Page 37 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
At the back of my mind, I know that’s a far-fetched theory, but I can’t admit to my words being an exaggeration when I’m so very angry.
He stops and takes a breath. “I didn’t plan that. Or what happened between us.”
“Let me go,” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest, unable to see beyond the facts I know. “Now that I know, there’s no point keeping me here. I’m useless to you, and I’ll fight you every single day until you let me go.”
“I can’t do that,” he says, and sounds sad while he does.
“Why not?” I take a step back, suddenly afraid of what this means. All this time, staying with him felt like a choice. Now, I wonder if it was even a choice for me to make.
“Because you’re still my wife,” he says simply. “By law. And now you know about our world, and it’s dangerous for you out there.”
I press my hands to my face, trying to keep from screaming. Everything is upside down, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“Arina,” he whispers. “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
I look up at his face and let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Did you ever want me to find out?”
“Every day in Cancun, I thought of telling you. Every time you asked, I wanted nothing more.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I ask, my face furrowing in pain. “Why, Ilariy?”
“Because—” He looks at me like he’s afraid I’m glass that could shatter at his hand. “I didn’t want you to see me like you do now. I didn’t want to be a monster in your eyes, Arina. Don’t you see? What you think of me matters…so very much. I was afraid of myself.”
I hold on to every word he says, and it acts as a balm to my anger, helping me temper down the storm within. The more he speaks, the more I begin to understand.
“Oh, Ilariy,” I whisper, still angry, but willing to listen.
He looks up at me with hope, not yet finished. “I was afraid that if you found out, you could be in danger. I feared you’d get scared and run, and someone could have taken and hurt you just to get to me. All of those possibilities seemed to be the death of me.”
He looks torn, and I feel my heart opening just a crack as I begin to see the gray in this mess. The part where he can’t be all that bad. I think back to the Ilariy I know, the funny, kind, generous man who joked with the street vendors in Cancun, who listened to my anecdotes without losing focus.
That version is also Ilariy. Ilariy might be a criminal, but he’s also good. Kind.
“Arina, please understand. I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispers.
He looks so conflicted, so torn, that the part of me that still wants to lash out settles down like a little kitten. There will be time to talk later, but for now, I think he and I are both tired.
“I think I’ll need some time, Ilariy, to process all you’ve told me. I hear you, I do. Once, I might have thought of you as a monster, but I know better now.”
His eyes widen, and his shoulders drop. Relief washes over his face—utter, delighted relief.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not angry,” I explain.
“I understand,” he nods. “I never should have lied.”
“But you did, and finding out like this hurts. But… in time, maybe I’ll understand.”
He nods, and we stand there in silence, neither of us knowing what to say next. Just then, Ilariy’s phone buzzes, and after he checks the text, he looks at me with guilt.
“What?” I ask, expecting something bad. Something worse.
“My sisters are coming too,” he grimaces. “They’re insisting on a family dinner. I can show you to your room and you can hide out, if you like. Though, of course—” He looks even guiltier, like he doesn’t want to say it, “—they’d love to meet you.”
The logical thing to do would be to refuse. But the thought of being alone with my thoughts right now is almost worse than facing his family. At least around them, I might learn something useful.
“No,” I say. “I’ll stay for dinner.”
* * *
