Rough Exile

Chapter Sixteen

“Let’sgofora walk,” Ilya suggested, washing the flour off his hands. The bread he’d made was rising. It was less sweet than the bread I was used to back home, but I liked his better.

“Good idea.” I got up from the table and stretched, putting down the romance novel I’d been reading aloud to him as he worked.

We grabbed our jackets and put on boots, since last night’s rain had left the ground muddy. Yana’s boots were big on me, but they were better than none. I had my own beautiful new coat, but for mucking around on the island, I wore one of Ilya’s old ones. He chuckled as I zipped it, flipping up the collar to protect my neck from the wind. Ilya had rolled the sleeves back for me the first time I’d worn it, and they had stayed that way.

“My coat is determined to swallow you whole.”

“Until I met you two, I’d never felt small before.”

He kissed my forehead, and I couldn’t help but melt a little on the inside.

“Where are you going?” Bron demanded, startling me.

“For a walk,” Ilya replied, eyes narrowed.

“No fucking.”

Ilya made a rude gesture and walked out. I expected Bron to stalk out the door after him. He looked torn.

“It’s just a walk.”

He grunted, hefting a greasy metal gadget in his hand. It was apparently part of a tiller. Although he’d been working on it all day, I couldn’t tell if he’d fixed it.

“Don’t let him fuck you.”

“Why not?”

“Because his dick is mine, and he doesn’t use it unless I say so.”

I sighed. “Are you going to keep him under your thumb forever?”

He harrumphed and left.

I doubted Ilya had nefarious plans for me, considering he hadn’t jumped me when Bron was gone the whole day before.

As soon as I exited the house and caught up with Ilya, he took my hand. Was this a new obsession of his, or was being able to show affection a novelty?

“I hate him,” Ilya grumbled.

“We both know that’s not true.”

We walked for a long time until we reached the shore, then followed along it.

“For a place called the White Sea, it’s a pretty blue.”

“It depends on the time of year. There is ice for months in the winter.”

It wasn’t the same blue as the water off the island they’d stolen me from, but the sun glittering on the surface dazzled my eyes. The rocky shore rolled like motionless grey ocean swells. Birds wheeled overhead, darting down from time to time to dive-bomb small fish.

We stopped now and then to throw stones into the ocean. My chest felt looser—lighter. Life was slow here, and although at first I’d felt strangely cut off from the world with no internet access or phone, it was peaceful when Bron wasn’t terrorizing us. There was so much time here compared to back home. I had always wondered how people ever had time for hobbies, but Ilya’s sketching and carving wasn’t so odd.

What else was there to do with no social media? No Netflix?

It was like camping with indoor plumbing.

“Are you going to miss it here when you live on the mainland?” I asked. “Or are you excited to move on with your life?”

Ilya threw another rock, and it skipped along the water’s surface so far that it felt like it might go on forever. “If you’d asked me at eighteen, I would have said you were ridiculous for asking such a question. All I’ve ever wanted was to please my father and move to the mainland. Now? I couldn’t say.”

He skipped another rock, but this one didn’t go as far.

“In the past few years, we started taking trips to the mainland—at first to shop, and then to introduce me to women. When that didn’t work, we went all the way to where we met you. I can’t say I’m unhappy here, but life never changes. Usually I like our life here—especially when Bron goes a bit soft on me. When he says he resents having to be here, I want to burn the house and the island to ash.”

”Is that what you really want?” I doubted it.

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. “You know what I want.”

I shivered. How did he switch so quickly from sweet to dark intensity? If he’d never met Bron, which Ilya would he be? It was so hard to guess.

“What do you want? Honestly.” I asked, genuinely curious.

He grabbed me by the upper arms. I gasped. Slowly, he slid his hands down my arms to my hands. He kept the right hand and reached into his pocket, and I didn’t understand what was happening until there was a big diamond ring on my finger.

“What is this?” I asked, possibly more flabbergasted than I’d been when they’d kidnapped me.

“A ring.”

“For what?”