Page 151 of Deceptive Vows

“I think we should talk about that another time.”

“I want to talk about it now.” I dab away the tears that fall with the heel of my hand.

“Malyshka, there are some things you’re better off not knowing.”

I stare at him long and hard, and I can’t help but feel angered because he’s deciding for me again.

“How can it be better if I don’t know? How can you say that to me?”

“I know why I say that, and sometimes, I have to decide when certain things are best for others.”

“Like how you decided it’s better for me to be without you?” I throw back and he looks like I just slapped him. “Those are all my decisions.”

“No, they aren’t. This isn’t about me and you. You’re grieving, and I don’t want to make the pain any worse than it is.”

I look away from him, then roll onto my side, dismissing him.

“Natalia.”

“Please, just leave me alone,” I rasp as another bout of sadness takes me. “If you aren’t going to tell me what happened to José, leave me alone.”

He sighs, and my heart sinks when his footsteps connect with the floor and I hear him close the door behind him when he leaves.

Slowly, I adjust myself and search my mind for something to blame for José’s death.

I know Ivan obviously had something to do with what happened, but I don’t know why or how that would make sense.

What did José do to make Ivan kill him?

It’s difficult to know how to piece things together when Mikhail won’t tell me how José died. All he told me was José was killed. For all I know, he could have been caught in a crossfire or something just as bad.

I’m imagining all sorts of things, each worse than the last. Every thought hurts because I can’t believe something happened that would lead to José getting killed, which is probably why Mikhail didn’t want to tell me.

I want to blame the situation José and I got caught in, but I know I can’t do that. It’s not as simple as that.

We were always trapped in the situation, whether we were in Mexico or New York. His death is just one more thing and an extension of a continuing problem.

One I don’t know how to get through.

Regardless of what happens, how will I get through this when I feel so broken?

I close my eyes, and the next thing I know, warm fingers grace over my cheek.

I open my eyes to see it’s morning again and I’m curled up in Mikhail’s arms. I don’t remember him coming back or moving into his arms.

“Do you want to go for a walk with Snow?” he asks. It will be the first time we’ve done that.

“Yes.”

“Come, let’s go. Just grab a coat.”

I do just that, and minutes later, we’re walking together hand in hand by the lake with Snow running ahead of us with a twig in her mouth.

We walk deeper into the woods and stop by the alcove of trees near the pond with the little ducks. There’s a bench there, where Mikhail sits me down and sits next to me.

“I’ve made funeral arrangements for Friday,” he says.

I’ve been in such a state that I didn’t even think of the funeral.