“You will never be left alone with those women,” he said.

Not like I hadn’t already planned to ignore them. I wouldn’t invite myself to any of their parties, nor would I have anything more to do with them.

I’d wanted friends. Who didn’t? But there was no way I was going to impose my presence on people who didn’t want me.

My lip wobbled.

I hated this feeling. Gritting my teeth, I tried to ignore the pain. The loneliness. The desperate question of why people didn’t like me. It wasn’t like I did anything to incite it. At least I didn’t think I did. I guessed I was just one of those people others couldn’t stand.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

“I’ve been having my period,” I said. “It takes sex to have babies.”

I hoped he didn’t think that was an invitation.

We arrived back at his apartment building. From what Sergei had told me, Slavik owned this place, and several more. They were his personal investments. It was why if I chose, I could have the indoor swimming pool to myself, along with the gym.

Thinking about the cake tonight, those horrible words the women threw at me, I finally made a decision.

I took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, not waiting for either man to open my door.

Whenever something like this happened, solitude helped me to deal. Keeping the tears at bay was proving to be difficult. A burn settled at the back of my throat.

Staring at my reflection in the metal elevator doors, I had to wonder, was it me? Did I make people hate me? Was being nice a crime? A weakness? Why did people go out of their way to despise me? To hurt me? Or better yet, to avoid me?

I rubbed at my chest where a stabbing pain struck hard.

Stepping into the elevator, Slavik put his hand at the base of my back, but I didn’t feel it.

“Do you ever care what people think of you?” I asked.

“No.”

I smiled. It didn’t exactly reach my eyes. Simple. Direct. To the point. I liked it.

“Do you?”

“I know I shouldn’t, but it’s kind of hard not to when everyone around you seems determined to hate you.”

The bell dinged, and the doors opened.

We stepped out.

Slavik keyed in the code to our apartment.

When we arrived, I often kept my distance, steering well clear of him out of fear of capturing his attention. Today, I wanted to be alone.

I removed my shoes, placed them in the right place, and without another look back, I went to the bathroom.

Door closed and locked, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and allowed the spiteful words to wash over me.

They were not the first.

“The fat Italian. Honestly. People feel sorry for Slavik. I don’t know how he puts up with her. He could do so much better. I know my dad tried to get me thrown at him, but Volkov decided the Fredo girl was more important.”