Page 32 of One Last Shot

“Bullshit,” she spits out the word as she studies my face.

I could love this girl. Maybe I already do.A part of me wants to tell her the truth and see if we can find a way to work this out. But I think the truth would break her. I’d rather her think I’m the one who’s broken her than to know her father betrayed her this way, to know that my father is responsible for her mother’s death. So I’ll do the last thing in the world I want to do.

I do everything in my power to get the next words out without breaking down. “I don’t feel that way about you, and if you don’t realize that, you’re a fool.”

“Why are you saying these things?” she whispers, trying to hold back the tears that are gathering in her eyes.

What would my father say in this situation? Somehow, I know that channeling him will allow me to be as cold and indifferent as I need to be right now.

“Because you need to hear them. You’re playing a dangerous game, flirting with every man around you.” I think about how she shamelessly flirted with the gardener, Felix, when I first arrived home. Was she trying to make me jealous? “You’re sixteen, but you look a lot older, and you’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days.”

“You sound like all the jealous, catty girls at school. Is that what you are, Aleksandr? Jealous and catty?” When I don’t respond, she says, “I can’t help what I look like.”

“You need to be careful,” I tell her, because it’s true. I’ve seen what men do to women who are too beautiful and too trusting.

“Oh.” Her single word is an icicle dangling between us. “You’re one ofthose.”

“One of what?”

“One of those people who thinks that instead of teaching boys to respect girls, we need to teach girls to be careful to not attract too much attention from boys.”

Time to end this.“No, I’m just someone who used to be your friend, but I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”

She bends forward at the waist, one hand on her heart. “What?” The word escapes through clenched teeth.

“You heard me.” My face is expressionless. “This is goodbye.”

“Sasha. No. I can’t lose you too.” The words are a whispered plea floating off her lips. I already know this conversation will haunt me for years, maybe forever. But for her sake, her plea must fall on deaf ears.

“You have no choice,” I say, keeping any evidence of emotion out of my voice.

I turn and descend the ladder as quickly as I can. I need to be away from her or I’m likely to pull her into my arms, tell her I love her, and suggest we run away together. The trust fund from my mother would allow us to live a comfortable life, but I know that idea is madness. We are too young. And more importantly, she has dreams she wants to pursue, and so do I. Goodbye is the only way we can both get what we want.

CHAPTER10

PETRA

By the time I hit the lobby, I’m so angry I want to punch something. Damn Aleksandr. I’d hoped that in the last fourteen years he’d have learned how to grow a fucking spine. Someone needs to give that man an education, and I haven’t the time nor the inclination. In fact, the more time I spend near him, the more I need to get away.

Normally, I’d either head to the boxing gym that’s around the corner from my apartment, or I’d head out to meet a guy. Fight or fuck—I don’t get angry often, but those are the only two ways I know how to deal with my anger when things get to that point.

Martin holds the door open for me and warm spring air blows into the lobby. “It’s a beautiful night, Ms. Volkova. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I give him a wink as I sail through the doors and into a beautiful Thursday evening. It’s dark already, but the air smells like spring ... a combination of the rain earlier this afternoon and the sweet fragrance of the blossoms on the trees overhead. I head south on Fifth Avenue and fish my phone out of my bag. I bring up my contacts and search for the newest entry—Sam Renaud. The man is perfect for me: stupidly attractive, and available for a night. No risk of commitment. Just how I like them.

And then the realization hits me so hard and fast that I stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

Shit. I’m married.

I stand there, frozen. I look up at the sky, but instead of the wide swath of brightly burning stars scattered across the Milky Way that I’m used to seeing in Park City, all I can see is the light pollution from the city that never sleeps reflected back toward me.

Call him anyway, I tell myself as I stare up at the sky, searching for even a single star visible through the haze.Sam will be fun, just the release you need. Aleksandr doesn’t deserve your chastity. Besides, he’ll never know.

But the reality is, until I’ve decided whether I’m going to help him get citizenship, I probably shouldn’t risk something like this. How could our marriage story ever be believable if it came to light that I slept with someone in New York while I was here this week? Hopefully I didn’t give my name to the guy I slept with my first night here. Then I think of the countless other men I’ve slept with over the past fourteen years. I haven’t even attempted to keep track or keep count. Sex is a biological need, nothing more. No reason to catch feelings or make it into more than it is.

My feet pound the pavement and I’m five blocks further south toward my hotel before I’ve definitely convinced myself that I shouldn’t call Sam. Instead, I call the one person in my world who I trust for advice.

“Hey,” Jackson says when she answers her phone. “Please tell me you are coming home early so I can see you even sooner?”

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