Page 157 of Wicked Villain

I think that maybe Mama was right. It’s not like I didn’t see how my father treated her. Mama was in tears every time she found him cheating. If she didn’t care or love him, it wouldn’t hurt.

Lev reaches across and taps my thigh. I glance at him now. He’s already looking at me in that observing way, seeing too much.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, his gaze steadily focused on me.

I nod. “It’s just that... this never gets easy.”

Given what’s on my mind, my answer feels like a lie. It’s not, though. Going to the cemetery is never easy.

It’s a constant reminder of reality. On top of that, seeing my name on the gravestone is something I will never get over.

“Sorry your mother couldn’t go with you,” Lev offers, glancing back at the road.

“Thank you for coming.”

His lips dip into a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I know how it feels to go to the cemetery to visit people who shouldn’t be there.”

He’s looking ahead, but I can tell from the twitch in his jaw that he’s thinking about something painful. I never stopped thinking about what Anushka told me about Lev’s mother and sister. And, of course, him.

I’ve never been brave enough to ask about it, and every time I felt I could, it didn’t feel appropriate to broach the subject to him.

“I visit the cemetery as often as I can,” he continues, “Of course, to see my father, but also my mother and sister.”

He glances at me now.

“I’m sorry you lost them,” I say, my tone suggesting I know they didn’t just die.

The usual hardness in his eyes softens. It’s like a wall has been removed, letting me see what’s inside his mind. For a moment, the hardened Pakhan looks like a normal person. A normal person who’s lost people he loves.

“I appreciate that,” he says. “My father used to say the dead don’t truly leave us. They stay and guide us, always watching, always making sure we’re okay. I’d like to believe that’s true.”

I don’t know how he managed it, but his words of encouragement ignite a spark of hope within me. “I... I’d like to believe that, too.”

He looks back at me and smiles. “Then believe it, malyshka. It’s not that hard to believe, really. Sometimes you feel them.”

This is the most sentimental he’s ever been with me. And the most he’s ever opened up.

We veer off the highway and continue down the familiar road leading to the cemetery on the outskirts of Locust Valley. I would recognize it in my sleep.

Mama and I visit Gabrielle’s grave several times during the year. Always at Christmas, Easter, the weeks before our birthday, and a few times in between just to take her flowers.

We’d go more often, but it’s too painful. Mama arranged for flowers to be brought to the graveside every week. Papa has never been with us. I don’t know if he ever went at all by himself. My guess is he’s never been back since the funeral. He seemed to be one of those people who were quite happy to bury their daughter and forget after.

Ten minutes later, we drive through the massive metal gates of Lakehaven Memorial Gardens, where we’re greeted by lush green lawns spread across acres of rolling hills.

Marble monuments and family mausoleums are scattered across the grounds between the oak trees instead of the endless rows of graves you’d see in most cemeteries. Mama chose this cemetery because of the space. It reminded her of a garden. Gabrielle is buried in one of the secluded sections, beneath a grove of trees opposite the lake.

Lev slows the car to a stop when we reach the area.

I wait for a few moments, scanning the surroundings before getting out of the car and taking the bunch of white roses I brought for Gabrielle out of the back.

Lev joins me, taking my hand. “Ready?” His voice is low and fervent. Respectful.

“Yes.”

He nods ahead, and we make our way down the pathway toward the graveside.

Goose bumps cover my arms from the moment my gaze lands on the grave. I’m absolutely covered in chills from head to toe when I see my own name on the gravestone.