Page 120 of Cruel Romeo

I shut my eyes and press my palms to my face. “I have to tell him, don’t I?”

I don’t even know who I’m speaking to. Some tiny bean-shaped cell formation inside me, maybe. My future baby who doesn’t know yet how much of a fuck-up their mommy is.

But it’s for that little bean’s sake that I have to face the music. I can’t keep running forever. The clock has run out on that, too.

I just pray Petyr listens long enough for me to explain.

48

PETYR

The car hums beneath us as the city blurs past the windows. Headlights streak across the tinted glass.

Lev sits beside me in the backseat, scrolling his phone like he hasn’t got a care in the world. The glow of the screen lights his face in the dim interior, but he doesn’t look up. I stare out at the passing lights. My jaw is clamped tight enough to ache.

“I shouldn’t even have to be here,” I mutter. “Boris should be coming to me. Begging. Not dragging me to his overpriced restaurant like I’m one of his shitty customers.”

Lev smirks without lifting his eyes from the screen. “At least the food will be good.”

I cut him a glare. “I’m not going there for food.”

“That’s abundantly clear,” he says. “Considering you missed your own wedding lunch, I gathered meals aren’t high on your list.”

“I didn’t think you cared so much about my wedding day.”

“I don’t.” Lev shrugs. “Just saying, we should all probably eat while we can. The way things are going, none of us are gonna have an appetite much longer.”

I don’t disagree with him. With the Danilos pushing closer every day, soon we’ll be sitting at a war council instead of a table dressed in white linen.

Still, the thought of food turns my stomach. Sima’s face flashes in my mind, pale and tired when I left her this morning, and my appetite dies altogether. It’s her smile that’s doing it—the fakeness of it, the wrongness of it. I don’t fucking appreciate being shut out.

I don’t fucking like that she feels theneedto shut me out, either.

She was still asleep when I left for lunch. I lingered at the edge of the bed, stroking her hair, tempted to call the whole meeting off and stay with her. For a moment, I almost gave in. But then I forced myself to walk out the door.

I had to remind myself that all this is for her sake, too. Keeping her safe means playing my part in this war, even when all I want is to stay by her side like the lovesick fool I’ve become.

Lev slips his phone back into his pocket and gives me a sidelong look. “So. How’s married life? Worth it, marrying a woman you’d never met before?”

“Out of the brides put in front of me that day, I was lucky with who I wound up with.”

He nods slowly, but there’s still something in his face that puts me on edge. “You’re really not concerned you didn’t know anything about her before bringing her home?”

I stiffen. Could Lev have worked something out about Sima? Does he know more than he’s letting on?

“If you’re asking something, then make your point already.”

Lev raises both hands, backing off fast. “Relax, man. I just meant I hope she gives you everything you need.”

But that answer doesn’t satisfy me. It’s too vague and cryptic. Is he probing about whether Sima’s pregnant yet? Are he and the others talking about us behind my back, speculating like it’s any of their damn business? I don’t like it. Not at all.

I lean forward to capture his full and undivided attention. “I’m only going to say this once: You don’t talk about my wife. Not like that, not in front of me, not anywhere. You speculate about her again, and we’ll have a problem. Clear?”

His eyes widen a fraction before he nods. All traces of a smirk have been wiped clean from his face. I hold his stare another beat before sitting back.

The car slows as we near the restaurant. The neon sign of Sidorov’s place shines through the dark like a beacon. I sit back, rolling my shoulders, preparing myself. Indulging Boris isn’t on my list of pleasures, but tonight, it’s necessary.

Inside, the air smells faintly of disinfectant and old smoke. White tablecloths are set, but the place is empty: no customers, just the hum of a distant refrigerator. A waitress stands at attention by the wall, and a bartender polishes glasses that don’t need polishing. The whole place feels staged, like a theater where everyone’s waiting for the curtain to rise.