Page 44 of Sapphire Scars

She just smiles. “I think you need a drink. Come on.”

Sighing, I let myself be convinced and follow her to my office, one floor down. She walks straight to the bar and fixes us a couple of drinks. I drop into the armchair behind my desk.

Milana walks the drinks over and hands the crystal tumbler of whiskey to me. “What shall we toast to?”

“To right-hand women who know when to keep their noses out of my business,” I growl, downing half of my drink without bothering to wait for her.

“Grump,” Milana sniffles as she sits down on one of the two leather cushioned chairs in front of my desk. She sips daintily at her drink. I fish a cigar from my humidor and light it. Something about the dark sting and tang of the smoke calms my nerves. Maybe because it smells so unlike June.

Milana waits until plumes of smoke are wafting through my office before she speaks. “So…”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” she says with an easy grin. “Enough to know that she likes you. Maybe as much as you like her.”

“She’s… getting attached to me,” I say gruffly, quaffing another huge glug of whiskey. It burns on its way down. “She’s missing Adrian. It’s making her vulnerable.”

“Now, now. I wouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re good-looking, in that cold, scary, brutish way that women seem to like so much. I was a little intrigued when we first met.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Just at first?”

“Just at first. Then you started talking and I changed my mind.”

“You always were good at listening to your instincts,” I point out with a humorless laugh. “June is not. The woman is too generous with her feelings. Too fucking careless with her heart.”

“Getting close to her wouldn’t be the worst thing, you know,” Milana says suggestively. “Winning her loyalty will ensure she’s on your side instead of Ravil’s.”

“She’s been manipulated enough. I won’t add to it.”

Milana’s smile gets deeper. “You really expect me to believe that all this protectiveness is for no other reason than a sense of duty towards your dearly departed brother?” She takes a sip of her whiskey. “I call bullshit.”

“You can call whatever you want. My answer won’t change.”

“Stubborn bastard.”

“Persistent bitch.”

She laughs and finishes her drink. “I’m just telling you to give into what you’re feeling. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“No,” I rumble ominously. “I’ve had my fill of death for a while.”

18

JUNE

I asked my mother once what she’d felt when the doctor told her she was pregnant with me.

She looked at me with a puzzled expression, like she couldn’t believe I was asking the question in the first place. Then she replied, “Tired.”

I expected her to follow up with something else. Something remotely sentimental.You were an unexpected gift. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to meet you.

All I got wasTired.

I should have cut my losses and stopped there. But I was ten. I wanted to know that I was loved, wanted, all that good stuff. I should have realized that if I had to ask at all, it’s probably because none of those things were true.

“Did you feel the same when Geneva was born?” I asked next.

My mother just looked at me impatiently. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your dancing? If you’re serious about this, June, you’ll need to commit properly.”

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