Chapter 40 Episode 40

I didn’t lie to Yulian before: I know exactly what Otets would say if he were here now. No man can be prepared for the collateral damage when he doesn’t know what he’s sacrificing. The restaurant I’ve picked is loud, the kind of place I usually avoid. But tonight, I want noise. I want conversation and laughter and life. I want to forget that I’m contemplating leaving my life behind and to forget the exceptionally bad decisions I’ve made in the last few months, one after another after another. Freya scopes the place out when we arrive, looking less than thrilled about my choice of venue. “The food is good,” I promise, reading her expression. “Their dumplings are to die for.” “They better be,” she mutters. Her words are half-drowned out by the boisterous table of frat stars hanging out opposite us. She rolls her eyes. “I could put up with that shite if even one of them was cute. Sadly, that is not the case.” I smile, thankful that I have someone like Freya in my life. It’s because of her that I haven’t really felt Salma’s absence quite so painfully. Not until this morning, at least, when Salma herself had actively reminded me. “Guess what? Salma texted me this morning.” Freya sips on her drink and frowns. “Who?” “Salma,” I repeat. “My so-called maid of honor.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Right. s**t. What did she say?” “That she was sorry and she never meant to hurt me.” Freya groans. “God, I hate when people say that. I never meant to hurt you. How does that even make sense? When you’re actively doing something you know is hurtful to someone else, it is, by definition, f*****g hurtful!” I smile. It’s the whole reason I’m so grateful to have Freya in my life. I love Chris to death, but he would never give me a response like that. Sometimes, he doesn’t realize that what I want is not just to vent, but to hear him vehemently agree with me. I want him to bash the people that screwed me over and imagine creative forms of despicably violent revenge for them. “Why are you smiling?” Freya asks. “Just… it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.” “I think most females would get this situation pretty damn easily,” she points out. “You don’t steal another woman’s man. It’s black and white.” Her eyes flash with anger. I can feel in my bones just how deeply she sympathizes with me. We haven’t really spoken much about her past since she first told me about her abusive relationship. I’ve kind of monopolized the conversations. When dinner gets to the table, we dig in, but I notice that Freya mostly just shoves the food around on her plate. She’s contemplative tonight. “Were you ever cheated on?” I ask Freya on a whim. Her expression falls flat for a moment. A cloud of hurt passes over her eyes. I wave my own question away. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—” “No,” she says quickly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I…” I wait in silence until Freya is ready. She takes a deep breath and looks up at me. “I followed him one day when he told me he was going to be working late,” she says. “He told me it was just a run-of-the-mill ‘business meeting’ and that he had to hobnob with important clients.” “I heard some of his friends talking,” she explains. “They mentioned this club. It struck me as odd. I knew that oftentimes he would take his clients to non-traditional places and that was all well and good, but I just had a bad feeling this time. So I went to the club and found him in one of the private rooms. He was there with his friends. Surrounded by naked women.” She shakes her head. “I accused him of cheating and he didn’t deny it. Instead, he told me that I could never give him what he wanted. So he had to find it elsewhere.” “Oh my God, he sounds like a complete f*****g asshole.” She sighs and reaches for her drink. “Got that right.” I watch her sipping, trying to figure out the expression on her face. It takes me a moment, but I finally place it. “Freya?” “Do you still have feelings for him?” Her eyes dart up to meet mine. She turns away almost immediately, but it’s enough to reveal to me how she really feels. “You do,” I whisper. “You still love him.” She shakes her head vehemently. “No, no, don’t be ridiculous.” “Freya,” I say, leaning across the table and grabbing her hand. “I thought we discussed this already. We can trust each other. You don’t have to feel embarrassed to admit certain things to me. God knows I’ve aired all my dirty laundry to you a thousand times over.” She frowns. Her beautiful eyes look sadder than I’ve ever seen them. “I just…” Her voice fades away and all she can do is nod slowly. “Can you tell me why you love him?” I ask. She chews on her lip for a moment. “Can anyone explain love? It’s not something you can describe. It happens when you least expect it. And it stays with you even though you want it gone. I hate that I feel this way, but it’s there inside me still. I try to kill it… I tried when I moved here. I thought the distance would erase my feelings for him, but I was wrong.” “Give it time,” I advise. “I know that’s a pretty lame piece of advice, but it’s true. Plus, it’s all I’ve got right now.” She glances at me, almost nervously for a moment. “Do you love him?” I lean back in my seat. “Honestly? I haven’t thought about Dane in so long. It makes me think that maybe I never really—” “No,” Freya says, cutting me off. “I’m not talking about him.” I blink. “I don’t understand.” “Anton,” Freya whispers, like he might hear her if she gets too loud. “Do you love him?” The question takes me by surprise but only because it’s strange to hear the thing I’ve been asking myself for the last twenty-four hours voiced out loud by someone else. “Well… love is a crazy word.” I hesitate, realizing just how right she was about explaining certain feelings. Some things just defy logic. She gives me a knowing smile that’s still sharp around the edges with her own remembered pain. “Circle of trust right here, remember?” she says, waving her arms around the table. “I won’t judge.” I reach for my own drink this time, feeling a strange fear spreading through my chest. “He… fascinates me.” “Men like him usually do.” “Strong, powerful, confident. The hormones go wild for that shit.” “Yeah, maybe.” I nod. “It’s more than that, though.” She raises her eyebrows. “Tell me.” “I’m not naïve. I know he’s a bad man and he could do bad things to me. I’ve seen him do bad things to other people. But… before I knew who he was, before everything happened… we had this conversation.” I drag my eyes up to hers. “It was the most amazing hour I’ve ever spent with a man.” “Yeah,” I say. “We just talked. I felt comfortable opening up to him. He listened. He was interested in what I had to say. He made me feel so seen.” “I’m sure he’s like that with a lot of women.” “That’s the thing,” I say. “I watched him last night with his people. Don’t get me wrong: he was charming; he knew exactly how to talk to each person. He knew how to praise the men and compliment the women without once laying it on too thick. But that night on his boat, he wasn’t trying to charm me. I mean… he wasn’t ‘on’ like he was last night. He was just being… himself.” “And I kind of got the feeling that he rarely gets to be himself.” She considers that, her face twisting with concern and curiosity. I feel a rush of anxiety. “Is that insane?” “A little,” she says with a dry laugh. “But I also get it. He’s an extremely handsome man.” “It’s not about his looks,” I insist with a huff of frustration. “I mean, of course it’s undeniable that he’s handsome. But my attraction to him is about more than that. I feel… I know it sounds stupid insane to admit this at all, but I feel comfortable with him. I feel safe. And that should most definitely not be the case. He’s threatened me multiple times.” “But you don’t believe he’ll follow through?” “No,” I admit. “In fact, I think he’s trying to give me what I want, under the guise of controlling me.” She wrinkles her nose. “What do you mean?” “He wants me to be his personal chef,” I explain. “In his home.” “He says it’s to pay off my ‘interest.’ But it’s just an excuse. I can feel it.” “Wait, so you actually want to accept his offer?” I lean back in my seat. “No,” I whisper—and it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. My whole body shudders with tension. “I spent the whole night thinking about it, Freya. I think I need to return his phone. And then I need to leave.” I nod. “If I don’t go, if I don’t just return his phone and cut ties with him forever…”