“All these years I thought you were dead . . . ,” Arya mumbled, still trying to piece it all together. She shook her head. “That’s why I didn’t recognize you. That was the only reason why I didn’t think you were you. Because I’d convinced myself not to believe. Not to hope.”
And I’d foolishly held it against her. Each time we’d watched one another. Assessed. Caressed. Kissed. I’d always told myself she deserved the hell I gave her, because she couldn’t even recognize the boy who’d been wildly in love with her. Who’d been willing to give up the world for her and, in some ways, had.
“I spent all of yesterday trying to untangle one feeling from the other, and I still can’t.” Arya rubbed at her forehead.
“Let me help,” I offered. I had no right asking her for anything, but especially her trust.
“That’s the thing.” She frowned, practical as ever. No tears or empty threats from this woman. “I don’t trust you with a piece of toast anymore, let alone my life, my decisions, my feelings. I absolutely loathe you, Nicky, with every piece of my soul. All this time, all this yearning . . . I ached for you for over a decade. We were Cecilia and Robbie.”
I had no idea who she was talking about, having never met a Cecilia and only one Robbie, who happened to be a tax lawyer from Staten Island. But I wanted to throttle both these people for butting into my relationship.
Arya rubbed her cheek, getting over her own mental slap. “All the things that made you dazzling and untouchable disappeared yesterday when I saw the picture of us canoodling on that website.”
“It wasn’t me.” I stepped forward yet again, daring to smooth one of her flyaways behind her ear. She swatted my hand away. That hurt more than the slap. More than that day Headmaster Plath had sent those boys to kill me. “It was Claire. Claire was the one who sent us the limo that day when I made you the promise. She tipped off the press.”
“Canoodling,” Arya stressed, her eyes widening. “They used that word.”
I shook my head. “Coincidence. I would never do that to you, Ari. Ever.”
“You’re wrong.” Arya stepped back, her eyes filled with tears again. I wanted them to fall. For her to break. To stop being so goddamn stubborn and better than me all the time. Because deep down, that was how I’d always felt. Unworthy of her time, smiles, and existence. “You already did. You said you wouldn’t betray me.” A sad smile tugged at her lips. “You lied.”
“I was planning to tell you,” I said.
“When?”
“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers through my hair, yanking at it. “After the trial? Once I was sure you fell for me? Who knows? I was worried you’d dump me because Nicky wasn’t good enough.”
Of course, if I told her I loved her now, she’d never believe me. My professional ass was on the line. She was one call away from ruining my career, and we both knew it. Declaring my feelings for her would feel calculated, cunning, and—above all—humiliating to her. Not to mention I didn’t want to start a relationship with her thinking I was chained to her because I had something to lose. Not that I didn’t. But she was that something. Not my job.
Arya shook her head. “Nicky was always good enough. It’s Christian I don’t trust.”
“Then let me change that.” I raised an eyebrow. “There’s more I can give you. A lot more. And all you have to give me in return is one thing.”
“What is that?”
“A chance.”
“Why Christian?” The look in her eyes was chilling as she changed the subject. “Why Miller?”
“I changed my name legally before I attended my first semester at Harvard. I didn’t want your father to find me. Knew he was going to keep an eye on me. Nicholai Ivanov didn’t apply to any universities. He bought a one-way ticket to Canada and ran away. After all, as soon as we turned eighteen, all bets were off, and he knew you could look for me and that I could look for you.”
Her teeth sank into her lip. She understood. After all, she had looked for me through her father’s private investigator. And the only thing stopping me from looking for her had been the knowledge I had nothing to offer her.
“I needed to disappear. So I chose one of the most common last names in America—Miller—and Christian, which is widely one of the most popular names in the English language and also brought to mind the rebirthing, the christening of another identity. Basically, I did all I could to ensure your father never found me. The day Nicholai disappeared across the border, a John Doe was born.”
She shook her head, stepping toward the entrance door. She was about to leave. I couldn’t let her. Not because she could get me disbarred, or because my partnership was on the line. But because I was not ready to say goodbye. Not to her. Not at fourteen, and not at thirty-two.
“Arya, wait.”
She turned around again to face me. “You know, Nicky, the first thing I did when I found out who you were was tell Jillian. It was stronger than me. My vindictiveness took over me. I needed to feel . . . reckless.” She drew in her breath. “But I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell my parents about you. Aim to where it would hurt you the most. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Isn’t that sad? That I hate my father almost as much as I hate you? And love you both too. I guess my love will always be dipped in hate, making every important relationship in my life bittersweet. But I want you to know I’m well aware of the control I have over you, and don’t think for one second I won’t use it. If you get anywhere near me, for any reason whatsoever, I am going to make sure Judge Lopez and the partners at your firm know about your connection with the Roth family. As well as the NY State Bar Association. So make sure you stay the hell away from me, because all it’d take is one call, one text, one unwarranted visit, for me to ruin your life. And believe me, Christian, I will ruin your life without so much as a blink.”
She wasn’t going to say anything.