get married?”
“Then what happened?”
“And after that?”
And I answer him. Because I don’t know who else to talk to. So I talk to him.
I tell him about Anya and Semyon. About how Rodion went to the States and met Ember. How they fell in love and how she betrayed my brothers' trust. How he was forced to marry her after, but it’s worked out for them.
I tell him about Rafail and Polina, and how they have children now. I tell him how things have shifted. How the rules keep changing.
And I tell him what it’s like being raised by men like my brothers.
“Do you think I’ll ever get free of them?” I ask, shaking my head.
He gives me a little smirk. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, “but it’s tricky. If this were years ago, before they were married and traveling and all, I never would’ve gotten away with it.”
He raises a brow. “And yet, every single week, you make it. Seems to me you’ve got a bit more freedom than you think.”
“True,” I admit, smiling despite myself.
One night, he brings me a small gift. A delicate little trinket—a stunning gold ring, looped and swirled with intricate flourishes. It’s so pretty it nearly takes my breath away.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, as he slides it onto the index finger of my right hand.
“Like you,” he says with a soft smile.
Later, Ember asks where I got it.
I tell her a friend gave it to me. I don’t offer details.
But now… now I wonder.
Whoisthis strange Irishman?
Why is he here, every week, without fail?
I’ve even started dreaming of a future, which is ridiculous.
It’s all fantasy. Delusion.
We never go anywhere, never even leave the pub. Our little private world, as if it’s safely cocooned in this quasi anonymity. I know that I can never be with a man like him, or any man my brothers don’t choose for me. That’s the way of the Bratva and always has been.
And something tells me it’s a similar situation for him. If it wasn’t, he would’ve made a move on me by now, wouldn’t he?
But I can’t give in to this fantasy. What am I going to do, marry him in this pub? Raise children between booths and whiskey glasses?
