Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife Book 1) Page 16

  “I shouldn’t have let you leave.” She pulls back so I can see her face.

  I wipe her soft cheeks and push forward a smile despite how my heart hurts.

  “I was so blind about Dimitri,” she says, her voice quiet. “You tried to warn me. Why didn’t you tell me who he was to you? I never would have agreed to marry him if I knew he was your ex.”

  “I’m sorry.” I truly am. I can see how much I have treated her as a child until now. She can handle more than I thought. “I should have told you.”

  “Best friends don’t keep secrets, Leni.”

  My chest squeezes, tears rim my eyes. I nod, suitably chastised. “You’re not mad at me?”

  She sniffs, forcing a smile. “I am. But we’re best friends. Sisters. We forgive each other.” I tug her into another hug, relishing the warmth of her. I don’t think I could bear it if I lost her. “Whatever happens,” she says into my hair, “we’ll be together, right?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as my heat grows heavier.

  She doesn’t know about the contract Dimitri offered me.

  58

  ____________

  Alena

  “Have you signed the contract yet?” Dimitri strides into my bedroom the next morning without knocking.

  I turn from the window, where I’ve been trying to capture this view in my mind, and face him. Beautiful Dimitri. Standing firm and unmoving, confidence and assuredness rolling off him. He looks as comfortable here as his own home. It is his home now. He is the master here.

  I avoided him all last night, choosing to eat dinner alone in my room. I needed time to think. Now, I know my mind. I know my heart and I know my soul. Perhaps for the first time in my life.

  I fold my hands in front of me. “I loved you more than anything, Dimitri. I made a mistake five years ago, running away from our argument. But you are the one who gave up on me.”

  “I heard you, Alena,” he bursts out. “‘He’s nothing but a thief and a simpleton. He’s never going to be anything more.’” My blood frosts over as my old shameful words fill the room. He heard me spilling my raw, unfettered hurts to Natassia. “And my favourite,” Dimitri continues, “‘It would kill me to marry Dimitri.’ Well, I showed you, didn’t I?”

  That’s why he left St Petersburg. That’s why he left me.

  I almost laugh. Look at what we’ve done to each other. Just because we were both so rash, so wild, so…thoughtless five years ago. All this because of a tragic twist of fate.

  “Oh, Dimitri,” I say softly. “You only heard the half of it. I realised as soon as I said them that my words were lies. I turned back for you. I came back to you but you were gone. I didn’t leave you. You left me.”

  “Lies!” He strides up to me, his hands in fists, his face turning red. “Stop trying to make this my fault. You did this.”

  Even now he won’t see. He can’t.

  He’s spent so long blaming me it has become like his shadow. Like the ground underneath his feet.

  My body swells with pity, pushing out any residual anger. I cannot hate him even after all that he’s done. I cannot hate him like he hates me. Hate feels like a dagger aimed out. It is really the poison coating the handle, soaking through your skin and into your blood.

  “I waited for you for five years,” I say, my voice calm despite the raging of my heart in my chest. “Now I know…the man I love is dead.” My voice struggles around the knot in my throat. “I don’t know who you are.”

  I lost my Dimitri long, long ago. I paid for that mistake.

  If I marry this Dimitri, if I sign a contract binding me to the stranger standing before me, I will pay for that mistake forever.

  I square my shoulders, my soul filling with steely resolve, and pick up a small bag from my side. I arrived at this manor with nothing but a lifetime’s worth of guilt and regret. I will leave with a single bag and something much more important than material goods.

  Dimitri’s eyes drop to the bag in my hand. I see the moment when he realises what I’m doing. The anger shatters on his face, his hatred abandons him, revealing the scared little boy underneath. “No.”

  “Goodbye, Dimitri.” My voice cracks on his name as I begin to walk, despite my feet feeling like lead. Despite my heart breaking.

  For the last time in my life, I leave him.

  59

  ____________

  Dimitri

  She’s bluffing.

  This is a way to get me to negotiate terms in our marriage contract. Clever girl. It’s what I would have done. Even as Alena passes me, I remain stoic, my mind a fuzzy whirr.

  The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone in her bedroom. The scent of her sweet almonds and vanilla lingers like a ghost.

  I don’t know how long I stand there. Staring at the door. Waiting for her to come back in.

  Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

  “Goodbye, Dimitri.” Her voice cracks, the anguish leaking from her words…

  …is real.

  She left.

  Something snaps inside me. The part of me that she hadn’t broken now shatters. Now everything that is whole is a cruel mockery. My hand reaches for the closest object. It smashes against the wall in a shower of ceramic before I realise it was a vase. The table is next. I barely feel the weight of the solid wood as I slam it into the floor, pieces snapping off, splinters digging into my palms.

  She said she wouldn’t leave me again. She lied.

  I throw the record player across the room and smash the vinyl record, our only record, on the floor. That song, our song, was just a lie. Every word from her mouth, a lie.

  Nothing is safe from my violent limbs. I break. I smash. I destroy everything I can grab, everything not tied down.

  She made me want her again. Devil woman. She made me want her then she threw me aside when she was no longer interested, playing with me like a fucking toy.

