Page 28 of Savage Beauty

I’d rather have endured a loveless lifetime with Marc than one day of loving Sasha. At least with Marc, I longed for nothing and aspired to even less. Now, my heart is alive to possibilities even as I try to bludgeon it into submission.

“Do you remember me telling you about my mom’s New York Public Library job?”

“Her parole work placement?” Morgana smiles. “Yeah, of course.”

“She was a cleaner there for years.” I pick up a cushion and hug it to my chest. “We were dirt poor, but they were good times. I spent hours in that library—Mom didn’t want me to be home alone because our neighborhood was sketchy. The place would be silent and empty, and I’d have all the time in the world to read.” I sigh. “It was a safe place for me because there were a million stories to escape into, and my mom was there too. I used to read romantic tales of knights and princesses and villainous lords.”

Morgana smiles tenderly. “I guess the real world let you down in a big way.”

My vision blurs as the tears come again. “Yeah. It all gets wrapped up neatly in stories, doesn’t it? It’s easy for the princess. All she has to do is sit around and wait to be rescued by her one true love. Not gonna happen for me.”

Morgana tilts her head, considering my point. “Well, Sashadidrescue you. Sort of.”

“Awesome,” I say. “So if I can charm animals into doing chores, I’ll know I’m onto a winner.”

“This is New York City,” Morgana says. “You gonna sing sweetly to the rats and get them to make you a ballgown?”

I have to laugh. Morgana and Vladi made it, and I’ve never seen two people more in love. Maybe there’s hope for Sasha and me yet, but the cold feeling in the pit of my stomach refuses to dissipate.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” Morgana says, easing to her feet. Her bump threatens to unbalance her, and I catch her hand. “Thanks,” she says. “You gonna be okay?”

“Sure. Go rest. I’ll be fine.”

* * *

I sit for a long time after Morgana leaves, staring into space. Now that I started thinking about my mom, it’s like she’s lodged in my brain, and I can’t think about anything except those times. The good, rough times before it all went wrong.

Poverty stalks my nightmares. I’m so afraid of having nothing that I put myself in dangerous situations to avoid it, just like Mom did. I wish I’d had the chance to tell her she was all I needed.

In her effort to drag us off the breadline, she gambled with our lives and lost hers. Mine was forever marred, and the vultures didn’t take long to close in once I was alone in the world.

I know Sasha lost his mother. But he had his family’s wealth and prestige to fall back on. He’s never tasted the metallic tang of desperation on his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is to feel like a reject, a loser, unloved, surplus to requirements.

A desire strikes me for a strong drink, and I go to the kitchen. I find Dulcie humming to herself as she cleans the counters.

“Ah, hello!” she trills. “Are you hungry,bella? What do you need?”

“I would love a glass of wine.”

“Sit, sit!” She ushers me to the table and pulls out a chair. “I will get you a smooth Pinot Noir. No good you rolling around the house after one glass.” She gives me a motherly pat on the shoulder, and I feel like crying again. “No food? I expect Sasha will cook for you when he gets home.”

I spin in my seat and stare at her as she pours the wine. “What? He cooks?”

“Certamente. His mother, Stefania, taught him when he was a young boy. It was their favorite thing to do together.”

I smile at the thought of Sasha as a child, standing on a stool as he mixed ingredients. The image is at odds with the cold enforcer he grew up to be.

“Hard to picture it?” Dulcie asks as though reading my mind. “Sasha was the second son, and his father Sergey considered him a spare in case something happened to Vladi. In fact, when Sergey was unhappy with Vladi, he would tell him to beat Sasha, and if he refused, Sergey would beat them both. Vlad never hit as hard as his father, so he had to do it. He didn’t want to see Sasha hurt more than he had to be.”

“That’s terrible,” I say, appalled. “Why would their father do that?”

She hands me the wine. “Sergey wanted his sons to hate each other, but they did not. Vlad and Sasha are close. But Sasha always feels he has something to prove, not to his brother but to his father. Sergey may be dead, but that feeling is still very much alive.” She sits opposite me. “Both boys were devastated when their mother Stefania died, but Sasha buried his grief. I think he wanted to hide from it, and unlike Vlad, his father expected little from him. Sasha didn’t have Vladi’s discipline, and he spent too much time sleeping around and taking it easy.”

I think about Sasha’s bed-hopping reputation and wonder: does he protect his heart because he’s afraid to give it away? When I lost my mother, I froze inside, never caring enough about myself to strive for anything. I just tried to survive, to get by. Is Sasha the same, in his own way?

Dulcie’s soft eyes wrinkle at the corners, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s why Sasha got into—” She stops and meets my eyes. “Never mind. He will tell you in his own time if he wants to.”

I think about wheedling her but decide against it. “If he can cook, why do you do so much of it?”

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