Valya pushes herself between her father and me. “No.”
“No?” I laugh and am about to continue to berate her when she grabs my finger and throws my hand down.
“We need to talk. Your office. Now.”
She shoves me, her hands on my chest, and I turn. We stalk down the hall to my father’s office and she shuts the door behind us before starting in on me.
“You will not speak to my father that way. We have gone above and beyond for you in this house, and you know it. He’s been here day in and day out, cleaning every corner that’s been neglected since he left your father’s service.”
“How dare you talk to me—”
“I’m not done,” she snaps. “And Stannes didn’t hate my dad. My dad was one of his only real friends. My dad was there, he’s been there, through everything.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she barely takes a breath. “Don’t you dare project your feelings, or your fears about how your father felt about you, onto him like you do to me.”
“My fears?” When I laugh, there’s no humor in the sound, mainly because I feel like crying, too. My father didn’t hate Peter. My father hated me because I reminded him of my mother. And he drove that hatred into my heart until it was black and dead. I stalk toward her, backing her toward the door. “Do not presume to know me, and do not presume to tell me what to do. I will do whatever the fuck I want, and if you don’t like it, you can fucking quit.”
Surprise flits across her face, but instead of cowering, her hand finds the doorknob behind her and she opens it, spilling out into the hallway where her dad and their crew is waiting. Shame flushes my face as I wonder what they heard.
“Fine,” she says, drawing her shoulders back. “I quit.”
She stalks down the hall toward the foyer, and after a brief hesitation, the rest of her team follows. The only one who looks back is Peter, but it isn’t with anger or disappointment on his face. No, it’s sadness. A deep, tender sorrow.
My dad would be very proud of me.
And that makes me sick.
Chapter Ten
Valya
After giving my dad’s crew the rest of the day off with pay, I sit in my car in front of the Novak estate and watch the door, waiting for it to open. I keep expecting Andrej to come out, but he never does. I imagine him sitting in that big, dark office, all alone. Always alone.
I’ve always given him the benefit of the doubt. I endure the mean comments because I know that’s not really him. I can deal with being left at the Oakwood Club with no clothes and no car, because it was my choice. My choice to be there for him. My choice to give him another chance. He’s been hurt, and hurt people hurt people.
But I draw the line at him hurting my people. My dad. Who has always been the father that Stannes never was. Kind. Generous. Patient. A friend to the friendless. Not unlike me, I suppose. If Andrej thinks I’ll let him bash my dad, he has another think coming. He asked me once when I would stand up to him. Now we know the answer.
I start the car but still can’t bring myself to leave. Leaning my head on the steering wheel, I let myself think about last night. Not the part where I had to call Evangeline and confess my shame to her, or the part where she brought me a trench coat she pilfered from the coat closet to wear out of the club, or the part where I did the walk of shame to the limo she arranged for me.
No, before that. When something shifted inside of Andrej. When he went from wanting to punish himself to wanting to share himself. I thought we’d had a moment, a connection, and that maybe things would change.
But they hadn’t.
When Andrej still doesn’t emerge from the estate, I finally put the car in gear and head home. I’m deluding myself thinking he feels something for me, and I’m done.
For the first time ever, my Sugar Hill apartment is too bright. My mood is much more suited to a gothic mansion. I want nothing more than to hide from the world for the rest of the day. With my headphones in, I put on the latest album from Charlie Sky and burrow beneath my big, soft comforter.
After a couple hours of coming to terms with reality, there’s a knock on my door. I’m hesitant to open it, knowing I’m in no condition to face Andrej, but when I look through the peephole and see my dad with a bag of takeout food, I let him in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him. He knows I’d usually be at the office or on a consultation right now.
“Charity told me you called out the rest of the day.” He eyes me with concern.
I shrug. “I needed a break.”
My dad goes to the kitchen and starts unpacking the food containers. I peek over his shoulder, and my stomach audibly growls at the sight of sandwiches from Panino downtown.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“What?” I ask, distracted by the food.
“Loving someone. It would be so much easier to hate him because then you could let him go.”
I pause and look over at him, but he’s digging through my fridge for something to drink. When he turns around, he has two cans of La Croix in his hands.
“I watched you two fall in love, and you’ve never fallen out.”
“Me and Andrej?”
He nods sagely, moving to the round dining table in the breakfast nook and sitting. I take the food and sit across from him.
“Stannes was my friend, but I’ll never forgive him for what he did to that boy. He broke Andrej, and so Andrej tried to break you.” He reaches across the table and puts one hand over mine, our sandwiches forgotten between us. “But just because you love him does not mean you have to endure his pain. In fact, it might be best for you to let him carry it on his own for a while.”
I stare at my sandwich, my appetite waning. “I don’t believe that he’s irredeemable.”
He shakes his head. “He’s not. But you have to let him redeem himself.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. All through high school, I treaded water for both of us, barely keeping our heads above water. Now doesn’t feel any different, and I’m getting tired—physically, mentally, emotionally—of holding us both up.
That afternoon, after my dad leaves and I’m sitting in front of the TV binge-watching Netflix, my phone rings. I pause the TV and look at the phone, half-hoping it’s Andrej. Of course, it isn’t. But it is Evangeline.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Valya, two things,” she says by way of introduction, getting straight to business, which I don’t mind. I would hate to have to rehash last night with her.
“What’s up?”
“First, the Turgenev Building is in the market for a new cleaning company.”
I sit up straighter. “The whole building?” It’s the high-rise building downtown that holds her husband’s company, Turgenev Holdings.
“The whole building. Can you get your bid in tomorrow? We can set up a walk-through later in the week.”
“Uh, yes, definitely.” I stand and start pacing. “This is great timing actually. We just had a huge job end.”
“Great! Also, I’m having Anna courier over to you an application to the Club.”
“An application—What? Why?”