Page 52 of Scarlet Vows

It feels normal, but it isn’t.

Comfortable’s probably more apt. Ilya is Ilya. Funny, considerate, attentive, never treating me with kid gloves even though I had a meltdown.

He did invoke the ghost of brotherly wrath, but I knew he’d never call Demyan. Ilya said his piece, offered an ear and a shoulder should I need it, and then went back to being himself.

But this isn’t about him. It’s about me.

The guilt about me liking the kiss and my body wanting to explore more.

The guilt about how I’m noting his attractiveness. Body, mind, persona. He’s got a lot in common with Max, and yet he’s so different that I shouldn’t even see the similarities. Ishouldn’t because he’s my friend. I shouldn’t because I’m grieving.

Is this a betrayal?

He did say one thing that I couldn’t shake.Talk to someone.

I had a therapist… Actually, I still do. Isla told me to go after I lost Max, so I did. For one and a half years, I went.

I haven’t seen Carol in months, but here I am, in her soothing, calming, comfy waiting room.

The door opens, and Carol appears.

“Come in, Alina,” she says with a kind smile.

One of the things I like about her practice is how I can wait in here, by myself, and leave through the other door, so everything’s kept ultra discreet.

“Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”

She waves me to the sofa where I sit, and she takes a chair near it. The green plants and neutral palette stroke my soul like it’s a scared dog, telling me that in this place, I’m safe, cared for. I take a breath, drinking it all in.

“I had a cancellation, but I’m always here for you. How have you been?” Her gaze slips to the simple band on my finger, but she doesn’t comment. “It’s been a number of months.”

“I know. I…” I stop, trying to find the words.

Carol allows me space for my thoughts, and when I don’t speak, she finally says softly, “When you left last time, you were in a much better place. How are you now?”

“I’m… I’m confused.”

“That’s okay, Alina. Everyone gets confused. Life is a whole bag of confusion. I noticed the ring. It doesn’t look like Max’s wedding ring.”

“I should have taken it off.” I try and breathe.

I have a chain, so if I don’t wear it on my finger, I have it around my neck like I’ve seen others do. But the pretty ring Max gave me three weeks into our relationship? I still wearthat, I always wear that, and her gaze flicks to it, but doesn’t say a thing.

Then she nods at the wedding ring finger. “Why don’t we start there?”

I give her the abridged version of wanting to keep men who can’t take no as a no away from me and that the ring does that for me. She doesn’t need to know about the fake marriage to Ilya because that would lead to bratva business, and though this is confidential, that part of being born into the bratva runs deep. Secrecy is second nature. I don’t talk about it outside my very, very tight trust circle.

And to be honest, I don’t want to poison the bare facts here.

“I’m living with him, as friends, different rooms—” I stop. “He’s my good friend. I wanted to help. I just didn’t expect… I didn’t expect feelings for him to start developing.”

“And they have,” Carol says softly. “How does that make you feel?”

“Wrong. Guilty. Like a terrible person, like Max doesn’t deserve me.”

She nods slowly. “Alina, we have talked about this, but it’s worth going over. There’s no set time limit to the stages of grief. Some people zoom along a freshly paved road without an obstacle or stop sign and are through the other end in a timely manner. Others stay on that road, puttering along, passing familiar places, and every time they take an off ramp, it’s not the right one.

“Others find themselves looping back, getting stuck in traffic or taking a road that leads to bumpy terrain before they get out.