Page 70 of Cruel Juliet

But at least it wasn’t Sima. If I ever got that call about her, I’m not sure what I’d do. I don’t even want to think about it.

I guess Kira’s reaction doesn’t seem so far out of the norm when I think of it that way. If tonight dragged back memories of the night she almost lost her husband, it’s no wonder she was so shaken.

I head up the staircase, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. My shoulder aches, the bandage pulling tight under my shirt, but I barely feel the pain. All I can think about is Sima.

If Kira heard, she might have, too. I pray to God she hasn’t. If anyone but me tells her about this, she’ll never forgive me. Hell, she might not forgive me anyway.

But I have to try. I owe her the truth. I killed Feliks, and I can’t run from that. What’s done is done.

When I reach the bedroom, the door’s cracked open. I push it gently, and my stomach drops.

She’s sitting in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped around her middle, eyes red and swollen from crying. Her face lifts when she hears me, and the look in her eyes makes my chest throb.

She knows. She already heard.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

I step inside slowly. “Sima. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She doesn’t speak right away. Her hands clutch her stomach tighter, as if to protect the life growing there from me.

“I didn’t know it was him,” I continue. “Not until it was over.”

I pause there, uncertain and still. There’s nothing else to say.

Until Sima blinks and asks, “Who?”

30

SIMA

The moment I see him standing in the doorway, alive, my whole body goes weak.

He’s okay. He’s safe.

Relief rushes through me so fast it makes me dizzy. I want to rush at him and feel his warmth under my hands. But I know my legs wouldn’t hold me up. Right now, they feel like jelly.

So I stay where I am.

There’s so much I want to say.

Thank God you’re okay.

I thought I lost you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.

I love you so much, Petyr. Please, don’t leave us.

Don’t ever, ever leave us.

But he speaks first. “Sima.” He sounds heartbroken. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

My arms clutch around my belly reflexively. It sounds so wrong—his voice filled with pain.

“I didn’t know it was him,” he adds. “Not until it was over.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. Frankly, I’m not sure I’d care, if it weren’t for the heaviness in his eyes.

What does that mean? What didn’t he know?