Milana
Softly, yet distinctly, the words echo in my consciousness like a cannon shot, and my heart beats rapidly. My breath, in unison with my heart, quickens and becomes irregular. It feels like I catastrophically lack air. And in my head, the persistent thought spins: "He didn't lose his memory, he remembers everything," then a biting voice whispers something else: "He lied, he lied to you. Looking straight into your eyes."
I'm suffocating. I get up from the chair and, with weak steps, make my way to the kitchen exit. From the corner of my eye, I notice Andriy also getting up from his chair.
" Milana, wait, " he catches up to me in two steps, but, meeting my furious gaze, doesn’t dare to touch me.
I, without slowing down, walk into the living room and out onto the balcony. I open the window and lean both palms on the sill. I breathe in the air greedily, and tears start rolling down my cheeks on their own. Damn hormones!
"Yes, breathe in, breathe out. Calm down," I tell myself silently. I wiped away the tears: "That bastard! Scumbag!"
Anger, burning and relentless, seizes everything inside. The tears leave without a trace. And behind me, I distinctly feel his presence.
I take another greedy breath and abruptly close the window. I turned back to him. In the cramped balcony, his bulky figure seems to take up most of the space. But right now, that doesn’t scare or bother me, truthfully. Righteous anger blinds my eyes and clouds my mind.
" You! " I jab my sharp nail into his steel chest. " You made me believe that you were going to marry another! And not just anyone, but that bitch I can't even stand to look at! " I breathe heavily and feel myself shaking.
" Milana, please, calm down, " his hoarse voice breaks into my mind and infuriates me.
" Don’t tell me how to react to your lies, Polyansky! I feel completely used! " I break into a shout. Then I try to get past him. " Let me through!"
He silently steps aside, and I rush back into the room, still trembling with anger.
" And tell me, Polyansky, " I spat out sarcastically. " Was it part of your brilliant plan to marry her if necessary? Huh? Or maybe have an extra fling, if the opportunity arose?"
" Milana, don’t be ridiculous! " he growls. " Enough!"
" Why enough? I haven’t said everything yet!"
" Because it could harm the child. Think about it, " he presses on my vulnerable spot without a hint of conscience, trying to reach my sense of reason.
But damn " reason is currently out of service, good that at least the fear for the child is present and I take a deep breath to calm down. Then I approach and sit on the soft sofa upholstered in cream velvet. I scorch Andriy with a gaze filled with cosmic fury. If a look could kill, he would probably be a pile of ashes right now.
Silently, I watch as he stops in front of me, leans one hand to the side, and runs the other through his short hair, messing it up.
" Milana, " he says firmly. " I understand your anger, but at the moment when I came to my senses," at first, I didn't immediately manage to piece everything together. Instead, Bianca was there pouring words of love into my ears, " I grimace at these words, and Andriy only looks on with understanding and continues: " And then I was left alone with the doctor and finally remembered everything that happened. And yes, I decided to use the situation to send you to a safe place as soon as possible. Understand, I couldn’t risk it like that.
" But we talked alone, " I hissed angrily. " That day, when I was discharged from the hospital. You had the chance to tell me, "but you kept silent!
He just frowns.
" And I would do it again, " he finishes with these words.
" Why?? Why, Polyansky? Why make me think that what was between us no longer exists in your memory? " I continue to throw questions and accusations.
" Because you would have stayed, and I no longer knew what Bianca was capable of, didn’t know what exactly she was involved in, or if she could leak info about you finding something. So, at that time, the best solution seemed to just confuse her enough so she would forget about you. That seemed like the perfect solution and way out.
" No, Andriy. That’s what you think. I see the situation differently, " I say quietly.
" Milana…
" No, now it’s your turn to listen, " I say just as quietly and shoot a deadly look from under my lashes. " You decided everything on your own. That's not how relationships work, and we, I remind you, were in one. And there you not only made a decision that concerned us both but you also decided later not to share it with me.
" Because you wouldn’t have left and would try to help! And you would endanger yourself because of me..., " he starts.
" You! " I exclaimed and didn't let him finish. " You simply took away my right to choose! Is this some kind of karma I have? Why is everyone so sure that they know BEST what’s better for me? My parents, friends, now you… Maybe enough is enough?
He halts like from a slap and stares at me with wide eyes, processing the information he just heard. I get up from the sofa and walk past him to the exit from the living room. I hear heavy male steps behind me. In the hallway, I turn to my bedroom, grab the doorknob, and turn back to him:
" I’ve already told you that trust and respect are important in a relationship for me. I received neither first, " I grimace, remembering his lies. " Nor second, because you ignored my right to choose.
I press the doorknob and dryly throw:
" You know where the exit is.
