Page 45 of Sapphire Tears

I arch one eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” she says in reply. “I was just, uh… Okay, I was dancing. Trying to, at least.”

“May I come in?”

She seems surprised that I’m asking, but she nods and moves aside to let me pass. The room has fallen back into a state of comforting messiness since June’s been back. Her clothes and books are scattered everywhere, and there are fresh flowers in the vases that adorn her bedside and the mantel above the fireplace. The sight of it all—ofherin my space—makes something in my chest feel like it’s come unmoored.

“We’re leaving,” I tell her bluntly.

“Leaving?” she repeats. “Where?”

“Hudson Valley.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Why?”

“I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery. You have been confined to this mansion a lot. And since you can’t go home yet…”

She narrows her eyes. “You can’t keep me here forever, Kolya.”

“Once I’ve dealt with Adrian, you’ll be free to go,” I say, though I doubt my own words even as I say them.

We’re getting to a point of no return. I can feel it approaching like a runaway train. A point past which I won’t let her go. A point past which Ican’tlet her go.

I set the thought aside. I don’t like acknowledging how vital she’s become to me already.

June looks disgusted. “Have the two of you ever tried just talking to each other?”

“Several times. But you can’t talk to someone who refuses to listen.”

“Then maybe you should be the one to do the listening.”

I take a step closer and glare down at her. “Listening to my brother is what brought us here in the first place. I do not repeat old mistakes.”

“And yet here I am,” she points out bitterly.

I scowl and walk swiftly to the door. “Start packing. We leave in an hour.”

20

KOLYA

The last time I was here was a few weeks before Adrian’s funeral. Progress has been made, but there’s months’ worth of work yet to be done.

The front of the old hotel is a butter-yellow granite that melts into the landscape beyond it. The windows are framed in black wrought iron and the arched gables on the roof catch the afternoon sun. Scaffolding covers most of the eastern wing and workers in blue hard hats scurry over the building like ants.

We pull up in front of the stone fountain that looms large in the center of the circular entryway drive. There were a few things about this old, decrepit hotel I’d chosen to keep the same when I purchased it. The fountain was one.

“It’s under construction,” June observes as I help her out of the car.

“There are rooms in the west wing that are completed. We’ll be staying there.”

She throws me a puzzled look. “Is there a reason we’re staying in a renovated hotel?”

“Yes. Because I’m the renovator, and it’s been a while since I’ve been here to check on the progress.”

She turns back to the façade with fresh eyes. “You own this place?”

“As of two years ago, yes.”

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