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“Demyan’s her brother,” I say pointedly, smiling at Alina to show I don’t mean anything by it.

But Alina just takes a sip of her wine. “I understand Demyan and why he’s doing this. But I think he’s an idiot for getting into this situation in the first place. He’ll find a way out of it. Ugh, that Stefina.”

I look at them both and take a breath. “Logically, I can see he did something to save me, but emotionally, it’s like betrayal. Maybe I deserve it, keeping Sasha from him.”

“Nonsense,” says Kara, filling her glass and topping Alina’s. “You did what you thought you had to do. And let’s face it, if your brother wasn’t a PI, you wouldn’t have known how to find him. He’s a powerful Russian dude with a lot of machismo. And if you ask me, I bet he knows he should have left his name.”

Alina doesn’t say a thing, and I try to stop Kara with my expression, but she’s not paying attention.

“Then again, he didn’t know you’d get knocked up, either. So… no one’s fault but fates.”

“That doesn’t help me not feel like a third wheel. You should see her. She’s gorgeous. Like seriously beautiful.”

“And you’re what? Dirt?”

“I’m not that.”

“Thank goodness,” says Alina. She looks at us both. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’ve seen some of the women he’s slept with. None of them are like you. They’re accessories and glamorous, yes, because that’s easier than what’s real. But the one thing he hasn’t ever gone for is a vacuous, self-involved person like Stefina. And I’ve seen her around. She doesn’t go for complicated like Demyan. This is her father and she’s going along with it. She wants a big, splashy wedding, so she’ll go for that, too. But this isn’t about Demyan for her. And she’s not his type. You are.”

“See?” Kara crosses her arms and Sasha giggles at something on the phone.

I look at my plate. I know I haven’t eaten as much as I should, but I’m not hungry. I push it away.

“I don’t feel like his type. I don’t feel as beautiful and self-absorbed as she is; she’s bombshell material. I’m not. I’m going?—”

I stop.

“I’m going mad, I think. I’m jealous. I’m upset, I love him, I don’t like him, I want him to do the irrational and kick her to the curb.”

What I was going to say was I’m going to be huge soon enough, but I can’t mention the baby, and as fabulous as Alina is, she’s still Demyan’s sister at the end of the day. I’m not ready for him to know yet.

And there’s one more thing.

Alina put a good face on it, but I heard her pain, that ragged, raw edge in her voice, about the loss of babies she won’t have with Max. And me being pregnant? I don’t know how she’ll react. I don’t want to tailspin her into more grief.

“Demyan has to be careful with this. Very careful,” Alina says. “But I think I’d be angry, too.”

Demyan,demon of the hour, isn’t home when we get back. I don’t know where he is. I can smell the expensive perfume of that damn Stefina lingering in the living room and I go upstairs and tuck Sasha into bed.

Whatever was said with us at the restaurant doesn’t matter. All I can think of is him with Stefina. Him with another beauty.

I get ready for bed and slide in, willing sleep. Willing myself not to listen for him to come home.

But I’m awake when he stumbles in, drunk, and he strips and climbs in next to me. The heat of him warming me, his lips on my skin making me ache, making me wet, and when he touches my thighs…

“Don’t, Demyan,” I whisper.

He turns to me and kisses me. He tastes like darkness and vodka. And regrets.

“It’s ‘yes, Demyan,’ Erin.”

“No.”

He stops. “We make love, we can heal.”

“Sex isn’t a cure, Demyan,” I say, my voice strangled. “I’m not ready. I need to process things, a number of things, and you need to respect that.”

I get out of bed.