“We aren’t fighting. Or I guess, we aren’t fighting—so long as you don’t tell me to ‘calm down’ or ‘stop worrying’ ever again,” she snaps. “Believe me, if I could just stop worrying at will, I would. It would save me a lot of time.”
“Do you spend a lot of time worrying about me, moya zhena?”
Her green eyes go wide. “Well, I didn’t mean—I mean, you are my husband now, so—that’s not what I—” She huffs out a long breath. “You’re annoying.”
I smile despite myself as my dad’s words replay in my head. You care for her.
To which another voice in the back of my head adds, Too much.
“Worrying doesn’t serve you,” I tell her. “It’s a waste of time and energy.”
“Says the man who feels responsible for everyone around him. You’ve made it your job to worry about every damn person who knows your name, and you keep those worries all to yourself, even if you refuse to admit it. So yeah, I worry about you. About what it’s doing to you.”
“It’s not doing anything to me.”
Emery steps closer. I can see sweat glimmering across her skin. She smells musky, sweet. “No? You worry about your brother, don’t you? Your sole regret in life is that something bad happened to him and you weren’t there to stop it. That isn’t healthy, Adrik.”
I go still. “That’s very fucking different.”
She ignores me and charges ahead. “You take on too much by yourself. Bad things happen, and you can’t blame yourself. It’s impossible to carry all that responsibility on your own.” Emery rests a hand on my forearm, looks me in the eyes, and whispers, “I want to help.”
“That’s what fucked everything up in the first place,” I snap. “Asking for help.”
Emery frowns. “What does that mean?”
I turn away from her and don’t answer for a long time.
“You want to know why I hate this room?” I blurt suddenly. “Why no one else used it until you came along?”
She blinks at me, clearly nervous, but she nods.
“Because I hired a trainer for my brother.” I pace away from her, unable to stand still while I relay the story that changed the course of my life. Or rather, the story that set that course in stone. “Yasha loved training, and he wanted me to teach him everything. But I had other responsibilities. I couldn’t spend all day every day in this room with him. So I hired a teacher. Someone to come in a few times per week and teach him while I got other work done.”
My hands ball into fists at my side. I try to breathe and remain relaxed, but my jaw clenches and air whistles between my teeth. “I left him alone with a stranger… and he was molested.”
Emery gasps. “Oh my God, Adrik.”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “It happened for fucking years. And I had no clue.”
“But you can’t know everything,” she protests. “You can’t be everywhere.”
“Being a good leader isn’t about knowing everything,” I say, parroting my father’s words. “It’s about being prepared. I was prepared to do what I had to do to make things right.”
Emery blinks. “What did you do?”
“I killed the son of a bitch who dared defile my little brother. I cut his throat right here in this very room.”
I expect her to recoil. To pull away from me in disgust and fear.
But Emery doesn’t move.
“You already told me you’d killed people,” she whispers. “Did they all deserve it?”
I wonder if she's thinking about Sofia. I wouldn't be surprised. I led her to believe I'd been the one to kill her. Maybe one day, when Emery is brave enough to ask me outright, I'll tell her the whole truth.
“None so much as him.”
Emery comes to me and tightens one hand on my shirt. Her other hand slides over my chest to wrap around my neck. Her fingers are warm and gentle on my skin, in stark contrast to the ice storm raging just beneath my surface.
“You’re loyal, Adrik. You’re a protector.” She drags a finger down my jaw. “It’s a good thing… to a point. But you can’t fix everything.”
“You are wrong about that, Emery Montague.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Have you talked to your brother? Does he know about your dad?”
I frown. “No.”
“Maybe you should talk to him,” she suggests. “This is something the two of you could go through together. So you aren’t alone.”
“I don’t mind being alone.”
The life of a don is a lonely one. No one else to share your burdens, to make decisions on your behalf. There is only you.
I’ve made my peace with it.
“But you don’t have to be alone all the time. You have me. You have him.”
I stand still, feeling a strange churning sensation in my gut at those words. I’ve never asked for help with the weight on my shoulders, not even once. To be offered it is… unsettling.
“Besides,” she continues, “I'm sure your brother would like to have you by his side through this. And I’d like to meet him."
“Right. I forgot you two haven’t met yet.”
“So it’s a plan, then?” she asks. “I’ll meet your brother and the two of you can figure out how to take care of your dad.”
I sigh. “So be it.”