Page 172 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Weird of her to walk away to answer a call from some thirsty boy. Tam never cares about that kind of thing. “Kiss and tell” is her middle name.

But if she has gotten shy since the last time I saw her, that’s okay. I’m too tired to care one way or another.

I start eating the grapes, and now that the edge of my hunger has been sated, I feel a little more balanced, a little more capable of clarity. I can hear Tam pacing on the balcony outside and whispering rapid-fire.

She comes back in a few moments later. As soon as she sees me, she smiles. But again, there’s something in her face—an edge, a shadow—that troubles me.

“Sorry about that.”

“Tam,” I ask, “is everything all right?”

“Of course,” she says, with so much surprise that I find myself wondering if I’m just being paranoid. “Everything’s fine. It’s just…”

“A guy.”

“Right. A guy.”

“I’ve never seen you pay much attention to one man for too long,” I say. “Is this one different?”

She lets out a burst of laughter. “This one is definitely different.”

“Is it serious?”

Tamara nods. “He wants it to be,” she replies. “I just… I’m not so sure about him.”

“Hence the texts and calls,” I nod.

“Right,” she replies. “But enough about me. I can’t really deal with him right now. Not when my cousin needs me.”

I smile, feeling a warmth in my chest that I haven’t felt in a while. She sinks to her seat next to me and tucks her toes under my thigh.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past several weeks,” she says. “You’re like, my hero.”

“It’s been difficult,” I admit. It feels good to be honest. I’ve spent so many long days and nights putting on a brave face to spar with Artem.

Being truthful, being vulnerable—it’s a welcome change of pace.

“How did you get away from that bastard?”

It takes me a moment to realize that she’s talking about Artem. I jolt at the curse, but when you look at it from Tam’s perspective—he kidnapped me, killed my father, burned my house down, forced me to marry him… “bastard” starts to feel very appropriate indeed.

So why does it bother me?

Because he’s more than that to me.

“His father died,” I murmur. “And we were ambushed at this funeral.”

“No way.”

“We got to a safe house and… and…”

My words stall as I realize that I don’t want to explain the next part to her.

I don’t want to relive the moment that broke my trust in Artem. Mostly because, while itdidbreak my trust in him, it hasn’t succeeded in breaking my desire for him.

I still want him.

I still miss him.

---