Cheslav is moving forward before I even have the chance to respond.
He grabs my brother by the neck and delivers a single punch to his face before he can say another word. “You think you can talk to her like that? I will knock out all your teeth before I let another bad word toward her come out of your mouth. You are scumbag, not worthy of sister whose heart is breaking right now. Say you are sorry to her, or I will break every bone in your face.”
As tough as Clem was acting just a few moments ago, he immediately caves when Cheslav raises his fist to punch him again.
“Okay, okay, sorry, sis!” he yells, his words muffled due to his bleeding nose.
“Let him go,” I scream at Cheslav. “Let him go right now! You think the way to solve this is with White on Black violence. In the south?”
Cheslav lets go of my brother and dips his head. “I am sorry, krasotka. I was only trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me!” I yell back at him. “I don’t need you going around punching people who you embroiled in your…what did you call it? Scheme! I was doing just fine on my own before you came along and filled my head with all this BS, claiming you were in love with me.”
“It is no claim,” he says. “I love you. I want nothing more than to marry you and be father to our baby.”
“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Clem asks, still cupping his bleeding nose.
I don’t answer, just start walking back toward the house.
“Where are you going?” both Cheslav and Clem ask at the same time.
They don’t deserve an answer. I disappear into the house without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Inside the house, I grab my phone, throw a few things in a bag. But when I went downstairs to meet a driver with a friendly looking profile pic named Jim, Vlad’s standing at the front door.
“No Uber. Mr. Rustanov wants me to drive you back to your condo.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” I answer, trying to push past him.
But he puts his hand over the doorknob before I can reach it. “It is safer with me…for baby. Baby is reason he doesn’t drive you himself or try to keep you from leaving.”
So that’s how I end up paying five dollars for a cancelled ride. Vlad takes me home, makes sure I’m set up in my condo. Then leaves.
And just like that, I’m back to what I expected to be when I first read that pregnancy test. All alone.
Again.
I wasn’t lonely before. I’ve always known that I’m the only person I should trust and the only person I can depend on. And Cheslav hasn’t changed that. I’m strong. I’m so strong.
Before I can stop them, tears flood my eyes. And as strong as I’m trying to be, I spend the rest of the night crying.
Not just over my brother’s and Cheslav’s deceptions, but also for the fantasy they destroyed. As level-headed as I am, I actually believed in us. Thought we’d live happily ever after and start a family in Minnesota.
But that delusion is over. I’m wide awake and sobbing. And I no longer believe in happy endings wrapped up in large Russian packages.
The next morning, I throw my phone on a charger and don’t answer it for a few days.
Eventually, everyone stops texting and calling one-by-one. Everyone save Cheslav.
“I am accepting that you will not forgive me for what I have done,” he says after days of me not responding to any of his messages. “My job was to earn your trust and prove I would be good husband to you, and I failed. Please let me know what I can do for our baby.”
“Nothing,” I type back, still angry and hurt. So hurt that he never thought to tell me the truth during our one-month deal. Hurt that he said he loved me while still lying. So hurt at my gullibility. “I’ve got this. We don’t need you.”
It’s the first text message I’ve sent him since I left the beach house, but to my surprise, he never answers me back.
It really is over.
Good.
Good.
“You don’t sound good,” Cynda tells me at the end of May when she calls to tell me that her boyfriend popped the question.
“So now you do boyfriends and husbands too?” I ask, ignoring her observation.
Cynda takes my ribbing with a chuckle.
“Yeah, I do,” she answers. “I love him. I honestly do.”
“That’s great, Cynda!” I reply. “That’s really great!”
But then suddenly, I start crying.
“Aw, Billie,” Cynda says her usual no-nonsense expression becoming concerned over the phone. “I’m sorry. I should have known it was too soon to tell you.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I answer. “I’m so happy for you. I really am. I don’t know why I’m crying over that asshole.”