  The photos of us—of her, of me, of us—set in frames over the rickety mantel get knocked over with one violent sweep. I can’t stand the sight of her smiling at me. The smashing of glass echoes inside my soul.

  I tear the sheets off her bed, kicking the mattress at the same time. The bed scrapes across the floor, pillows flying across the room. I tear and tear, feathers scattering from me, every violent rip echoing the sound of my heart in her hands.

  I rip open the box containing her birthday present. What a fool I was to think she loved me like I loved her.

  I spy the edge of a box under the bed. Something she kept hidden. Something she left behind. I want to rip out her darkest secrets and watch them burn.

  I snatch it out and fumble with the lock, my fingers jerking with agitation. It’s fucking locked.

  No key.

  Where’s the key?

  Fuck the key.

  I stride over to the marble side table and smash the lock against the corner until it yields.

  I shake the box open. The contents tumble out onto the table.

  The slip of torn white lace. The shard of vinyl. And a photo of me.

  Pieces of the apartment I destroyed in St Petersburg.

  Truth spears my heart with cold accuracy. I stumble back from the broken ghosts of my past. She was telling the truth. She did come back all those years ago.

  Just because she came back, it doesn’t mean anything. Remember what she said. Remember she chose him.

  All strength drains out of my body. I collapse to my knees, heaving in breath. I can’t seem to muster any more anger.

  60

  ____________

  Alena

  When I step out the front door of Worthington Manor, Emily and Edgar are standing there clinging to each other. Edgar is so pale and shaky that I think it’s Emily who is holding him up.

  The car is waiting for us, Percy standing by the open trunk. “I’m sorry, Miss Alena,” Percy says to me, his voice low.

  “Me too, Percy.”

  He takes the duffle from my shoulder and places it in the trunk. “The
new master has allowed me to drop you off somewhere. Where would you like to go?”

  He’s asking me? “I…”

  I turn towards Emily and Edgar. They’re both staring at me as if they’re waiting for me to say something. They’re looking to me to figure something out. Me.

  Right. I fold my sadness away, like I’m so good at doing. I will deal with it properly when I have a moment. Not now. My family needs me now.

  I clear my throat. “I know where to go.”

  61

  ____________

  Alena

  “Thank you, Richard,” I tell him again. He is letting Emily, Edgar and me stay in the tiny gardener’s cottage on the school grounds in exchange for doing some work about the place. Just until I find a proper job. Just until we can get on our feet again.

  Richard nods and pulls me in for a quick hug. “I can’t believe what Mr Wolf did. He seemed to have such a good heart.”

  “He does.” I pause. “He’s too sick with anger and revenge that it can’t shine through.”

  “I hope he realises soon what he’s done.”

  I don’t tell him that I think it’s too late.

  Richard glances over my shoulder. “Will they be okay?” he asks in a low voice.

  I glance back. Edgar is sitting slumped in a sofa, a bottle of cheap wine in his hand. The only movement he makes is to drag the bottle up to his lips and gulp. He doesn’t even bother to wipe off the drops of wine that dribble over his chin and onto his expensive herringbone shirt, his tailored jacket now flung across the back of the chair.

  In this tiny cottage there’s only one bedroom with a small double bed which Emily and I share. Edgar will have to sleep on the couch for the first time in his life.

  Emily has stumbled out into the back garden like a zombie. She’s left the back door open and a slight breeze chills the inside. She’s never had to worry about closing doors to keep the heat in before.

  I’ve been dirt poor before. I’ll survive. But Emily and Edgar? Both of them have only known comfort and riches. Neither of them has ever had to want for anything.

  I turn back to Richard. “They’ll be okay,” I lie, forcing a smile.

  After he leaves, I walk quietly over to Edgar. He’s nearly passed out now, his eyelids droopy. I tug the near-empty wine bottle from him. He grunts and mumbles something. I hope this will not become a habit of his. I hope for his sake. And for Emily’s.

  After I dispose of the bottle, I walk out into the garden and sit next to Emily on the wrought-iron bench positioned in a small patch of sun.

  “What happens now?” she asks, her voice empty and hollow. It hurts me to hear her voice like this.

  “I get a job, then a proper place to live. Life doesn’t end when you stop having money.”

  She stiffens. “I see. What happens to me?”

  I blink at her. Emily’s mouth is pressed in a thin line. Her hands are fists in her skirts and she’s glaring at the overgrown grass.

  “What do you mean, what happens to you?”

  A tear rolls down her cheek. “I knew you would leave me. I knew it.”

  “Emily, what are you talking about?”

  “Now that Papa doesn’t have all his money you have no reason to stay.”

  “Emily, I’m not leaving you,” I say, horrified.

  “I know about your contract with my father,” she blurts out. “You were going to leave him when you had a baby and got his money. I’m not stupid.”

  My stomach stabs. Emily did know after all. She did know and she never said.

  She never said.

  I never told her.

  “Emily,” I grasp her hands, “you are my family. I would never leave you. If you want, you can come live with me once I get on my feet. You’re an adult now. Your father can’t stop you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “When I got the money for the baby, I was going to ask you to come with me. You, me and the baby.”

