“You’re saying you’ve never seen these before?”
Karine blinked, not wanting to lie but also ... “Once, maybe twice. But only the drawings, and never—”
“Bullshit. That’s bullshit, Karine. It’s you, look at it.”
“No, that’s not ... it’s not right. Stop ... just, stop,” she muttered. And then, louder, “Stop it!”
Roman strode over to his pants that had been discarded on the floor in their earlier haste. He fished into the pocket, pulling out his wallet and then a folded piece of paper emerged from it. He came over, opening the paper and holding it up for her to see.
If anything, he seemed angry about it. Angrier. Defiant, even. Once again, daring her to deny the truth he put right in front of her face. Except she didn’t understand.
“What about this?” he demanded, thrusting the paper toward her even as Karine inched back from him on the bed. “Are you going to deny this, too?”
Karine’s breath stuck in her throat when she saw his profile drawn in the same style. The drawing was an uncannily likeness of Roman’s face, with his name scribbled out in crayon in the corner. Just to drive home the final nail in the coffin.
Whoever made the drawings had done a good job—it was still clearly the work of someone who was young.
But not her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, so unsure.
And cold.
Even as she reached to touch the image, seeing how careful the hand had been to shape the perfect cupid’s bow of Roman’s upper lip, Karine had to pull herself back. The comforting familiarity she felt to that particular drawing so strong that it scared her. She couldn’t figure out if it was because she liked that she recognized something about the drawing, or not.
Hollow, she heard Roman say, “Masha. She gave it to me.”
“Why would Masha—” Karine squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to process. “Where did she find it?”
“My bet, in this sketchbook.”
Karine didn’t need to open her eyes again to know he hadn’t taken his off her, but she still did. Despite every reason she had not to, she couldn’t look away from the drawing in his hand. The déjà vu was uncanny, but she couldn’t explain why. She almost asked him to show it to her again when Roman slowly folded it up, and slipped it back into his wallet.
She didn’t, though.
Roman scowled once the drawing was safely tucked away. “You won’t convince me that you don’t know anything about this, Karine. I saw you holding this sketchbook in your hand. You’re lying, I just don’t know why.”
Karine stiffened.
No, he was the liar.
“I’ve never touched it before. Never seen it before.”
Roman’s fingers stilled where they rubbed at his jawline, confusion flitting over his face. “Tribute—last month. You were standing there by the stone walls when I got out of my car.” He shoved the sketchbook her way, adding, “You had this in your hand.”
Karine hadn’t even noticed how the sheet had fallen away from her. With her back straight, she sat up in the cold air, uncaring that her nipples pebbled and she shivered. Roman didn’t seem to notice her nakedness, only focusing on her.
She fidgeted under the pressure, refusing to admit yet another one of his lies that he demanded was true. “You’re not making any sense. I didn’t see you at the last tribute.”
Roman’s gaze flashed with a warning, his jaw clenching at her response—like she was pushing it, and he had enough. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, but she didn’t know what to tell him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she whispered, wishing he would believe her. If she could, she would have done everything in her power to please him, to go back to the way they were the night before. “Or what you want me to say, I’m sorry.”
“What I want you to—” Roman’s words cut off with a disgusted grunt, and his hand cut through the air as if to say enough. “You were standing right there,” he replied hotly, barely tampering his tone now. “We spoke—well, no, I spoke. I don’t remember if you even said anything. Dima was at the door of the mansion, calling for me. I didn’t even get to turn back around, and you were running before I could stop you.”
Karine shook her head back and forth fast—so much so that the room spun—and she was sure she looked crazed.
There was no way.
But how did he know?
She had seen that very scene in her dreams—remembered it distinctly. Near the weeping willow tree, she’d watched while Roman stepped out of his car. She wanted to speak to him, but couldn’t get the words out. When she looked down, a little girl’s hand waved back at him, hazy to her eye. That’s how she knew she was dreaming. It was always a dream.
Then, Dima’s voice had broken through the daze—she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Except it was still just a dream.
Wasn’t it?
Roman kept talking, unaware of the fight happening inside Karine’s mind. “Dima went looking for you—he ordered me inside, and to meet with Maxim. This happened, Karine. I stood there, and looked at you. You can’t tell me I didn’t see what I saw and expect me to just believe it. That’s not how this shit works.”
It was the disbelief coating his anger that brought her back to reality with a bang. And also told her that he truly believed he was telling the truth—why would he lie?
But that meant—
She didn’t know what it meant.
Didn’t want to know.
The sudden urge to protect herself from the things he was saying came on swift, and punishing. Her words came out in a hiss when she pointed at him and said, “You’re lying.”
That had Roman’s brow dipping low—he watched again through heavy eyelids, careful and steady. If only that helped. If only it changed what he had already done.
When he came towards her again, a sound came out
