I walk slowly behind the man. The nervous tension drains all my strength. Is he going to scold me in front of my sister? To reproach? To say I should have cleaned up?
The girl is in the living room. She's sitting on the sofa, looking at something on her smartphone. Vlad calls her by name:
— Milana!
I immediately recall how I heard their conversation. It turns out Vlad was talking to his sister then, not someone from work or an acquaintance.
She tears her gaze away from the phone and looks at us. Irritation is evident in her blue eyes; she raises her eyebrows questioningly:
— What? — she asks sharply.
— Not what, Milana. Your behavior is pushing me to bad thoughts. Bad for you, — he clarifies. — Meet, — he takes my hand, — this is my fiancée — Yuliana Dika.
Vlad's tone screams that one wrong word and an explosion will happen. I remain silent, focusing on his touch, on the pleasant sensations as his fingers sink into the strength of his hands.
— I already figured that out, — she grimaces. — And why do you need a fiancée?
The saint sighs. He somehow seems weary. Or maybe I’m just imagining?
— Doesn’t life teach you to choose your words? — he asks firmly, with hints of anger evident.
Milana isn't afraid of her brother. Her brazen behavior, the full awareness that she won’t be offended no matter what she says. I see it immediately; if it were my father starting a conversation in that tone, I would have already pressed myself against the back of the sofa and agreed to all his wishes.
— Very nice to meet you, — she snorts and looks at me. — Where is Timur? I can’t reach him. — she changes the subject, shifting her gaze to her brother. Stubborn and angry.
I slowly pull my hand from Vlad's and try to go to my room. The introduction with Milana erases all the joy from last night, so I don't want my mood to vanish completely. The desire to paint something whispers — go now. Let them deal with it themselves, despite how incredibly curious I am to find out if the girl is talking about Timur Kind.
So I slowly step toward the door of the room, eavesdropping on their continued conversation:
— He’s busy.
— My brothers can at least not ignore calls when their little sister needs them? If you had answered, I wouldn’t have come! And that means I wouldn’t have met your whore, or whatever she is! And don’t give me that look!
I don’t know how I manage to suppress a shocked loud exhale. I don’t know what’s more surprising, her tone or... I don’t know if she’ll face consequences for this. But as soon as I lock the bedroom door, I allow myself to laugh nervously. Because I can't contain the shock from the news. Brothers... Brothers? They are brothers and sister? But... But Timur has the surname Kind? I don’t understand anything. What's happening?
I sit down at the easel. I place one of the clean canvases in front of me and can’t help but laugh, somewhat hysterically, clearly unhealthy. I grip the pencil with my fingers. I try to touch the canvas with the lead, but nothing comes of it. My mind fixes on one thought: brothers, brothers, brothers. Brothers!
A piece of the puzzle falls into place, and now I can look at the picture and see more than before. There are two brothers and a sister. One of them meets me at an art exhibition; the other proposes to my father to become his fiancée. In the end, the cards get shuffled, and I become the fiancée of the first, conditionally of course. But two are entangled, obviously. Vlad and Timur — two players on the same field and on one side. Milana... She’s with them? Probably not. She doesn’t know about their plans, whatever they may be and whatever goals they pursue. She’s a pawn or even an extra thread in this story. Add me — a doll in the hands of men, — the desire for freedom and a normal life for the brother and mother... What do I gain?
A game. A game between my father, Timur, and Vlad. A game where the Saint is that mysterious player who acts behind his brother's back and controls everything. I see no other options.
But questions remain. Many. Why all this? What’s the goal? Why do they need me for its realization? Doesn’t my father care about my fate? How do they plan to use me?
At least, it's now clear why Vlad said he couldn’t promise anything. He was honest. He openly stated that it doesn’t matter if there will be anything between us, as it’s just a game for him. A web that needs to be woven to get the desired pattern. My "And yet..." is merely a pleasant bonus, so it turns out? Or..., or not?
No one forced Vlad to give me the opportunity to live. No one ordered him to help with the academy, to uncover my talent. He wasn’t obliged to help me learn to paint. To fight fears. To hug during thunderstorms… All of this was him.
The bedroom door swings open abruptly. I flinch at the familiar sound. I turn around. Vlad is in the doorway, his blue eyes piercing into me, his expression cold and indifferent. Behind him looms the offended Milana.
— Get ready.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I want to ask why? But the man’s demeanor screams that it's better to remain silent. I nod and stand up from the chair. The Saint immediately locks the door, leaving me alone.
While getting ready, my nerves are on edge. A sea of questions. Has something happened? Has the conversation between brother and sister reached the point of me being kicked out?
Dressed in a long red dress, I leave the bedroom for the living room and immediately notice that Milana is gone. Did she leave after getting what she wanted? Or did Vlad send her away, so she wouldn’t get annoyed by looking at me?
He throws out a dry, “Let’s go,” and strides down the hallway. I follow him. The man grabs the keys, and we descend silently into the underground parking lot. As I approach the matte Audi, I unconsciously and cautiously run my fingers across its surface. I don’t know why, I just succumb to some strange desire. To my surprise — it’s smooth. Somewhat rough, but pleasant to the touch.
