Page 87 of Ruby Mercy

His hand slides down my arm and grips my wrist. I feel fire in the wake of his touch. “You hoped I would come back for you. Guess what: I’m here.”

This will all blow up in my face. Whatever kismet I feel now will fade. This dream will turn to dust in my hands, and I’d rather drop it than let that happen.

“Leave.” The single word rips from my chest in a primal kind of growl. I yank my hand out of his hold. “You don’t—There is too much you don’t know. It isn’t good for Yuliana that you’re here. You need to leave.”

The way Yuliana responded to him, especially after the hard day she had at school, was shocking. I still can’t believe she took to him so easily.

A montage of the two of them growing closer, of me fading into the background, flashes before my eyes. Then it shifts to me cradling Yuliana, comforting her, dabbing away her tears after Kirill disappears from our lives and leaves us in ruins.

The bad outcomes are countless, but there is only one route for a happily ever after. I can do that math. The odds are not in our favor.

“Don’t tell me I’m not good for my daughter,” he snarls.

“You can’t stroll into her life and become her dad, Kirill! That’s not how this works.She is mine.”

“By your doing. Now that I know about her, I won’t turn my back on her.”

“Don’t speak so soon,” I say, stepping around him to push open the door. “Turning your back on people is what you do best. You did it to me five years ago.”

I slam the door closed as if that actually matters. Kirill could smash through it if he really wanted.

He won’t, though. Not with Yuliana inside.

Kirill may hate me right now, but he won’t risk traumatizing his daughter. Because even though he’s only been a dad for an hour, he’s already a good one.

I hate that.

I also hate how much I love it.

I slide down the door and crouch on the floor with my face in my hands. Right then, of course, is when Yuliana shouts, “I’m done!” from her bedroom. I hear her footsteps padding down the hallway, and I lift my face. She turns into the living room with wide eyes and a smile that fades when she doesn’t see Kirill. “Where did he go?”

The picture she colored falls to her side. I can see a sky full of rainbows with three people standing on the bright red ground beneath.

I’d love a minute to compose myself. To grieve. To cry.

Parenting doesn’t work that way, though. Yuliana always comes first.

I give her a sad smile. “He had to leave. He—He didn’t have a choice.”

It’s not far from the truth. I stole Kirill’s choice. I stole Yuliana’s, too.

She sags in disappointment. “But I made him a picture. I thought he wanted one.”

“He does. We’ll save it for the next time we see him, okay?”

Her face brightens. “We’ll see him again?”

“Would you like to see him again?” No matter how she answers, I know Kirill will make another appearance. He isn’t going to let this go. Not right away, anyway.

“I want to show him my drawing,” she says in response. “I’ll put it on the fridge.”

I push myself to standing and watch my daughter run to the fridge and pin her latest drawing there. Three people—one clearly taller, broader, and male, undeniably Kirill—standing under a magical rainbow sky.

Our first family portrait.

32

RAYNE

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