Page 19 of Bratva Prince
It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Even Rolan hadn’t brought out such a reaction from me—and I’d loved the man. Hell, I would’ve given anything for him, I loved him so. Yet, he’d never made me feel like this.
Truly comfortable to be myself.
Free.
Gosh, that sounds cheesy as hell, but it was true. Around my father, I had to bite my tongue, walk on eggshells, never truly showing him who I was because it wasn’t who he expected me to be.
Even with Rolan, I would often wear the clothes that he doted on, or watched the movies he preferred. I conformed to this version of myself that he wanted me to be. Here’s the kicker—I didn’t even realize it until now how much I was hiding myself from him, afraid to open up and let him see the true me, who I really was.
Why?
Because what if he didn’t like what he saw?
I know, it sounds stupid reflecting on it, but I’d like to think everyone is hesitant to reveal their true selves. Doing so made me vulnerable and open to pain, to being hurt. Had I shielded myself because, subconsciously, I didn’t trust Rolan not to hurt me?
But I was completely blindsided by his relationship with Daria. There was no way I’d known he would hurt me. Maybe I’d anticipated it based on my parents’ relationship.
Then why did I feel so open with Ivan?
After alongmoment of silence, he finally spoke.
“If I could live another life, I would want it to be like this,” he answered, not looking in my direction. His voice was hoarse, raw from the emotion. “I’d live on an island with crystal blue waters and a tropical beach. My own island, private, for only my family.”
“Your brothers or children?” I asked, curious what he meant by family.
He’d told me a little about his brothers, but didn’t mention any parents or kids of his own. In a way, he seemed… lonely. Burdened by a life he didn’t ask for. But I had no idea what his life entailed, and based this only on my own speculation. Perhaps, I just wanted someone to relate with me and was creating my own assumptions on that.
But his answer was so melancholy, his tone filled with heartache.
“Both. I don’t know, I always imagined having a few kids. They’d be somewhat close in age and play together, grow up close with one another. Sunday mornings we’d rush down the stairs because mom’s making pancakes and she makes the best pancakes in the world. I’d walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her, telling her I’m the luckiest man in the world.
“And after breakfast, Dimitry and Misha would come by with their families, and the kids would play outside while the adults drank beer and shot the shit.”
He was lost in his thoughts, staring at the ocean as he envisioned his make believe world.Trust me, Ivan. I can relate. Too often I’d imagined my own alternate reality in which I was born to another family—one who supported me and treated me with love.
I also knew of the pain when you opened your eyes and the dream, the illusion, was shattered.
“That sounds like a lovely life,” I answered, my tone soft and barely above a whisper.
As if my words shocked him back to reality, he shook his head, forcing a laugh when he faced me. “Wow, I don’t know where that came from.” He chuckled nervously, facing the coastline to keep walking. “Sorry about that.”
Was he embarrassed for opening up and allowing me a peek into his mind? “No, don’t say that. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share such personal thoughts with me.”
I grabbed his hand, forcing him to stop walking and face me. My hand brushed against his cheek, and I caressed it gently, bringing his focus to my face. Even in the night, his eyes were intense and alive, pulling me in with their lure. “Please, share more with me.”
He stared into my eyes, claiming me with only his gaze, and his brows furrowed like he was analyzing me, skeptical of my intentions. I don’t think he was used to someone showing him kindness without something in return.
His hand reached up to mine, holding it for a moment before he took a step back, building a distance between us.
“What would your ideal life be?” he asked.
I’d been so captured with the moment, I could only answer, “Wha-?”
He repeated the question, one that I already knew the answer to, and I bit my lip as I debated whether to tell him. But his answer was so honest, I couldn’t justnotsay anything.
“I’d be free.”
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