Page 32 of Scarlet Vows

“Ilya!” The woman blooms with smiles. “Why didn’t you say so? Go, I’ll make lunch for you both.”

“It’s not even eleven?—”

“Shoo.” She shakes her head. “Alina, please, I am here to take care of you. Go.”

With a sigh, I do just that, and like magic, Magda lays down a tray fit for a Russian czar. There are blini, caviar, sour cream, chives. Tiny finger sandwiches. Black bread, meats, cheeses, and one solitary leaf of lettuce. There’s also chilled vodka as well as her closely guarded secret fresh juice recipe that tastes divine.

She lays it down and then leads Ilya in like he’s my gentleman caller. I shoot her a filthy look, but she ignores it.

He glances from her to me to the platter. “What was all that about?”

“I think Magda feels guilty for being snappy at me. So shemade you a platter of food. I was going to make a ham and salad sandwich.”

He chuckles, but there’s concern in his eyes. “What’s up? What couldn’t wait?”

I smooth my fingers nervously down my jeans and pour a spiked juice, adding more than a healthy splash of vodka. He just eyes me before doing the same, but he keeps standing, waiting.

“Please, sit.”

With a sigh, he does.

I take a gulp of my drink. “Oh boy.”

“Hey. It’s me, Alina. You can say anything to me. If you want to call this off, you can. Anything, okay?”

I nod, hating that I’m making this big. “Okay. And no, that’s not it. I just want us to both be clear about how this is going to work. I just think… I just…” I make myself breathe. “I figure the more I know about what I’m getting into, I guess the easier it’s going to be to navigate through it all.”

“As I said, if we call it off, there’s no harm done. Zero. Sure, you’ll still annoy me, but who can ever be mad at you? Which I wouldn’t be.” He waits until I look him in the eye, and I want to fall into that calmness, the welcoming acceptance. The warmth and protection there. “I’d never be mad at you for not wanting this. Really, I can’t ever see me being mad at you.”

That makes it hard to swallow because a knot of tears suddenly forms in my throat.

“I’m not backing out. But…the wedding. It can’t be big, and I know that bratva weddingsarebig. But it’s out of the question because Demyan would find out.”

This is a lie, and it hurts and burns me to lie to him.

My wedding to Max was supposed to be big. It was perfection, and then it was a nightmare, and I can’t… I can’t do that again. Can’t put myself through all that again.

Too much pain, too much loss is now linked to a big wedding in my mind. Worse, a big wedding that belonged to Max.

Ilya nods then spoons some caviar on a blini with some sour cream and hands it to me, then he makes one for himself. “Agreed. But Alina, our world is small. There’s a good chance Demyan will find out anyway. I didn’t say this last night because you were caught up in it all and so adamant he couldn’t know for your own reasons, and I respect that. But there is a chance he’ll find out.

“We can make it as small as you like. You and me and a judge or whatever. It’s a piece of paper. But no matter if we go to the other side of the country and do this, peoplewillfind out. Santo thinks we’re engaged. So there’s a chance your brother will find out before you’re ready to tell him. I don’t think we can get through a year without him eventually finding out.”

He eats his blini.

I nibble at mine, not tasting it, even though I love Magda’s blini. Anxiety kills the tastebuds and leaps inside because he’s right. I never thought that one through.

No, that’s not true. I glossed over it by thinking we’d tell him down the line, but now…

It’s all tangled up in Max, and the guilt’s riding me hard.

I drink some of the spiked juice and think. I want to say to him that Demyan will be fine if we use the two months he’s got left away properly and think of the right way to frame it.

Thing is, we both know my brother.

There’s a reason I said I didn’t want Demyan to know. Sure, I don’t want him to know Ilya helped me out, and I don’t want him to see me returning the favor like I’m pathetic and can’t take care of myself.

But really, Demyan definitely wouldn’t approve of mehelping Ilya. He’d see it as black and white, like my virtues were being put on sale or something. And if he takes it all badly and refuses to see reason, I’m worried I’ll be the cause of problems.