I frown, unsure how to process that. So I decide to put it aside for later. After this ordeal is over—if it ever ends, that is—I’m going to need a shit load of therapy.
“I heard part of your conversation earlier,” I tell him. “I heard that Maxim’s been trying to contact Isaak.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
He looks calm, completely unrattled, but I sense something change. He doesn’t stiffen or anything, but somehow I know he’s not going to bend on this topic.
That doesn’t stop me from trying, though.
“What did he say?”
He shakes his head and gives me a knowing smile. “Oh no. I’m not saying a word.”
“Because of Isaak?”
“Because of me,” he corrects. “I like you, Camila. But I’m loyal to my brother.”
“If you hadn’t told me that awful story, I’d have judged you for that,” I admit to him.
He laughs. “Fair enough.”
“As it stands though, I get it. He deserves your loyalty.”
Bogdan gets to his feet and heads towards the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses at the threshold. “You can hate me for saying this but… he deserves yours, too.”
“That’s a two-way street.”
“Hey, no arguments here.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that there’s no point explaining my perspective or my circumstances to Bogdan. As he’s stated already, he’s always going to be on Team Isaak.
And I can’t blame him.
But despite how compelling Bogdan’s argument is, I can’t get caught up in it. Because I have my own interests to protect. I have a daughter I need to think of.
“Thanks for the talk, Bogdan.”
He gives me a smile that looks eerily similar to Isaak’s. “Back atcha, sis.”
My own grin twists into a frown. “Don’t call me that.”
With a laugh, he leaves the bathroom and clicks the door closed behind him. Letting out a sigh of frustration, I finally force myself out of the bathtub and start to peel my clothes off.
I’m in no mood for anything other than bed, so the moment I’m toweled off, I change into sweats and a clean t-shirt and pad into the bedroom.
I head to the armchair by the window and settle down in it. There’s a whole pile of books on the center table, but I ignore them all. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like reading. Maybe because my life has somehow turned into a horror movie.
Instead, I sit in the armchair, staring out the window as I think of my daughter. I’ve spent next to no time with her in the five years since she was born.
And yet, I have never felt like anything other than her mother. Because only maternal love could have sustained me through this time in the desert. Only maternal love could have led me to make the decision to keep her away from the madness of my life.
If I’d kept her with me, she would have been as much a pawn as I am now.
I’m starting to realize that despite my aspirations, I’m not Jo March after all. I never was. But maybe she can be—because of what I’ve sacrificed to give her.
A life of freedom, unbound by the hold of men who would use her to gain the upper hand.
I’m deep in the memory of the day she was born when the door opens and Isaak walks in. When I look at him, I see her beautiful eyes. It strikes me like a spear through the heart.
He closes the door and walks over to the window. Then he takes the empty armchair opposite me. He looks calmer now, but no less determined. No less in control.
Was he ever really that ten-year-old boy who stepped in front of Bogdan against his bully of a father? All I can see now is a man. But then again, his actions then were the actions of a man.
“Here,” Isaak says, handing me a piece of paper.
I frown. “What is this?”
“You wanted to know what Maxim said,” Isaak tells me. “There it is. In his own hand.”
I take the letter and open it up. There’s a blocky paragraph in the very center of the page. The writing is familiar, but I don’t feel any kind of emotion when I look at Maxim’s handwriting.
I read the letter once.
Then I read it again.
On the third read, I realize my hands are trembling. I fold it up and hand it back to Isaak. He’s been watching me carefully this whole time, reading every twitch on my face and making his assumptions.
“Are you going to convince me that everything he said in that letter is a lie?” I ask.
“What I think is immaterial,” Isaak says with a nonchalant shrug. “What do you think?”
What do I think? It’s a damn good question. If anyone out there knows the answer, I’m all ears. Because right now, I’m so lost in the never-ending deception and lies that I can’t figure out what’s real and what’s not.
The letter was certainly compelling. It sounded sincere. But of course, he would know how to play me. He had time to practice.
“Why did you let me read it?” I ask.
“Because you wanted to know what he said.”
I take a deep breath and try to come to terms with what I’m feeling. What am I feeling right now? It’s heavy and uncomfortable and it nags and scratches and claws at my mind like a parasite that won’t subside.
And then it hits me.
Guilt.
That’s what I’m feeling.
Because if what Maxim wrote in that letter is true, then our relationship was legitimate to him. Maybe it didn’t start out that way, but that’s certainly where it ended.
And I’ve been sleeping with Isaak this whole time. While he’s trying to find ways to get me back, I’ve been fucking his cousin.
Maxim has betrayed me, too. But the fact is, that I betrayed him first.
Every time I fantasized about Isaak while he was making love to me.
Every time he did or said something sweet, and I wished that it was Isaak saying and doing those things for me.
Every time I looked at him and imagined a different man in his place.
Those were all betrayals. Maybe they were justified now. But I didn’t know the truth then, and I did it anyway.
“Camila.”
I jerk up and meet his eyes. The very same eyes that convinced me that cheating on my fiancé was justified because he didn’t deserve my loyalty.
“You made me believe he didn’t care for me.”
Isaak’s expression is flawlessly impassive. “Is that what you believe?”
“You told me he was using me.”
“And he was.”
“But… it is possible that he fell for me,” I say, glancing at the letter I’d handed back to him. “He was honest in that letter. He admitted that he sought me out for all the wrong reasons, but…”
“He fell in love with you?” Isaak scoffs. His tone carries a biting sting that I cringe away from instinctively. “His love for you outweighs his ambition?”
“Is it so hard to believe that he’s capable of love?” I ask softly.
I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. Because if it’s so out of the realm of possibility that Maxim could have fallen for me… then does the same hold true for Isaak?
He looks me in the eye. “I know the man.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s not capable of love.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you capable of love, Isaak?”
His eyes flash violently. For a moment, the air in the room seems to evaporate.
Then, in a low growl, he says, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
41
Isaak