Page 146 of My Dark Horse Prince

“Have you seen Adriana?”

She glances at Grigoriy, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“She owes me money,” I say. “I’m worried she’s going to hide at a friend’s place because she’s too embarrassed.”

“I haven’t seen her,” Mom says. “I can try calling her.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. But if you do see her, can you call me right away?”

Mom nods slowly.

Grigoriy turns on his heel and heads out the door.

“Wait,” Mom says. “Where are you going, and why’s that man carrying you?”

That man? “Mom, you’ve met him. He has a name.”

“Are you dating him again?” Her stage whisper is ridiculous. Obviously he can hear everything.

“I am,” I say. “It was all a misunderstanding before, but we have to go right now. There are a lot of things for us to handle, mostly related to other things that happened at the show. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mom looks skeptical, but she doesn’t argue. That’s one thing about having a total wuss for a mom. She never makes things harder than they need to be, even when she disagrees with you.

“I really am so proud,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t go. I thought it might be hard for you to see me if it didn’t go well.” As if the thought’s just occurred to her, she inhales sharply. “Did you hurt your leg at the show?”

I decide that at least one thing I say can be true. “I did,” I say. “But I’ve already been to see the doctors and they said I can still walk. I’m just giving it a bit of a break for now.”

“Smart,” she says. “You’re lucky to have found a man strong enough and patient enough to put up with all that.”

“Actually,” Grigoriy says, “I’m the lucky one. It’s my pleasure to be around your daughter and to be able to serve her in any way I can.”

Mom’s staring, her mouth dangling open, when we head back out.

The cost of hope is often despair, and it hits me as we leave.

Adriana wasn’t there.

She’s really missing.

And it’s my fault.

I underestimated her filial love, her devotion, and her bravery, and now I’ve put her in danger. She might even be dead. I’m crying again by the time we reach the house, and I’ve curled my head up against the side of Grigoriy’s strong shoulder.

He jogs up the stairs as if I weigh nothing, and then he heads to the right, counting rooms until he reaches the fourth. The guest room. I’m fancy, now. I remember helping my mother clean this room as a kid. Or at least, I remember sitting in the corner quietly while she cleaned. I doubt I was really very helpful, in retrospect.

The room’s bright, the bed in the center not quite as massive as I remember it being. But the bedspread is just as white and frilly as it is in my memory. And it still smells of jasmine—Kristiana’s mother’s favorite scent. No matter how long I live, I’ll always associate that smell with her. It used to make me really sad to smell it. Now I can’t help smiling just a little.

At first the pain of loss is almost unbearable. But at some point in our lives, the sentiment switches from the pain of losing someone, to the joy in the memories of them we yet retain. I suppose that’s one of the most beautiful gifts of healing.

Joy is always better than pain.

And it outlasts it, in the end.

Grigoriy sets me on the edge of the bed carefully. “What can I get for you?”

“Nothing,” I say. “If you guys won’t take my help, at least you should go and see what you can do.”

I don’t tell him that there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep or rest, not while Adriana’s gone. It sounds overwrought, and also, with as tired as I am, it might be a complete lie. But I don’t want to divert resources, either. Grigoriy’s smart, capable, and a little terrifying. If there’s something he can do to help her, I want him doing it, not talking to me about what snacks I might want.

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