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“What the fuck, Konstantin,” I snap. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Can't you call like a normal person?”

He gives me that soft half-smile. Something’s different about him; he's not so edgy and hard. His eyes are softer. As if he's found peace, or something, even his smile reaches his eyes. Have I stepped into an alternate universe?

“Why are you here?” I start backing toward the door.

“Relax. I’m not here to take you. Only to ask you to talk to Ruslan,” he says. “Just… hear him out.”

I fold my arms. “Why?” My eyes narrow. “I was told he knows everything. That I lied about the miscarriage and that I didn't have a hysterectomy.” I pat my belly.

He sets a tablet on the table, along with a bag of jellybeans—my favorites.

“He just wants to talk, Tara,” Konstantin repeats. “Just hear him out. I'll be back tomorrow. I'm staying at the only bed and breakfast on the island if you need me.”

He turns and lets himself out.

I eye the tablet and the jellybeans beside it. I can't get to the jellybeans without reading that note attached to the tablet.

As I snatch the bag of jellybeans, my eyes scan the note:

Tara, I just want to talk. I know everything and I understand. Please call me. I won’t force you to come home—just please, hear me out. —Ruslan

I munch jellybeans. Pace. Munch more jellybeans and pace some more, my mind whirring. My heart screams for me to call, while my mind says, 'It's a trap, don't do it.'

I have another fistful of jellybeans for sugary courage, and then I call.

He answers after five rings. His hair is wet, his chest bare.

My breath hitches. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says softly. “Thank you for calling. God, Tara, I’ve been looking for you for months.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I met your brothers.”

He groans. “I’m sorry about them.”

Silence.

I say, “Look, Ruslan, I’m?—”

“No, let me—” he interrupts.

We laugh.

“You go,” he says.

I take a breath. “When I realized I was pregnant… I was so hurt. So angry. I felt used. Like a pawn between you and Irina. Gavriil. The whole damn war.”

“I never meant for you to feel that way.”

“I know. And there was no affair between me and Gavriil. We dated. Years ago. It ended before Irina. We stayed friends.”

“My sister didn’t tell me that.”

“She admitted everything,” I say.

He nods. “What’s their son’s name?”

“Yurslan.”