Page 38 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Willow

Monday comes and goes without word from Alek. On Tuesday, I try to call him, but after a few rings, it goes to voicemail.

This is Aleksandr. Leave a message.

When it beeps, I sit there in silence, unsure what I want to say to him, so I hang up. I wish his voicemail recording was longer so I could hear his voice, so I call him again just to hear it while wishing he would pick up instead.

This is Aleksandr. Leave a message.

Again.

This is Aleksandr. Leave a message.

I hang up and throw my phone across the room, and it hits the wall before clattering to the floor. Falling back into my pillows, I blow out a shaky breath, trying to keep my shit together and failing miserably.

Someone knocks. “Willow? Are you okay?” My father’s voice is muffled through the closed door.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I call back.

“What was that sound?”

I run my hands down my face. “I dropped my phone.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you wash up for dinner? It’s almost ready.”

His footsteps thump against the wood, growing quieter as he heads down the stairs.

It takes every ounce of energy I have, but I sit up in bed and glance in the mirror of the French vanity in the corner.

Even from back here, I can see the dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is sticking out every which way from my messy bun.

I’m a mess. An ugly, depressed mess.

I take in my bedroom and the feminine French furnishings.

Everything in here is pastel pink or cream, and my bed has gauzy linen hanging from the ceiling.

There’s even a vase of fresh flowers on the bedside dresser.

This room is light and airy and every girl’s dream, but it doesn’t do anything to lift my black mood.

Nothing makes sense. Even if Alek was unfaithful five months ago—and that’s a big if—that doesn’t explain why I haven’t heard from him.

I mean, we’re engaged for fuck’s sake, and if Enzo didn’t show me that picture, I’d be blissfully unaware that our relationship is in trouble.

We were happy before he left for the Trial of Hubris.

He told me he loved me as he took me against the window and kissed me fiercely. He promised he’d be back to see me off.

I think back over the course of our relationship, and I haven’t questioned his love for me since his father made us break up. He made me believe he didn’t love me anymore to protect me. Is that what he’s doing now by ignoring me?

What if something bad happened and he can’t call me? All sorts of horrific scenarios come to mind, and if Mikhail were still in Zurich, I’d ask him to go by the apartment to check up on Alek. But he and Josie went to Ibiza for spring break.

I send him a quick text.

ME

Hey, I haven’t heard from Alek. Can you try calling him to make sure he’s okay?

With a sigh, I slide my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants and head downstairs. The aroma of savory spices and freshly baked bread wafts through the house, but not even Galina’s delicious cooking can spark my appetite.

The dining room has turned into the Grand Central Station of weddings.

Boxes upon boxes of tulle and pillar candles and vases and wedding favors are stacked against the walls, and Galina’s seating charts on paper plates and sticky notes are spread across the table.

My name is on a pink Post-it next to a blue one with Enzo’s name.

Did Alek find out that Enzo brought me to Andarusia? Oh, God, is that why he won’t talk to me?

I slump into my seat at the dining room table and pull out my phone.

ME

If you’re upset about Enzo, nothing’s happened. I promise. Please call me back so we can talk this through.

I love you.

One minute, I’m mad at Alek, and the next, I’m begging for his forgiveness. It’s like someone is flicking a light switch in my brain, making me jump from one emotion to the next. I’m getting whiplash from my own mood swings.

But the longer he waits to call me back, the more I start to believe Enzo’s version of events. If Alek didn’t do anything wrong, why isn’t he calling me?

Is he with her? That girl in the photo?

Alek is out of my league, and deep down, I’ve known this bitter truth from the moment we met. How long did I expect to keep him satisfied in bed before he grew bored with me? I have nothing else to offer him.

This inner turmoil is exhausting. All I do is go round and round on a hamster wheel, thinking about the million reasons he isn’t calling me, and it zaps every ounce of energy from my body. I fold my arms on the table and lay my head down.

“Everything okay, kiddo?” My dad walks into the room wearing oven mitts and carrying a casserole dish.

I don’t even know how to answer that question. His wedding is coming up in a few days, and I don’t need him worrying about my mental health. It’s a touchy subject for him.

“Yeah, just... lots of homework.”

“They gave you homework over spring break?” He sets the dish down on a pot holder and starts pushing the paper plate seating charts to one corner of the table. “What a bummer.”

