Chapter 26

ANYA

The photo on Blake’s phone captivates me entirely, and it is as if I have been transported from the alley into Dimitri’s secret art studio.

His room is full of portraits—some sketches, some watercolors, and some depictions so beautifully created that I cannot stop my eyes from admiring the way the brush strokes captured my life.

While I am the subject of each piece, their scenes and focus vary. Some depict me at the Rossi house, some are zoomed in on my smile, and some are just of my hair as it looks from the back.

The more sensual ones send a rush over my skin—a breezy sensation—due to how beautifully filthy they are, like some fantasy brought to life. The warmth these images create quickly dissipates, however, when my eyes lock on to a filled corkboard in the corner.

Using my fingers to zoom in, I get a clearer image, and a chill runs down my spine. Affixed to the board are photos of me, from which Dimitri likely drew inspiration. The concerning thing is that these pictures were taken of me during moments when I thought I was alone.

There is me walking outside, likely going to or from class, me studying in the library, me sitting quietly under a tree with my eyes closed while listening to music, me eating in a campus cafeteria, and the list goes on.

“Oh my god!” Vanessa says from over my shoulder, bringing me back to the alley.

The disgust is clear in her voice, while I am too stunned to move. Unsure how to react, I simply lift my gaze, first to Blake and then to Dimitri.

The revelation hangs heavy in the air as the men stare at me. Blake seems to be waiting for some kind of validation, but the longer I look at him, the less I want to give him that satisfaction.

Dimitri appears to be holding his breath, his face contorted with a blend of nervousness, shame, and fear. It looks like he is bracing himself for my rejection, but as I take in his hurt expression, I find that no anger or disgust arises within me.

I must be crazy for thinking so, but I can only admire the paintings, finding a sick satisfaction in them. The realization that I have been as much in Dimitri Rossi’s head as he has been in mine strikes me like euphoria.

Just as I am about to tell him that, Dimitri’s last restraint breaks, and he lunges at his son. Blake’s phone falls to the ground, the screen cracking, as his father slams him to the wall opposite me, bracketing a powerful forearm against his throat.

Dimitri snarls. “Blake, you fucking—” He stops himself when Blake meets his eyes.

Blake is stupid enough to grin at that moment, his teeth shining brightly as he mocks his father with that smile. “Go on, call me a bastard. That’s what I have always been anyway. You don’t care about the blood we share. You wouldn’t have hurt me this way if you did.”

Dimitri’s hold on his boy loosens, and he steps back, releasing his grip on Blake’s shirt. With his back to us, he says, “Vanessa, take her inside.”

“You don’t get to say anything, old man. You’re a creep,” Vanessa bites back as she drags me with her to the street. “Come, Anya.”

I let her pull me along, my mind racing from the events of the night. She probably thinks I am in shock, sharing her disgust for Dimitri, but in truth, I feel closer to him than I ever have.

Vanessa lowers her head, hugging me to her side and muttering under her breath, “Told you not to trust either of them. Like son, like father.”

DIMITRI

Liars always get caught.

Man lies. Man gets girl. Man’s lie comes out. Girl leaves him. I should have known my story wouldn’t be any different; the first three have already been checked.

~The last one I ain’t letting happen, though~.

It has been three days since the fiasco at Private Affairs, three days since I last saw either Blake or Anya. Blake hasn’t been home or answered my calls, and I am ashamed to admit I have been doing the same to Anya.

I have been telling myself that she needs space to process my dirty laundry, but in reality, I just haven’t been able to face her. Driven by her numerous calls and my fear of her leaving me, however, I now find myself knocking on her apartment door.

After her camera has done a security check of me, Anya opens the door. She is dressed in a pair of joggers and a white crop top accompanied by a cardigan thrown over her shoulders.

Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and her lips pout with disappointment. As she crosses her arms, she gives me a glare I imagine the matriarch of a lion pride would give to the king of the jungle.

~She is the only one he bows down before, isn’t she?~

“So, you finally remembered I exist?” she snaps at me, and all I can do is sigh like a moron because hearing her voice after three days is akin to finding water after weeks of thirst.

It takes me a moment to shift my attention away from her breathy voice enough to reply, and by then, she is already starting to shut the door. “Please, I just want to talk,” I say, stopping her with my palm.

Her hold on the door falls, and her expression softens. “About what, Dimitri? Why you won’t pick up my calls? Because that’s what I want to talk about.” Anya steps back, allowing me to stand on the threshold of her little apartment. “Your escapist behavior is getting out of hand.”

The more she speaks, the more I want to grow an extra arm to punch myself. “Anya, you were never supposed to find out.”

She shakes her head. “Just get lost. You keep humiliating me.” She tries to push me back into the hallway, but her force lessens after one shove. Instead, she balls up the fabric of my T-shirt in her fists. Her eyes well, piercing my heart with more pain and regret.

“That’s not true,” I whisper, my tone so filled with vulnerability that she stops struggling altogether. “That’s not you talking.”

Her voice is feeble when she speaks. “Don’t.”

I grab her hands, wrenching them away from my clothes and enclosing their soft warmth within mine. The mere touch of our skin burns me, bringing back memories of all our precious moments, which I don’t ever wish to share with anyone.

“Anya, please,” I plead. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just wanted to give you space to collect your thoughts about me.”

“I didn’t want space!” she screams. “I was worried about you! Don’t you understand that?”

“Why?”

“Because of what happened.” She sighs. “I care for you, Dimitri, and I hate that you didn’t think it right to tell me about this secret hobby of yours.”

“I know you, Anya. You aren’t upset with me for that.” I dare to sound arrogant. “You and I are the same. If anything, your greatest urge now is to be with me even more.”

She yanks her hands away from me, stepping back like I hit her. “Do you mean to say I have no self-respect? That I’d be easy enough to date a fucking stalker?”

Capitalizing on her retreat, I step forward. “I’m not a stalker. Not anymore.”

She studies me with sad eyes. I can somehow picture her mind browsing through our memories, playing them in a loop like I am doing and wondering where we went wrong, where I went wrong.

“Why didn’t you say anything before? You made me feel guilty for coming on to you,” she says with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her little nose. “I didn’t want that feeling, Dimitri. And I wouldn’t have judged you.” Her cheeks flush red, hinting at embarrassment.

My nails dig into my palms while I hold back the urge to reach out and touch her, kiss her, and erase her worries. “I’m sorry. Let me explain, please,” I beg.

She looks up, seeming to contemplate something. “No,” she says, her words deflating me more. “There’s only one way you can make this right.”

I would do anything, even die, if it made her look at me the same way she used to. “How?”

She steps closer, tilting her head up and confronting me with her eyes. “Show me that room.”

The words slam onto me like a boulder, knocking my ego down. Guilt clenches my chest tight, making it difficult to breathe. “Anya, I can’t… You’ll hate it,” I explain, pathetically desperate to make her change her mind.

“What makes you so sure?” she counters with a twist in the corner of her lips. “You were just saying I’m not upset with you.”

“Anya, it’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t listen to anything you have to say unless you show me.” Her determination stands as firm as she does.

I watch her, suddenly scared of the hold she has on me—the hold I like that she has on me.

“Cazzo, bella~…~” I exhale thickly. “You drive me crazy.”