Page 25 of Trust

I shouldn’t have insisted on taking my cello along. But a lot of musicians are drug addicts, and I thought it would be more believable than me approaching Ilya out of the blue. I needed a reason to be at that bar.

“You did very well. Many performers get too nervous,” Ilya says, his voice gentle. “I would not have the courage.”

Courage.

Courage isn’t driving me.

Desperation is.

Desperation for Adam’s attention, his approval… his love.

I scoff at that, looking away from him again. “It wasn’t courage.” I hadn’t beenbrave.

“It was courage,” Ilya repeats. “You could have hidden away. You wanted people to see you.” He smiles and squeezes my hand. “I’m very glad I got to see you.”

My heart races. The contact feels good,toogood. “Me too,” I say, though I feel like I’m fumbling over my words, over my reactions. “Now I sort of don’t know what to say, though.”

That much is true, even if so many of my reactions aren’t genuine.

Ilya laughs, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded nervous, too. “Well, do you want another parfait? I’ll make one.”

“I’m almost full,” I tell him, holding up my mostly-finished champagne flute. It’s easier to eat now that we’ve changed the subject, though, and I take another bite from the bottom. “But thank you. Really. For all of this.”

It feels like so much suddenly, and I don’t even know why.

“I should say thankyou,” Ilya counters. “I didn’t realize I could enjoy myself like this.” He lowers his gaze. “In St. Petersburg, in Russia, I would not dare. But here, in a big city in America… I would like to explore.”

It’s all I can do to swallow. “I can’t be the one to… to be a part of that,” I whisper. “I can’t cheat on Adam.”

I’d wanted to, though.

I’d wanted to go home with Ilya, too, to get away from Adam for just one evening.

When Adam had seemingly given his approval for me to sleep with Ilya, I’d been hurt and relieved in equal measure.

I’m a terrible boyfriend.

I remind myself that this is all business, and that I need to find a way to turn this around tojobs, to something I could use to get close to him that doesn’t involve Ilya — as Adam had sneered — ramming his tongue down my throat.

“You’re not cheating,” Ilya says quickly. “We’re only having snacks. But…” He scratches his beard. “If you need help, I’ll be there. Even if nothing else happens between us, I want to protect you.”

I finally look back at him. “Why?” I ask. “I’m nothing special, Ilya. There are so many others who would love to have help from someone like you. People who actually need it.”

“Nobody deserves to be hurt by people they trust,” Ilya says, his expression going dark. “A parent, a sibling, a lover—they should be protectors. They should not attempt to destroy those under their care.”

“He’s not,” I say, setting the remnants of my parfait aside. It’s a lie, though, and we both know it.

Before I can think of something else to say, of some other way to defend Adam, my phone chimes with a text.

Adam

Why are you still at the grocery store?

I don’t know why he even pretends not to know where I am sometimes. I hop to my feet, my heart racing for completely different reasons now.

This isn’t going to work. I can’t do this. I have no idea how to turn this conversation around, and disappointment threatens to crush me. I wanted to do this for Adam, but he’s correct: I really can’t do anything right.

“I need to go,” I blurt out. “I’m sorry. Thank you for the snack.”