[REBECCA]
Lynda and I found ourselves seated next to each other, creating an atmosphere of companionship despite our divergent activities. While Lynda focused on meticulously painting her toenails a rich shade of deep red, my attempt to immerse myself in a book was an exercise in futility. The words on the page remained distant and indistinct, overshadowed by a persistent preoccupation.
My thoughts continually circled back to Artemy.
As the internal turmoil painted itself on my expression, Lynda’s soft voice interjected, breaking the silence like a fragile whisper. “Rebecca, ease up,” she murmured, her attention split between her task and my obvious unease. “I can practically sense the tension radiating from you. It’s not good for the little one.”
My response came as a confession laced with worry, “I just can’t help but worry.”
Lynda’s brow furrowed, a clear indication of her curiosity. “Worry? About whom? Artemy?”
A tentative nod from me was accompanied by a sheepish admission, “Yeah, it’s… Artemy.”
A sympathetic chuckle escaped Lynda’s lips, her amusement tinged with affection. “Oh, dear. Your concern should be reserved for the unfortunate captives he’s holding, not Artemy himself.”
My feeble resistance emerged in my words, carrying the weight of my unease. “But he’s taking so long…”
With a casual, yet knowing glint in her eye, Lynda delivered her response with a playful wink, “Well, darling, he’s likely extending their lifespan by prolonging their fate.”
That quip, though delivered in jest, managed to silence my anxious protests. The stark reality of it resonated, casting a shadow over my wavering doubts.
A contemplative silence enveloped me, broken only by Lynda’s deep sigh as she rose from her spot beside me. She ventured toward my dressing table, her observations pouring out with a touch of disbelief. “It still astonishes me that this is Artemy’s room. I never would’ve imagined this transformation-dressing table, wardrobe filled with women’s attire and shoes. Quite the feminine touch,” Lynda observed, her gaze sweeping the room in contemplative admiration. She eventually returned, a new nail polish in hand, her playful commentary continuing, “Seems like you’ve managed to wrap him around your little finger, babe.”
Seated once more, she situated herself in front of me, her posture comfortable and relaxed. With a gentle yet firm grasp, she retrieved my feet, drawing them into her lap with a tenderness that conveyed familiarity.
Perplexed by her actions, I attempted to pull away, questioning, “Wait, what are you up to?”
Her reply, a blend of reassurance and matter-of-factness, came as she deftly uncapped the nail polish bottle, “Relax. You’re not exactly in a position to reach those feet now, are you?”
A smile tugged at my lips in reluctant agreement, acknowledging that my burgeoning belly indeed hindered such simple tasks. I pondered how much more challenging it would become as my pregnancy advanced-would my feet eventually vanish from my view?
Her inquiry about nail polish color preference prompted a nod from me, the soft shade of light pink she presented appealing to my senses. And so, wordlessly, I allowed Lynda to indulge in her task.
Recent days had seen Lynda cloaked in an unusual quietude, a departure from her customary effervescence. Shadows of sorrow and pain occasionally flickered in her eyes, betraying the facade of strength she endeavored to uphold. It was a burden she attempted to shield from me, though her attempts were rendered futile by my perceptiveness.
The pain stemming from Milandro’s betrayal was a shared affliction, but it weighed particularly heavy upon Lynda’s heart. As my chest tightened with empathy, I reached out, grasping her hand in an attempt to bridge the unspoken chasm between us.
“Lynda,” I implored gently, “open up to me.”
She met my gaze with a mixture of curiosity and a fleeting laugh, attempting to deflect, “Talk about what, silly?”
My head shook, a mixture of concern and determination guiding my words, “Don’t dismiss this, Lynda. I see beyond the facade. I know Milandro’s actions cut deep, far deeper than you’re revealing. But keeping it hidden will only amplify the hurt.”
The waver in her chin signaled her vulnerability, the glisten of tears in her eyes reflective of her internal turmoil. “You can’t possibly understand,” she whispered, her voice fragile.
My response, marked by empathy and a gentle insistence, was a plea to break down the barriers between us. “I might not fully understand, but I want you to share it with me. Amidst all the voices, I want yours.”
As the distance between us evaporated, Lynda’s resolve seemed to waver. Tears blinked away, her voice quivered, “You ask so much…”
“Because it’s you,” I replied, drawing near, our connection strengthening in the face of shared vulnerabilities.
A solitary teardrop traced a path down her delicately flushed cheek, and my instinctive gesture wiped it away. The urge to be her shelter, to whisk away her tears, pulsed within me, if only she would permit it.
Lynda parted her lips, poised to voice something, but abruptly sealed them shut as a knock reverberated through the door. She shut her eyes briefly, inhaling a steadying breath.
“It’s nothing, Rebecca. Please, let it be,” her words murmured with an undercurrent of vulnerability.
A constriction gripped my throat, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on me. “It’s not mere nothing,” I replied in hushed tones as another knock resounded.
“Release it, Rebecca. I implore you,” she pleaded.
A third knock rapped at the door, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Enter.”
As my eyelids fluttered open, Bernadette stood framed in the doorway. Shock held my mouth agape, and Lynda, too, pivoted to confront the unexpected visitor, her eyes glossed with a flicker of anger.
“Why have you come?” Lynda’s words seethed, her stance springing to attention.
Undeterred, Bernadette entered the room, her voice a placid river. “This isn’t about contention. I need to converse with Rebecca.”
Her words held a serene assurance, her gaze unbroken upon mine. A contest of wills, eyes locked in a silent exchange.
“What business do you hold here?” Lynda’s defensive stance erupted in challenge, her words edged like a drawn blade.
