Page 84 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“When I was at his house.” I look Tikhon in the eyes, “he always put me first.”
Tikhon shifts uncomfortably. “I’m starting to think I was wrong about him.”
I look up, surprised by the admission.
Tikhon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “Here.”
I stare at it, not comprehending. “What’s this for?”
“It’s yours.” He places it in my hand. “Letvin’s been calling every few hours to check on you.”
My heart leaps, and I clutch the phone like it’s a lifeline. “You’ve been talking to him?”
“Mostly Andrei has.” Tikhon shrugs, but I can see the effort it takes him to appear casual. “He’ll probably call again soon.”
And then, he walks out.
***
I am finishing my breakfast when the phone rings, and my hands tremble when I answer.
“Arina?”
His voice washes over me like a warm tide, and tears spring to my eyes.
“Ilariy,” I breathe.
“How are you feeling?” he asks in such a gentle way that my heart gushes. “Are the drugs out of your system?”
“Mostly.” I lean back against my pillows. “My head still feels fuzzy, but I’m okay.”
“That’s good.” He sounds so relieved.
There’s a pause, a moment that stretches between us, filled with all the things we’re not saying.
“I miss you,” I whisper, because I can’t hold it in anymore.
His intake of breath is audible. “I miss you, too. But I want you to take all the time you need. I know your family—”
“I want to see you,” I interrupt.
“Arina...” There’s a hesitation in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “I don’t want to pressure you.”
“You’re not.” I close my eyes, picturing his face. “I want to see you.”
“I…I don’t know about that,” he says. “How about we take it one day at a time, okay?”
I’m disappointed, but what choice do I have? I can’t just force him to do what I want. “Okay,” I say.
We talk a while longer, during which he tells me what the others are up to and asks if I’m still feeling sick before he ends the call.
For the next four days, Ilariy calls every day. Twice a day. He’s always so sweet, always so caring. At the back of my mind, I start wondering what it is he wants. We talk about everything and nothing at all. I tell him about the movies I’m watching, and he tells me about what he had for breakfast. We sometimes talk about a shared memory over a laugh, but never, not once, do we talk about what the future might look like.
The more I talk to him, the more I miss him. One morning, Andrei walks in with a bouquet of flowers. He scowls as he hands it to me, and when I read the note, I understand why. The flowers are from Ilariy.
I wonder what this means. Not the flowers, but that Andrei passed them to me. Could it mean that my brothers might accept that there’s no one else for me except Ilariy?
With each consequent call, I hear the longing in Ilariy’s voice. It kills me to see us both suffering when we know what we want. By the end of the week, I know exactly what to do.
