Page 108 of Filthy Lies

I, meanwhile, am in Vince’s old Harvard t-shirt and leggings, with unwashed hair and dark circles that makeup couldn’t begin to hide, even if I had bothered to apply any.

She sets a cup in front of me. “So are you going to tell me what’s really wrong, or should I pretend to believe you’re just tired?”

I set Sofiya on the floor for tummy time amongst some toys. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.” The elegant profanity sounds strange in her refined accent. “I know that look. I had the same one, not so long ago. Still do most days.”

I trace the rim of my teacup. “It’s complicated.”

“We’re hiding from our families in a fortress while our men try to prevent wars on multiple fronts.” Anastasia sips her tea daintily and laughs. “Everythingis complicated.”

Something convinces me to unclench. Maybe it’s that she’s the only other woman who might understand this fucked-up life we’ve chosen. Or it’s just that I’m tired of carrying secrets that weigh more than I can bear.

“I think I’m pregnant,” I say finally.

Anastasia sets down her teacup with a delicate clink. “I see. Have you told Vincent?”

“He just left for Costa Rica.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I look away. “No. I haven’t told him.”

“Why not?” She tilts her head. “I would think he’d be thrilled.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You saw what he was like when Sofiya had a fever. He turned that hospital into a goddamn war zone, convinced someone had poisoned her. And now—” I gesture helplessly. “Another thing to fuel all his worst instincts?”

“Another miracle,” Anastasia counters softly.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one bringing children into this fucked-up world we’ve created.”

“No.” She glances down at her flat stomach. “Not yet, anyway.”

I gawk at her. “Are you?—”

“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “But someday, yes. Dan and I want children. Even knowing what that means in our world.”

“How can you even consider it?” I whisper. “After everything you’ve seen? Everything you know about this life?”

Anastasia is quiet for a moment, watching Sofiya play with a rattle. “My grandmother lived through the siege of Leningrad,” she says finally. “Nearly two years of starvation, bombings, death everywhere. People ate wallpaper paste to survive.” Her eyes meet mine. “She told me once that, even during the darkest days, babies were born. Women fell in love. People found moments of joy between the horrors.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” She leans forward. “Our world has always been dangerous, Rowan. The threats just change shape. My family has been Bratva for generations. Yes, children have been targeted. Yes, some have died. But many more have lived, have thrived, have found happiness despite it all.”

“I can’t bear the thought of something happening to them.” I sniffle and rub at my eyes. “To either of them. I already feel like I can’t breathe sometimes, worrying about Sofiya. Another baby…”

“—is another reason to fight for a better world.” Anastasia reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong. “Not a reason to despair that the world isn’t better yet.”

Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back furiously. “When did you get so damn wise?”

“When someone tried to kill me for loving the wrong man.” Her smile is razor-sharp. “Tends to clarify one’s priorities.”

Sofiya babbles loudly, drawing our attention. She’s trying to stack blocks but keeps knocking them over, her tiny face scrunched in concentration.

“Look at her,” Anastasia says quietly. “She has no idea that men with guns guard her playroom. She just knows she’s loved. That her parents would burn down the world to keep her safe.”

“That’s the problem,” I whisper. “Wehavebeen burning down the world. And for what? So our children can inherit the ashes?”

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