Page 16 of Beautiful Forever
He’s acting like what just happened wasn’t all sorts of fucked up.
Irritated with his blasé attitude, I knock his arm off. “Why do you have a gun?”
“Why wouldn’t I have a gun?”
“Because we’re thirteen, and it’s not normal.”
His loud bark of laughter reverberates between the walls. “I disagree.”
Given how we were raised, he has a valid point. But still.
“Stop being pestiferous.”
He presses the down button, and the elevator doors swoosh open almost immediately. “Stop using words you know full well I don’t know.”
“It means annoying.” As soon as we’re inside, I slump against the wood-paneled wall. “They took her away,” I tell him, my heartbreak and my pain spilling out of me. They took my sunshine. Aoife’s gone, and I don’t know where she is.
Aleksei considers me for a moment as the elevator starts moving. “That was a really stupid thing to do, telling him about?—”
I rest the back of my head against the wall with athunk. “I know! It just came out.”
He and Pyotr are the only people I’ve told. My circle of trust is small, and it’s not a circle. It’s a triangle. Him, Pyotr, and Mama.
“He’s not going to let you have her.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He sighs. Loudly. “Why are you so fixated on her?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Didn’t you just point out that we were thirteen? Isn’t it a little early to think about marriage and forever and all that shit?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Aleksei sidles up next to me, bumps my shoulder. “I’m never getting married. Look at our parents. They hate each other.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Is she worth it?”
My head whips around. “Aoife is worth everything,” I reply with zero hesitation.
Roughing a hand over his face, he sighs again. “Helen of Troy and the Trojan War. You know that Paris dies at the end, right?”
“I’m not Paris.”
“No, you’re not.” He raps two fingers against my forehead. “You’re smarter. So be smart about this. And whatever you do, you know I’ll have your back.”
The drive to the house is spent in complete silence, something I appreciate because it gives my mind time to decompress. When I’m overwhelmed or overstimulated, it’s difficult to find balance again. For the last hour, I’ve been staring out the window and counting backward from ten, over and over.
“Hey, we’re home,” Aleksei whispers, pulling me out of my meditation.
I steal a glance at Father’s harsh profile as our driver pulls the car up to the door. I don’t bother waiting for him or Aleksei before getting out and heading inside the house.
“Good evening, sir,” Charles, our butler, greets me as soon as I step across the threshold.
“Is Mama asleep?”