  Emily’s face snaps to mine, her eyes wide, her mouth parted. “You…” Her eyes fill with water, which turns into fat tears that roll down her cheeks.

  I brush those tears aside with my thumbs. “What did you say earlier to me? We’re best friends. Sisters. We will always love each other, no matter what.”

  She flings herself into my arms and I hold her close.

  For the first time in the last five years, I feel like I’ve done something right. Even though it hurts, I am taking my life into my own hands. With every breath, my strength grows.

  62

  ____________

  Dimitri

  A few days later…

  In the manor, I walk like a ghost through the rooms, as stark and empty as my soul. Mrs Bates resigned. Not sure where she is now. I told the remaining staff to take a holiday, paid them to leave me in my despair.

  The dust is settling on all the old-fashioned tables and cabinets that are not at all to my tastes. The wallpaper is too damn fussy. I could redo all these rooms. Get them all upgraded, all styled in my own way.

  Then what?

  They’ll still be as soulless as they are now.

  For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. There is nothing to aim for. I have no goal, no burning ambition. Without Alena to strive for, to fight for, to live for, what do I do now?

  I stumble into a small room I’ve never been in before. Heavy wooden bookcases adorn the walls, filled with books, so many books. There’s a desk facing the window overlooking the moors, a comfortable chair seated behind it.

  It’s Alena’s study. I know it’s Alena’s because the scent of her perfume hangs in the air. I know because it’s the office she always wanted.

  A proper wooden desk.

  Stacks of paper with lines.

  And pens. Lots of pens.

  It’s her office.

  I lower myself into the chair that she used to sit in, run my fingers across the desk. I close my eyes and let myself imagine her here, writing away.

  I open my eyes. There are pages of lines written in pen scattered across the desk, more balled up in the wastebasket. I shouldn’t look through her things. It feels so private. But it makes me feel closer to her. Now that I’ve destroyed any hope of happiness with her, it’s as close to her as I can ever hope to get. I slide open each drawer, looking, seeking, like a hungry child, for a glimpse of her.

  I find a stack of papers, a page on the front titled Beautiful Revenge.

  Is this…a manuscript?

  I pull it out, placing it on my lap as if it contains the secrets to the heavenly kingdom. I turn over the first page and begin to read.

  It’s a love story. The story of Dante and Ana.

  I swallow back the rising ache as I read over scenes that are too familiar to me. This is our story. Alena’s and mine.

  Dante and Ana.

  Dimitri and Alena.

  I keep reading, half mad, half possessed, desperate to relive our lives again, even though I know how this tragedy ends.

  My fingers crinkle the edge of the page as I dive into the moment that changed everything…

  “I have to accept the Englishman,” I say to Natassia, the GW’s dark-haired receptionist. Even as I say these words, my voice sounds hollow. I squeeze my eyes shut. Every time I do, I see Dante on his knees in front of me. I remember my cold words to him. They spear me through my heart. I snap my eyes open and focus on Natassia’s face, her lovely features drawn into a look of concern.

  She and I are sitting on a wrought-iron bench in the courtyard of Isabelle’s agency, so the girls inside can’t hear us. She is the only one here who knows the truth about Dante. That he’s not my brother. She’s promised not to tell. I don’t trust her, exactly. I don’t know her. But I had to talk to someone. I just have to hope that she keeps her word.

  “What I wouldn’t give to leave this horrible place,” I spit out. “What I wouldn’t give to have a better life.” I just want to know what it’s like to be warm and fed and happy. I want to
know what it means not to have to worry all the time. Is that too much to ask for? Bitter frustration bubbles up within my well of hurt. “If Dante can’t see that…he can stay here and rot, see if I care.”

  Anguish surges through me again as I relive this painful moment. You said you came back, Alena. Here is proof that you threw me aside.

  Wait…there’s more.

  A sharp wind blows. The creak of the front gate sounds out of the passageway. Natassia slides a hand onto my shoulder. She has been so kind to me since I first came here. “If that’s how you truly feel, then go and make your slice of Heaven with the Englishman.”

  I remember Dante’s face as he called me a whore. He will never agree to this arrangement. I know him, once he forms an opinion, he won’t let it go. My chest wells up with such a sharp emotion that I stop breathing for a second. “Why does Heaven seem to cost so much?” I ask, barely a whisper.

  It costs me…Dante.

  I have to give him up.

  The thought slashes through me, a lightning strike trying to cleave my soul in two. It illuminates our past, our history, the very intertwining weave of our two lives. There’s no joy that Dante and I both don’t share. No pain that we don’t live through together. A realisation strikes me with such force I double over, sucking in air.

  Dante and I are two parts of the one soul.

  He is my soul.

  How can a full belly be satisfying if my soul is left hungry? How can I truly be warm if my heart is left cold? What sapphires could please me more than Dante’s eyes? What symphony as rich as his laughter? What finest silk could compare to being wrapped up in his arms? All the world could crumble and wither into ash, but if he were still alive, I’d still be happy.

  Suddenly the rain and mist inside me clears. Everything is clear and fresh, like the first day of spring.

  I look up from my hands, twisted together in my lap. Natassia is frowning at me, asking if I’m okay.