Am I sitting in this car for the last time? Who knows what he has in mind… It’s scary to ask, as the answer could be anything.
— Get in, Yuliana, — the Saint’s firm voice makes me obediently comply. Because it truly is him, despite the tone that cuts the ear.
We drive out of the parking lot into the blazing sun. The air conditioning is working in the car, but I lower the window and inhale the fresh daytime air with delight, catching the rays with my fingertips.
— Where are we going? — I finally dare to ask.
It seems that everything should have changed after our night. It was important for me. Very. Even though everything isn’t rosy and without promises of eternal love, I could never expect something like that. Not with a father who has long wanted to give me to someone beneficial to him and said that a woman should satisfy a man in bed, remain silent, and smile. That’s it. So... yes, this night is important for me.
To give to a man who captivates all my attention, who I like to the trembling of my heart, ignites, and only he exists in my thoughts, my virtue — happiness.
But after today, after meeting Milana and that damned cup, everything could change, right? The shards on the floor could destroy everything: hopes, freedom, dreams?
— To Timur.
I’m struck dumb by shock and words. Has he decided not to irritate his sister and is therefore taking me to his brother? Or...? I don’t understand anything.
— Why? — I ask in surprise.
— There are matters that need to be agreed upon. Now.
— Do you need me for that? — I still can’t comprehend. Fear, as always, my damned eternal companion in life, tightens my throat.
— Vladimir Dyky is waiting for Timur and his fiancée, Yuliana.
I fall silent. Not the cup... She isn’t the reason. Well, logically. My father gave me to Kind, not to the Saint, though I’m not sure if that is his real surname. Still, I don’t dare to ask Vlad, even though I want to. I heard they were brothers; he probably knows about it. So, what’s the point?
An hour later, the car stops next to one of the houses in a private sector. The Saint quickly gets out, and I follow. I feel he doesn’t like this meeting, but I can’t grasp why — my nerves are on edge, at least mine.
I don't even have time to look at Timur's house; the man nearly pulls me inside and leads me down a dark hallway somewhere ahead. Timur greets us at the office door.
— Are the demons chasing you? — Kind raises his eyebrows and scans Vlad with his grey-blue gaze.
— You said it was urgent.
— Hello, Yuliana, — he smiles warmly at me.
I realize I haven’t even greeted him. I muster a smile in return:
— Hello.
— Come in. Was Milana with you? — Timur goes into the office first.
At least I get a chance to look at him: dark graphite walls, grey floor, black-brown furniture. Everything is stylish, concise, and absolutely not like the Saint’s.
— She was, — Vlad leads us to the little sofa and sits first. I’m pulled along, not allowing me to move even a few centimeters away.
— And? — Timur grabs a chair, sitting opposite us.
— Everything’s fine. Almost. Whole.
I don’t understand what they’re talking about. Whole? Could their sister have been harmed?
— Yuliana, — the man addresses me. I had almost forgotten what he was like, to be honest. I forgot he exudes calmness, boundless confidence, and something mystical. — We need to meet with your father. He is waiting for our official marriage contract.
I’m baffled. A contract? A marriage one?
— He said I just needed to... live with you. Temporarily. The engagement isn’t real.
— Vladimir thinks differently. Didn’t he call you?
As if the world is mocking me, my phone starts playing a familiar tune. I pull it out of my bag and look at the screen — it's Dad.
— Answer, — Vlad requests. — Turn on the speaker.
I follow his instructions. I press to answer and switch on the speaker.
— Today, — the Wild One starts without greeting, — you’ll come to me with Timur. — I hope you did what I asked? He must be like dough.
The brothers exchange glances. I don’t know what to respond. None of them resembles dough. You can’t mold from either what you want.
— Dad, I... — I say weakly.
— You will officially sign a marriage contract with him. — he continues as if he doesn’t hear. — Beneficial for us.
— Why? — I quietly ask. — You talked about a fictitious...
— Not your business! — he interrupts. — You don’t have enough brains to meddle in such matters! Timur knows when and where to be!
I instantly turn red. It gets hot as if someone has lit a bonfire nearby. Vlad’s hand immediately rests on mine. He takes the phone and places it on the sofa between us. I don’t know how he notices the slight tremor of my hands, but the Saint squeezes my fingers with his. He draws my attention to himself and makes me look into his eyes. In the blue darkness, I drown. Without doubts or fears. Gradually, my breathing steadies. The heat fades from my cheeks. Vlad nods, and I respond:
— Alright.
— And, Yuliana! — my father continues harshly. — God forbid you don’t manage! Don’t let it come to that, do you understand, daughter?!
I can’t respond. Too many different emotions have piled onto me. Too many feelings, fears, panicked thoughts. In my mind, an understanding flashes that now living with Vlad won’t work. Nothing will work at all. I will be left with only a broken heart of a fool who never hoped for closeness with someone like the Saint.
My father knows I will remain silent, so without bidding farewell, he hangs up. He doesn’t ask how I am, doesn’t inquire if I like Timur, or if I wish to be more than just his fiancée, but his wife. He doesn’t care about anything except himself and his own, incomprehensible to me, goal.