Page 32 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
I hate that I remember.
I hate that I remember everything she loves.
Her perfume. Blueberries in her gin. That rose-scented bubble bath, the bottle with the pink lid,notthe white one. Her favorite color being bright coral peach, except on her toenails. She loves mint blue on her toes. She wishes lilies came in blue. She loves eating crumb cake on the beach at sunset. Her favorite author is HP Lovecraft, which always seemed so contradictory to her sweet nature. She loves the thunder and rain, but loves the sun just as much. Being cold makes her feel alive, but beingbundled up in soft blankets makes her smile. She loves rabbits and kittens, especially those extra fluffy angora bunnies.
And we were supposed to get a Maine Coon when we moved in together. We were going to pick him out; I’d already found the breeder and was going to surprise her with a trip to meet some kittens just before she left me.
That’s how she got her nickname from me. Kitten.My kitten.
I hand Anya a blue gin with three blueberries swirling around in the glass.
“Thank you,” she smiles, her brows scrunching for just a moment when she sees my expression. I hate letting my emotions slip.
I wipe the memories from my mind and flex my brows to refresh my face. “They’ll be here in a minute or two,” I say. “Shall we go sit outside in the sun?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” Anya follows me outside onto the patio and into the warm sun.
She sits down next to me and stretches her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes and wiggling them as she smiles and sips her gin. Mint. Pretty mint colored varnish on her toes.
“This is so nice,” she smiles, closing her eyes and taking a slow breath.
“Hello, you two lazy sun lizards,” Ardalion’s loud voice booms from behind us.
“You’re just in time. The ice is still frozen in your drink,” I say happily.
No matter what is going on inside my head, I know how to hide things. I know how to blend in and push thoughts away toenjoy an evening. I know how to pretend, and sometimes I can even fool myself into believing I’m okay, even if it’s just for a few hours around people I care about.
Anya gets up to hug Bella. “Can I make you a gin?” she asks, the perfect hostess.
“That would be lovely,” Belle says, and Anya takes her hand and leads her inside.
“How are things going?” Ard asks, sitting in the sun as well.
“Good, the chef cooked up a seafood feast for us.”
“You know I wasn’t asking about food.” He raises one brow.
“Things are good,” I say more solemnly.
He nods. That’s all he’ll say about it.
Around the dinner table with the sky turning orange and blue over the ocean horizon, we look like an old group of friends. Anya is beautiful, charismatic, charming, and sweet. She’s attentive, amusing, and full of laughter.
She’s perfect.
And I’m struggling, watching her, remembering how sweet she used to be to me. Every time someone needs something, she’s up to get it for them. She’s quick to refill drinks and listens when people tell stories, asking questions and sharing their enthusiasm, no matter what the topic is. I’ve missed her so much.
I’m strugglingdeeply, but I don’t let it show, not for a second.
Because no matter how good she is at playing this perfect version of herself, I know the real her. The version that’s capableof leaving me drowning in my own pain while she turns her back and carries on with her life as though nothing was ever real between us. Because for her it wasn’t.
While for me it was everything.
Chapter 10 - Anya
I’ve walked around the perimeter of the garden for what feels like the hundredth time in the past week.
Kicking a small pebble off the pathway, I huff loudly as it rolls away. I pout my lips out and make my sulking face more obvious, even though no one is paying any attention to me.