Galina flits into the room with her mousy brown hair pulled back into a clip. She hums a tune and sets down a basket of bread in the middle of the table.

“It smells good,” I say.

Her petite face lights up from my compliment. “I made pelmeni for you. I remember you like these, yes?” Galina’s lilting voice has a thick Russian accent.

“Yeah, pelmeni is great.” I peer into the casserole dish at the Russian dumplings filled with meat, but Alek served these in St. Moritz, and they remind me of him. Everything reminds me of him.

“Oh, the salad.” Galina scurries back to the kitchen.

Dad takes a seat and stares at me with a furrowed expression.

“What?” I snap.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” He folds his hands on the table and leans forward. “Do you need to talk to somebody?”

“Jesus, I’m fine, Dad.” I pick up my plate and scoop a small serving of dumplings for myself. His lips form a thin line as he looks at my plate, so I scoop another helping to avoid judgment.

“Is everything okay with you and Alek?” he presses.

No. “Yeah. We’re fine.” I stab my fork into my food and force it into my mouth, but it turns to ash the moment it hits my tongue.

Before my dad can interrogate me any further, Galina saves me by coming into the room with a wooden salad bowl.

At least we got the engagement ring discussion out of the way.

She already gushed over my ring when I arrived on Sunday night, and it took everything in me not to start bawling all over again.

I don’t know what to do about Alek and me. Until I hear from him, I’ll continue to spiral like a compass that can’t find true north. Without Alek, I’m lost.

Dad spoons out some salad onto his plate. “Who wants to play cards after dinner?”

I glance up, and he’s giving me a hopeful grin.

“Can we play tomorrow?” I ask. “Lots of homework. You know how it is.” The lie tastes bitter.

“Sure, kiddo.” His smile falters, and it guts me. “But don’t stay up too late studying. You need some rest.”

Once I clear my plate, I excuse myself from the table and head upstairs. As I’m changing into my pajamas, my phone vibrates on my vanity, and I almost trip on my pants when I lunge for it.

It’s a message from Mikhail, but I hesitate to open it as cold dread makes my forehead and hands clammy. I’m afraid to read his text because my intuition tells me I don’t want to know what he has to say.

I suck it up, take a deep breath, and open it.

MIKHAIL

Just heard back from Alek. He says he’s fine. *thumbs-up emoji* I told him to call you.

Staring at my phone, I reread the message and sink onto the stool. My limbs are numb from shock.

He got back to Mikhail immediately, but not me? My finger shakes as I navigate to my text conversation with Alek.

Sure enough, my last message shows as read.

The phone falls from my hand and clatters on the vanity. My mind can’t make sense of his silence, and the longer he ices me out, the more confused I get. Every excuse I had for his lack of response is shattered.

His phone isn’t broken. He’s not lying dead in a ditch. He’s... fine.

He’s fine, and I’m devastated.

I stare at the engagement ring on my finger, and when I tug on it, the tiny spikes dig into my skin, and a small droplet of blood leaks out.

I pull on it harder, but it only makes the ring cling tighter, and I cry out before giving up.

A steady stream of blood seeps from beneath the band and falls onto the light wood of the vanity.

Alek said his wedding band would have the same design and that his shredded finger would be the physical representation of his broken heart. Except he isn’t wearing his yet, which isn’t fair.

Instead of pulling the ring off, I lift my heart and dagger necklace out from my T-shirt. When he gave this to me, did he know he would be shoving a knife through my heart after proposing to me?

With a hard yank, the clasp opens, and the chain falls into my hand. I open the top drawer of my vanity and drop the necklace inside, but just before I slam it shut, a pill bottle rolls to the front. It’s one of the antidepressants I used to take.

When I first started on them after Mom died, it made me dissociate for the first couple of weeks until my body adjusted to them. Since I haven’t taken it in a while, it would probably have the same effect.

I knock one back without water and then another. They’re expired, so I take a third for good measure, which should be enough to make it work the way I want.

My heart hurts so much. I clutch my chest to help alleviate it, but it’s no use. I want to numb the pain and dissociate from my body.

I hate that Alek has this much power over me.

I went from being so fucking happy a few days ago to rock bottom.

Alek was—is—my reason for living, and when his father forced us to break up, I wrote him a suicide note.

But when we found our way back to each other, he breathed life back into me and made me want to stay. For him.