Page 20 of Pageant

“I said I was sleeping.”

He peers past me. “Have you got a woman in here?”

I glance over my shoulder, and to my horror, I see that Lilia’s red purse is lying on the carpet. “Give me two minutes.” I slam the door in his face.

I snatch up the purse and stand outside my wardrobe. What the hell do I say? I want to beg her to stay right where she is and wait for me. I can get rid of Vasily in an hour, but it disgusts me even to consider asking a woman like her to sit in my shitty wardrobe longer than she has to, just to betray her husband with me.

Her husband.

My boss.

I pull on my discarded T-shirt and shoes. I put my hand against the wardrobe door and press my forehead against it. I can feel her heart beating just inches from my own.

“I am in love with you, Lilia Aranova,” I whisper through the wood.

Silence fills the room. Maybe she hates me for pushing her to betray her wedding vows. I can feel the hate she has for herself.

“Hate me, please,” I urge. “I am the one who is wrong, but I will not be sorry for wanting you. I will beg for forgiveness tomorrow, even though I will still want you then. I will always want you.”

I leave her purse by the wardrobe and pull the front door closed without locking the deadbolt so she can let herself out.

Vasily drives us a mile down the road to a fried chicken restaurant. I don’t even know what I order, and I stare at my meal with a sour gut when it arrives at our table.

“You were there when the police turned Ivan’s house over?” Vasily asks, pushing fries into his mouth.

I pick at my piece of chicken and mutter an assent.

“What were they looking for?” he asks.

“How should I know?”

Vasily chews noisily, the sound making me want to put a fist through his face. “Whatdoyou know?”

I glance up. “What?”

He shrugs. “You seem tense. You have been since the police showed up.”

“I hate cops,” I say, and then realize Vasily’s gazing at me with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Am I tense because I’m the one who ratted out Ivan to the cops?

Is there a rat in our midst?

I grab a paper napkin and wipe my fingers. “I’m not a fucking snitch. How fucking dare you?”

“Then why are you so jumpy lately?”

I need to get a grip. If Vasily has noticed I’m acting differently, then Ivan might, too, and that could be deadly. “Personal problems.”

Vasily grins. “Woman problems? A handsome asshole like you can get another woman in a second. I’m the one who has woman problems.”

I throw the napkin aside. I don’t want another woman. I only want Lilia.

When I finally get home, my heart is pounding as I make my way to the bedroom. She won’t still be in the wardrobe. It’s stupid to hope. I pull the door open—and it’s empty.

I sink to my knees and press my palm against the bare spot on the floor, hoping to at least feel the warmth left by her body. But the carpet is cold.

When I ring the front doorbell the next morning, Ivan’s son answers and lets me in. He doesn’t say hello, just goes back to the cereal he’s eating on the sofa. I stand in the silent kitchen, straining for the sound of Lilia’s heels clicking on the tiles somewhere in the house.

I clear my throat and call to Alexei, “Where’s Lilia?”

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