Page 119 of Ruins
Because Ihadher. And I let her slip away.
With only four hours of sleep, I wake to welcome Mrs. Keen back home. She joins me in the kitchen, her warm smile and familiar presence instantly soothing the chaos in my mind.
“So, what really happened?” she asks, cutting straight to the chase.
I shake my head, letting out a tired chuckle. “Like I said, Julian went on vacation.”
A soft voice chimes in before she can respond.
“Julian’s on vacation too?”
Vasilisa enters the kitchen, looking far too radiant for this hour. She’s wearing a flowy short skirt and a soft pink button-down, the color making her look even younger, more untouched—more mine.
I brace myself for Mrs. Keen’s reaction, but to my relief, she lights up with excitement.
She rushes toward Vasilisa, “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you!” Her enthusiasm is contagious, and Vasilisa reciprocates without hesitation, their embrace warm and genuine.
They part but still hold onto each other’s hands.
“You must be Mrs. Keen,” Vasilisa says politely.
“You may call me Amelia,” Mrs. Keen corrects, taking her in with approving eyes. “And look at you! Stunning!”
A blush blooms on Vasilisa’s cheeks. “Thank you, Amelia.”
“I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” Mrs. Keen teases, casting a mischievous glance at me.
I barely conceal a groan.Here we go.
Vasilisa’s gaze flicks to me, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “Is that so?”
I offer a helpless shrug, an apologetic smile playing on my lips. “All good things, I promise.”
Mrs. Keen chuckles knowingly and moves toward the counter, pouring coffee into three mugs.
“Would you like some?” she asks.
“Yes, please,” Vasilisa answers immediately, then turns to me with a simple smile—so soft, so easy—yet it knots my stomach.
We gather around the island, sipping coffee as Mrs. Keen animatedly recounts her trip to Europe. She describes cobblestone streets and fresh pastries with such vividness that I can almost smell them.
But I’m only half-listening.
Instead, I watch Vasilisa.
The way she laughs at Mrs. Keen’s stories. The way she absently traces the rim of her mug when she’s deep in thought. The way the morning light catches in her golden hair.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“I love her,” she says suddenly when Mrs. Keen leaves the room. Her gaze lingers on her half-empty cup, a gentle softness in her voice. “My mother isn’t very affectionate, so it’s nice to feel wanted by someone.”
A pang of something sharp and unwanted lodges in my chest.
“My mother was the opposite,” I find myself admitting before I even think about it. “Amelia became a surrogate for us after we lost her.”
Vasilisa looks up, her brows furrowing with quiet sympathy. She reaches across, her soft hand settling over mine. A simple touch, but it threatens to melt me.
“I would have loved to have met her.”
