Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(105)

“Why is her fuckin’ accountant calling me?” The suspicion is back in her voice.

“She wanted to know how you and Garrett were doing.”

“And she couldn’t be bothered to call herself, huh?”

You couldn’t be bothered to recognize me.

“She wanted to inquire about you and your husband. Are you both… okay? Has there been a change of address?”

“No. Tell her we are just fuckin’ peachy where we are. Why would we leave?”

They’re still together. That fact alone has me reeling. But it makes me feel good, too, in a strange way.

At least they have each other.

Misery loves company.

“Right. Your daughter wants to make sure that the two of you are okay. She wants me to transfer you some money on her behalf.”

There’s another tense pause. “This some sort of joke?”

“No, ma’am, it’s not.”

“She hasn’t talked to us all these years. Why now?”

That is an incredibly good question. Luckily, I don’t have to answer it. “You’d have to ask your daughter that question, Jillian. Are you willing to accept the funds? If so, I’ll need your account information for wiring purposes.”

She hesitates for a long time. “Yeah, okay. Hold the hell on.”

I hear her puttering through the trailer, clanging and banging against the small space. I wonder if it looks any different now. I wonder if it’s frozen in time, waiting for a visit from me, or if it’s swallowed up any trace that I was ever there.

She gets on the phone a full minute and a half later and reads me her account details in a detached voice. “There. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say. “Thank you. Do you… do you have anything you’d like me to pass along to her?”

My mom’s breath rattles on the line for a long time, fuzzy with static. I’m sure she’s going to grunt no.

Then she sucks in a quick inhale and barks, “What’s she doing now, anyway? Still trying to make something of herself?”

“She’s… She’s trying,” I say at last. Then, as hot tears prick my eyes, I suddenly want this conversation to be over. Memories are coming at me like bats out of a cave, flapping their dark, ugly wings in my face, and if I stay on the phone for a moment longer, I’m going to scream. “Thank you for your time, Jillian. Say hello to Garrett for me—I mean, for Paige.”

Before she can say anything else, I hang up.

It takes me ten long breaths until I can ease the trembling in my fingers.

By the time I do, the door opens and Nikita walks in. She’s wearing a long, navy lace dress that makes her look like Morticia Addams. She takes one look at me and her eyes go wide. “You certainly look like a bride.”

I turn to the full-length mirror positioned in the corner of the room. My dress is custom-made, thanks to Nessa. No designer would have taken our quick turnaround time without a serious payout, but she refused to tell me how much it cost so I could reimburse her.

The dress is strapless with a delicate, blush-colored lace overlay. The corset sits comfortably over my belly so it’s both comfortable and flattering.

Despite the two marriage ceremonies I’ve had, if they can even be called that, this is the first time I’ve worn a wedding dress. I’d say the third time’s the charm, but today feels anything but charmed. It feels cursed. I shouldn’t have called Mom. I shouldn’t have said yes to Misha. I should have taken the baby in my womb and run off to anywhere that would let me hide and breathe and live without fear of what will happen when my own demons tear me apart from the inside.

I force myself to breathe and shake my head. Today’s ceremony is supposed to be for show, but it feels all the more real now that I’m really looking at myself.

“Nikita…”

Her expression turns to concern when she meets my eyes. I open my mouth, but I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling. I feel my legs give way. Suddenly, Nikita is by my side, trying to hold me up.

“Take small steps backwards,” she tells me calmly. It’s the same tone her brother uses when he’s taking control of a situation. “I’m going to help you sit down.”

I follow her instructions and end up on a white cushioned ottoman.

“Breathe,” she orders.

I try, but I don’t let go of her arms. She doesn’t seem keen to let go, either. She keeps a solid hold on me and breathes right alongside me.

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, but I don’t release Nikita long enough to wipe it away. At this point, I don’t even care about my makeup. Let it run. Let it smudge. None of this matters, anyway.

“Paige. Hey. Look at me.”

I look at her. Why does she have to look so much like her brother? I hate her for it with a hot, vicious lash of vitriol that’s over and gone as soon as it appeared.

“What do you need right now?” she asks.

Your brother. That’s the first thing that pops into my head. I need Misha. And that raw, unvarnished realization makes me feel completely vulnerable and utterly broken.

Despite everything, he is still my first instinct. Somehow, despite my best efforts, I’ve managed to fall

in love with the man I’m married to. The man I promised myself I would not fall for. A man who can never love me the way I love him.