just fall | ✓

33.

Salvatore was only slightly hungover when we greeted the Russians the following day, but thankfully, only Liev seemed to notice. We embraced tightly, and he said, "You and Salvatore were drinking again, weren't you?"

I forced down a laugh. "Always when we find out that you're coming."

"I pity your livers."

"So do I."

We pulled back and shared a smile. "We'll discuss this more later," he said quietly. "I'm giving you both a lecture."

I giggled. "You can try, Prince Liev. Maybe we'll even listen this time."

His smile lost some of its formality. "Maybe you will. I suppose we'll have to see."

That night, the three of us found our way to the roof with a bottle (or three) of champagne. It was a tradition – the Russians didn't have champagne because most of the family detested it, but Liev enjoyed it. So we would always sit on the roof with champagne and catch up.

It took only a second for us to realize that we weren't alone, and both Salvatore and Liev noticeably stiffened. Silhouetted against the quickly fading sunset was Alexander, forearms braced on the railing and shoulders hunched, clearly not paying us any mind. I don't think he had noticed us. I stepped between Liev and Salvatore and put my hands on each of their arms. "You two go to the usual spot," I said, voice quiet. "I'll speak with him."

Salvatore looked pained. "I can do it," he said. His eyes flicked between myself and Liev before settling on me once more. "You go on."

I shook my head. "I can handle him. Go on." I gently nudged him along, and he and Liev – shockingly – did as asked. Hesitantly, I approached Alexander. I took the space beside him, a few inches between our arms, and leaned against the railing. I didn't know what to say, so I figured I'd just keep my mouth shut.

"How are you?" He asked after several minutes of silence. His voice was low.

"I'm good," I replied. "Yourself?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He looked down at his hands. "I've been thinking a lot."

"About?"

"Our conversation last night." He looked uneasy. "You remember it, don't you?"

I laughed. "I wasn't that drunk."

I didn't need to see his face to know that his cheeks were pink. "Ah. Well...good."

I smiled and looked at the bracelets on my wrist, twisting one of them around. "What about it's troubling you?"

He shrugged again. "All of it. I can't wrap my head around you asking me to kiss you."

My face suddenly felt very hot. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I'd grown so used to thinking that you hate me that I don't know what to do with the knowledge that you don't really. You know I called you, right? Every week." He sounded helpless. "You never answered. They always said that you were busy. I tried at different times, but you were always busy."

"They never gave me clearances to take calls from Illéa," I explained. "It was Salvatore's doing. He wanted to shelter me as much as possible so that I had time to heal, and I agreed that it was best."

"Did he never tell you that I called?"

I shook my head. "He told me that he wouldn't. I didn't want to know and he didn't want to tell me."

"So I guess you don't know about the letters, then?"

"No."

"He probably has them somewhere...if he didn't burn them." He sighed. "I wrote you at least one letter every day for nine months. I have notebooks filled with more in my room. I've never been good about journaling, but I felt like I had to tell you everything."