Andrej studies my father’s face, and I see the moment he realizes who he is, because his eyes immediately dart to mine for the first time. In that brief second before the walls slam back down, I see something on his face—a tentative relief.
With my dad watching, I reach out and clasp one of Andrej’s big hands in my smaller ones. In spite of the heat outside and the electricity crackling between us, his skin is cold to the touch, almost icy. I push up onto the tips of my toes and brush my lips against his cheek. He’s as still as a corpse.
With a nod and a smile, my father moves away, giving us privacy. Part of me wants to follow him and beg him not to leave us alone, but another part of me wants to drag Andrej into the hedges.
“How are you holding up?” I ask him.
He pulls his hands from mine, a mean smirk replacing the cold indifference. “I was fine,” he says. “Better than I’ve been in years.”
“That’s so good to—”
“And then you showed up, ruining things like always.”
My heart thumps in my chest. “Andy.”
Someone approaches him from the line, and he releases me, but not before leaning close and saying through gritted teeth, “That’s not my name. It never was.”
I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smells smoky and dark. Familiar. Like my sheets on the mornings when I would wake up to find him already gone. My core warms at the memory and I turn away from him before he can see the effect he still has on me.
Because if he sees, there’s no doubt in my mind he’ll exploit it to his advantage. I don’t know if I’m ready for the flames that will inevitably devour me whole.
Chapter Three
Andrej
I watch her walk away only because she’s not looking. Her tight, round ass sways beneath that prudish black skirt, taunting me.
Fucking Valya Strakova.
Well, I’m not fucking Valya Strakova anymore. But the way her cheeks went pink at the mere sight of me tell me the chemistry between us isn’t one-sided. Too bad I don’t want anything to do with her and her soft hands and mocking smile. Little miss perfect, always rubbing it in everyone’s face.
After that, the receiving line goes quickly. I keep Valya always in the corner of my eye, watching as she follows her father around the yard like a lost duckling.
I might be being a bit hard on her, but I don’t think so. She used to do that to me. I couldn’t turn around without tripping over her. Maybe it was endearing once, when I was younger, but now it’s just pathetic.
Near the end of the well-wishers is Losev Turgenev, the closest thing I have to a best friend. His wife, Evangeline, is heavily pregnant. It looks like she has a beach ball stuffed under her black dress, but Losev can’t keep his hands off of it. Marriage has turned him into a real pussy.
“What has you distracted?” Losev asks, turning and scanning the yard. When his gaze lands on Valya, he turns back to me, his brow furrowed. “Is that—”
“It’s nobody,” I answer quickly. I try glaring a hole through his head, but Losev is probably the only person in this city not intimidated by me.
“I don’t remember her being nobody.”
“Who?” Evangeline chimes in.
I turn my glare on her. “You know what they say, Rutherford. Curiosity killed the—”
Losev’s hand comes down on my shoulder in what looks like a friendly gesture, but he squeezes—hard—nearly bringing me to my knees. “She’s a Turgenev now,” he reminds me, bringing me in close. “Just because you have your panties in a wad doesn’t mean you can talk to my wife that way.”
Scowling, I shake him off just as my Aunt Magda approaches and pulls me away, her bony fingers around my elbow. “Sit with us for the service,” she commands.
Everyone gathers in the white chairs under the tent for the memorial service. Aunt Magda leads me to the left side with a bunch of my cousins, and sits me directly in front of my father’s urn, which is at the front of the tent surrounded by white flowers beside a podium for speakers. I made sure that my father was cremated. It seems appropriate that the man who made my life a living hell should burn.
An officiant begins the service, waxing poetic about God’s plan or whatever other bullshit. Was it God’s plan for my mother to die in a car accident when I was a teenager, too? Was God watching when my dad drank himself into a stupor and beat on me because he didn’t know how else to channel his grief? What does God think now about the fact that I have no fucking clue how to be a decent human being? Growing up in that house, how could I?
I blame Valya’s reappearance for my morbid trip down memory lane. Normally, I’m able to console myself with thoughts of the amount of money in my bank account and the fact that the family business, Novak Building Services, is all mine now. I’m sitting on a golden throne—I don’t have time or reason to feel sorry for myself.
But Valya has always done that to me. For a man who pretends to have everything, she’s a reminder of what I don’t have, the things that all the money in the world can’t buy. She makes me feel vulnerable. I didn’t have the luxury of being weak when we were growing up, and I certainly don’t now. The fact that she turned out so beautiful and still so sickeningly sweet certainly doesn’t soften me to her any, not when I’m just a shell of a person.
My aunt speaks after the officiant. She’s my father’s sister, wealthy in her own right thanks to her trust account and wise investment decisions. I worried initially that she would try to come after the business, but she’s never been the type to work hard for anything. After her speech about her wonderful, generous brother, which is mostly bullshit, she looks at me expectantly. I shake my head. She looks disappointed, but doesn’t realize I’m actually doing her a favor. I have nothing nice to say about Stannes Novak. Having me speak about him in front of a crowd of his closest friends would be a huge mistake.
When the service is adjourned, I stand and turn, trying to be nonchalant as I button my suit jacket and watch the mourners exit the tent. Really, my eyes are searching the crowd for Valya. It makes me angry how drawn to her I am, and just like my father, I don’t know how to channel that anger into anything but punishment for her. I want her to hurt as much as I hurt. I want to wipe that smile off of her sweet, sexy face.
I see her once through the crowd. It looks like she’s talking to Evangeline. I lose sight of them as some of my Novak cousins sideline me to talk about whatever inheritance they think they might be due.
When I make it outside of the tent, the sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. The air is still hot and humid, but not scorching anymore. A woman fans her face with the service pamphlet. My father’s face mocks me from the back of it with every movement of her hand. As I pass her, I snatch it from her and crumple it into a ball, throwing it onto the nearest table.
“Well, what in the world?” I hear her say to my back, but I don’t acknowledge her. None of these people, with their fake condolences, are worthy of my attention.
None except one.
I find her father, Peter, speaking to someone over the drink table, so I know Valya can’t be far away. It isn’t until my eyes lock on the conservatory attached to the back of the house that I know where she is.