The mascara would have leaked down my face by now.
I feel the driver’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror, his gaze flicking between me and the road.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually says.
I flash him a quick smile in the rearview mirror and return to crying.
He doesn’t know I’m attending Valerian Sokolov’s funeral. Nobody does. Igor didn’t want to make it a public thing. I can see why he chose a very lowkey funeral, to avoid the public making a fuss.
Grieving it ten times harder when you’re surrounded by noise, everyone offering their sympathy, telling you how much of an inspirational figure he was. It just reinstates the fact that he’s really gone.
Lots of different emotions pass through me as we drive through Beverly Hills. Palm trees sway in the spring breeze, sending me back to the time I rediscovered myself on the loungers, reading, taking a well-needed break from work.
My body still remembers the burning desire I felt for Valerian. It won’t ever go away, which only adds to the torture.
I glance at my sleeping daughter, mapping out her face. I see Valerian in her chin and nose, and her eyes when she opens them. They’re just as striking as her father’s. She has the ability to stop time. I’m sure she’ll become a real heartbreaker when she’s older, following in some of her father’s footsteps. Not all of them.
My stomach churns when the vehicle turns onto his street. Valerian’s state lies at the end of it, a huge, gated property made entirely out of stone. The palm trees out front still sway in the breeze like nothing’s changed, but the stabbing pain in my heart reminds me everything has.
I have a daughter now. A life that I live completely on my own terms. And it’s all thanks to him.
The gates open and the car rolls down the graveled driveway, reaching a stop just short of the porch.
He holds the door open for me as I wobble out of the backseats, taking Hope from her carrier and holding her close to my chest.
The front door opens, Igor stepping out, wearing a suit and tie. He even made the effort to style his hair. Maybe too much effort. The mousse catches the sun making the top look greasy. But it’s the thought that counts.
“Joy,” he begins, walking down the steps to greet me. He turns and looks at Hope, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “Who might this young princess be?”
“Hope.” I find Igor’s eyes. “Your sister.”
He studies my eyes. “It’s great to finally meet her.”
Perhaps Lila was right about Igor already having time to grieve. The whites of his eyes are the color they’re supposed to be, no blotched red like mine.
I have dark rings circling around each of my eyes. Honestly, I look more like a Halloween costume than I do a woman.
And Igor looks fine.
“Come inside,” says Igor, taking my hand. “You can see him.”
“Oh.” I come to a halt. “No. I’m good. Open caskets aren’t my thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Igor is still tugging on my hand, guiding me up the porch. “Come inside anyway.”
“Tell them to close the lid first.”
“Them?”Igor repeats. “There’s no one else here.”
My heart jumps. “So it’s just… Valerian in there?”
“That’s right.”
I shield Hope’s face, tucking her into my breast. “I really don’t think this is appropriate. Hope’s only a month old.”