“Can you cease being her voice? Let her wield her own words,” Bernadette retorted sharply.
“Rebecca,” Lynda turned to me.
I shrugged, redirecting my attention to Bernadette. “What is it?”
A hint of derision in her tone, Bernadette folded her arms, flipping her blonde hair with a decisive motion. Heels tapped loudly as she advanced toward the bedside.
Bernadette paused, a measured inhalation preceding her words. “I shall be succinct, saying this only once.”
My brow quirked inquisitively, anticipation etched on my expression. She swept her hair behind her shoulder, heels resonating on the floor with resolute purpose.
Drawing a deep breath, Bernadette exhaled slowly. “I am here to make reparations.”
Lynda’s interjection was sharp and cutting. “You audacious-”
“Could you pause your diatribe momentarily? Does your ability to speak falter, or is it a conscious choice?” Bernadette interjected with a venomous sneer.
Lynda stared, caught off guard by Bernadette’s audacity. “Thank you for the silence,” Bernadette retorted sarcastically, her attention shifting back to me.
“I do not approach for confrontation. In truth, I seek its opposite. The time has come for this step. My previous words, their vitriol exceeded bounds. My unwarranted insults were a grievous misstep,” Bernadette began, her voice unwavering.
Her gaze held a glacial intensity, a demeanor reminiscent of the Loskutov men.
Her words rekindled the kitchen scene, memories of her cutting remarks. I glanced downward, the recollection of her words a fresh ache in my heart.
“I comprehend skepticism toward my claim that those words were unmeant,” she continued, snapping my attention back up. Lynda scoffed, her eyes rolling in disbelief. Bernadette’s glare bore into Lynda, then returned to me.
“Admittedly, there might have been a kernel of truth, though borne from bitterness and anger. A woefully insufficient justification, yet please recognize my intent was not to inflict deep wounds.”
Instinctively, I pressed a hand against my stomach, seeking solace from my own turmoil as Bernadette’s words washed over me.
“They served partially as a trial-your mettle tested, your compatibility with Artemy evaluated.”
Lynda’s retort was sharp as a blade. “She outshines you in strength by leagues.”
A fleeting smile tugged at Bernadette’s lips, a ghostly presence. Here one moment, gone the next. “I bear no doubt in that.”
Her words struck a resonant chord, a deeper resonance that transcended mere physicality. In that instant, I embraced her words, grateful for their profound significance.
“That’s precisely why I’ve come here, to offer my sincere apology. I deeply regret my words and actions. Since our paths are bound to cross more frequently, I believed it prudent for us to mend our relationship,” Bernadette conveyed with a tone of contrition. “Let me be clear, I no longer have any romantic interest in Artemy. Admittedly, there was a history between us, and I won’t attempt to gloss over that fact. However, I’m not here to deceive you. Artemy and I have already moved on. The instant he developed feelings for you, our chapter ended, and I fully respect that choice,” Bernadette continued in a measured voice.
After drawing in a deep breath, Bernadette positioned herself beside me, causing Lynda to instinctively step forward in a protective stance.
“I have no intention of causing harm. Seriously, how could you possibly think that of me?” Bernadette responded, her demeanor displaying offense at Lynda’s protective stance.
“You’re someone who needs to depart from our lives sooner rather than later,” Lynda retorted, her eyes fixated on Bernadette with an intense glare.
“Well, I’m afraid your wish won’t be granted,” Bernadette shot back with a defiant tone.
A tense silence hung between them as they locked eyes, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the escalating standoff. It was almost as if I were trapped between two versions of Lynda-or perhaps two Bernadettes.
Exhaling audibly, I brought their attention back to me. Their gazes snapped to me as I cleared my throat. “I comprehend your sentiments, and I believe I forgave you a while back, Bernadette.”
Shrugging slightly, I mustered a small, reassuring smile. Regrettably, Bernadette didn’t reciprocate the smile; it seemed she might not be well-versed in that art.
“Perhaps we could embark on a fresh start,” Bernadette proposed after a few lingering seconds, extending her hand for a handshake.
“Bernadette Loskutov,” she introduced herself.
I accepted her hand, my heart pulsating with an unanticipated intensity. “Rebecca,” I introduced in return, my voice catching slightly as I pushed past the sudden lump in my throat. “Rebecca Cavalieri.”
Bernadette’s grip tightened around my hand, and for the first time, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of her lips. However, her eyes remained distant, their warmth held back.
“Not for much longer,” she responded with an arched eyebrow. “Before you know it, you’ll be Rebecca Loskutov.”
Confusion knitted my brows, and as realization dawned, I couldn’t help but look down, my cheeks flushing crimson.
Amidst my thoughts, Lynda suddenly squealed, causing me to release Bernadette’s hand. “Oh my God, yes! She’s right! Rebecca Loskutov, it’s perfect, isn’t it? We have an endless list of things to plan!”
Under her exuberant words, my cheeks grew warmer, and I shyly bit my lip.
Rebecca Loskutov.
The sound resonated within me like a melody I cherished.
“You’ll become Rebecca Loskutov in no time,” Lynda proclaimed confidently.
“That’s precisely what I just said,” Bernadette retorted, rolling her eyes.
Lynda rested her hands on her hips. “Whatever, you know.”
“Yeah, whatever, you daft cow,” Bernadette muttered under her breath.
“Did you really just call me a daft cow?”
“Yeah, I did. Problem?”
“Go to hell!”
“No thanks, not interested,” Bernadette responded drily, her sarcasm palpable.
I observed the heated exchange between them, my gaze wide and incredulous. What kind of world had I stumbled into?