I enter my bedroom and close the door. I lean against it with my back. After some time, I hear the front door slam, and then finally, I stop holding back tears. Damn! How could he do this to me?
Andriy
Damn it! Damn it!
I glance into the empty glass, my bleary eyes searching for the bottle of whiskey. Found it. My hand snatches it up. I pour myself another drink. The decision to get absolutely wasted came to me on the way back from Milana’s, drained and empty inside. For some reason, I kept thinking or rather hoping, that she’d understand. Maybe she did understand. But forgive me? No. She’s clearly not ready for that yet.
God… I’m going to be a father.
The thought crashes against my temples and sends a strange, trembling warmth through my chest.
With that last thought, I finish the whiskey and stagger off to the bedroom of my rented apartment. Eventually, the alcohol and exhaustion take over. The last thing I remember before blacking out is collapsing onto the bed, still fully dressed in my suit, muttering to myself that like hell I’m going to give up that easily.
In the morning, I barely manage to pry my eyes open. Feels like a herd of elephants trampled over me. I sit up in bed, my gaze darting around in search of anything to drink. My mouth’s as dry as a desert, and I’m dying of thirst.
I drag myself to the kitchen, pull a glass from the top cupboard, and turn on the tap. Fill the glass, down it in one gulp, barely taking a breath, and then pour a second one and do the same. Finally, I spot my phone and unlock it. It’s nearly noon.
I scroll through the missed calls — all work stuff. Not that I expected her to call or text, change her mind, or anything. I let out a bitter chuckle. At least she listened, that’s already something.
I strip off yesterday’s clothes and head for the shower. A contrast shower helps to shake off the hangover faster. Then I get dressed and head to the office. No point in dragging this out. Besides, my mind’s completely occupied with her.
This time, I decided to be better prepared. I call a flower boutique and order a bouquet with her favorite jasmine flowers. The girl on the other end of the line doesn’t sound surprised.
They’ve probably had weirder orders than this. She promises the arrangement will be ready at the agreed time. Satisfied, I end the call and lean back in my chair.
No need to say the rest of the workday drags on painfully slowly. I go through the motions, completing tasks on autopilot, glancing at my watch every few minutes. Finally, the day’s over.
I leave the office and impatiently hop into my car.
Swing by the boutique to pick up the bouquet. Then punch the address into the navigator of the law firm her father owns. Khmilevych gave it to me. I’m guessing she started working there.
If I’m wrong — well, I still know where she lives.
Soon, I pull up to one of those typical Austrian-style buildings in the city center and park across the street. It’s nearly six p.m. I unbuckle my seatbelt and loosen my tie. The nerves kick in again. Damn it.
Little by little, people start trickling out of the building. Judging by their business attire, these are most likely employees rather than residents. I tense up. She’ll be out soon.
And I’m not wrong. The doors open again, and there she is — Milana. And, right on her heels, that idiot.
I clench my jaw but hold my ground. I open the car door and step out, grabbing the bouquet from the front seat. She spots me immediately and freezes.
Good. That means she’s calmed down a bit; otherwise, she’d pretend not to see me. Probably.
I stride toward her, firm and steady. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch how that moron throws a disdainful glance at the flowers in my hand but quickly reins himself in.
I smirk. Yesterday’s incident clearly wasn’t without consequences looks like he’s learned something.
"Milana,"I stop right in front of her, making her tilt her head back slightly to meet my gaze, and at the same time making her so-called 'friend' seethe even more. Which, frankly, pleases me.
"Your favorites."
She glances at the bouquet and hesitates for a moment. Then I add, in a serious tone, the one argument I know she can’t easily brush aside:
"Belated congratulations on your pregnancy."
As I expected, her lashes flutter up, and she locks her gaze with mine. But for me, ever since yesterday, the moment I learned she was pregnant and the initial shock wore off, everything has been crystal clear.
I want this woman. To love her, to be with her every single day, to raise our child together…
And yes, I’m over the moon that I’m going to be a father.
The idiot next to us snorts again, getting on my nerves. I cast a sidelong glance at him and note with satisfaction that he’s fuming. Which means I’m on the right track.
"Andriy..." she says softly.
"If not for yourself, then at least for the little one, you won’t refuse a gift from their father, will you?" I say, my lips curving into a faint, conciliatory smile.
Looks like the move works. Milana smiles despite herself and takes the bouquet, bringing it up to her face and inhaling the jasmine’s fragrance with quiet pleasure.
"From the father?" the ever-persistent idiot butts in again.
And I silently sigh: Would you just get lost already, kid...
"Yes," I confirm, narrowing my eyes in a warning gesture.
"Milana?" he presses on.
She’s silent for a moment. And for some reason, I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, as if her confirmation will somehow automatically mean I have a chance. Or rather, her permission to earn back that chance - to win back her trust and her love.