Chapter 32

"So where are you going all dressed up?" Krista forces a cheerful grin when I meet her at the coffee shop near her apartment.

It's been three weeks since we laid Mom to rest beside my father. Four since I held her hand as the doctors turned off the machines keeping her alive after her massive heart attack.

Today's my first outing.

"I have a job interview." I grin, somewhat proud that I've managed to accomplish something.

Sergei handled all of Mom's arrangements. I followed along giving my okay for things, but I couldn't have cared less. Other than his family and a sprinkle of old friends from the neighborhood, it was a small ceremony.

It didn't stop the press from showing up. The morning after the funeral there was a picture on the front page of Sergei, his cousins, and three of their men carrying Mom to her final resting place.

"An interview?" She freezes, her cup only halfway to her mouth. "For a job?"

"That's what a job interview is, yes." I nod with a laugh.

"For what?" She lowers her cup.

"Late shift receptionist at a physician group." I stir sugar into my coffee. "It will give me time to take a class or two in the afternoons."

"Classes? You're going back to school?"

I nod while I take a sip. "Yes. I only have a year left. I should be able to do my student teaching during the day and work late shift at this place. It'll be exhausting, but worth it."

I see the question on her lips before she even asks it.

"What about Sergei? Is he alright with this?"

I lift a shoulder. "I haven't told him."

"You haven't told him?" She flattens her hands out on the table. "How have you not told him?"

"It's easy. I moved into the guest wing two weeks ago."

"Cora." She tilts her head. "I know you're hurting right now, and things aren't what you thought they'd be, but you have to talk to him."

"Why? Our relationship wasn't real, Krista. It's better this way. I stay on my side of the house, and he stays on his. He can have whatever guests he wants, and I don't have to see it."

"What guests?" She narrows her eyes.

I sigh. "I don't want to talk about him."

"I know. You haven't wanted to talk about him for weeks. And now you're hiding from him? I can't believe he let you move into the other wing."

"It could be worse. I could file for divorce and ruin his great revenge." I try to laugh, but it's empty.

Just like everything else in my soul right now. Empty yet unbearably heavy at the same time.

"He's not seeing her, Cora," she says after moments of silence stretch between us.

"I don't want to talk about him." I try to glare, but she's already shooting me a don't bullshit me look.

I put my coffee mug down; a drop spills over the side and rolls down to the table.

"Fine. How do you know he's not seeing her?" I sit back and fold my arms.

"I have three very good sources." She cradles her mug. "Stephan told me she's not even in Chicago anymore. That the night she was at the club, Sergei had men go over to her hotel and pack her bags for her. They dragged her bony ass to O'Hare and put her on the first flight out of town."

My jaw softens a little.

"I thought Stephan was a prick?" I counter.

"He was." She tilts her head with a shrug. "He apologized." A smile creeps across her lips. "A lot."

I roll my eyes. "Still. Stephan can't possibly know that happened."

"One thing that man never did was lie." She deadpans, "Besides, Izzy and Marlena both confirmed it when I spoke with them."

In order to avoid Sergei properly, I've also been ignoring calls and texts from Izzy and Marlena. I just needed space from the whole Petrov world.

"They must hate me." I frown.

"No. They don't. They get it. You needed some space. You forget their men aren't exactly golden retriever types either."

I smile a little. "They'd do anything for Izzy and Marlena."

"So would Sergei," she points out. "There was never anything between them, Cora. All that crap she told you in the bathroom was a lie."

"I think I knew that." Sergei wouldn't do that to me. At the time, I was hurting because of his distance. It made it easier to believe Victoria.

"But you're still going to stay away from him?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"Krista." I lean toward her. "I agreed to stay married to him for a full year so he can keep the inheritance, and I'm going to do that. But I can't play wife with him anymore." I swallow back the sadness balling up in my throat. "It hurts too much."

She frowns, reaches across the table, and squeezes my hand. "Talk with him."

"Why? I already know his heart. He's not capable of what I want, what I deserve." I pull back from her grasp. "I deserve the kind of love my parents had."

"You could be wrong about him," she warns.

"No." I shake my head. "So. I'll live in the guest wing, get this job, go to school, and when the year is up. I'll move out and move on with my life. I'll probably have to play the wife for some benefits and dinners. I can do that, but I can't do the rest. I just can't."

My phone dings from my purse.

"My alarm." I smile. "I don't want to be late. I need to get going."

She nods her understanding. "Call me tonight and let me know how it went."

"I will." I walk around the table and give her a tight hug before I leave.

One of Sergei's men opens the door of the coffee shop when I approach it.

"Thanks, Maxim." I smile at him and slip my sunglasses on. The summer heat rolls up from the sidewalk and slides up my legs.

After I climb in the car, I pull up the email with the address and read it to him.

"Of course," he says, punching the address into his GPS and turning up the AC.

I lean back against my leather seat and watch the traffic as he maneuvers through it.

"Mr. Petrov would like to meet you for a late lunch after your appointment," he says, glancing at me in the rearview.

"No." I shake my head. "Home afterward."

His jaw tightens. "He's not going to like that answer."

I lock eyes with him in the mirror. "That's not really my problem anymore, Maxim."

I hope he doesn't like it.

I hope he hates it.

If I can't feel his love, fine, I'll take his hate.

At least it's something other than this emptiness inside of me.