Page 67 of Ruins
Behind her, Cassandra fluffs the layers of her gown with quiet precision. Across the room, her mother, Vera, sits stiffly on the leather couch. The second I enter, her sharp gaze snaps to mine.
“Mr. Amato,” she says quickly, standing. “You shouldn’t be in here.” There’s a rush to her words, a flustered sort of urgency. “I mean… superstition and all that.”
I arch a brow, unimpressed.
She flounders for another excuse, but before she can find one, she mutters something under her breath and makes a quick exit.
And then, Vasilisa turns.
Our eyes meet.
Everything else vanishes.
The noise, the nerves, the weight of the past—gone.
All that’s left is her
Her striking gaze locks onto mine, and just like that, I forget how to breathe.
I’ve looked at her photo a thousand times. Iknowher face.
But standing here, draped in ivory, glowing like something out of a dream—something I can’t touch,shouldn’ttouch—she is something else entirely.
A vision.
A temptation.
A reminder of everything I swore I wouldn’t want.
Yet here I am.
Drawn to her like I have no other choice.
Cassandra and Isabella linger for a beat too long, eyes darting between us like they can feel the shift in the air, the weight pressing in around us. Then, with a quiet exchange, they start toward the door.
Before leaving, Cassandra stops beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. She leans in, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’truin her dress or makeup.”
A wink. A giggle. Then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind them. And suddenly, we’re alone.
The silence stretches, taut and heavy. I can’t remember why I came here.
I don’t think it matters.
Because all I can think about is how much Imissedher.
How much Icravedher.
It hits me all at once, knocking the breath from my chest. A hunger so deep it feels like it’s been starving inside me these past few weeks.
I drink her in—the fabric of her dress catching the faint light, the delicate flush of her lips, the way her gorgeous eyes search mine, wide, unsure.
She’s looking at me like I’m a man.
I’mnot.
