Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out
Her Rustanov Bully: Chapter 7

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this.

As he watched the fear bloom in Lydia’s wide brown eyes, shame and frustration filled Yom’s empty stomach with acid. He’d skipped dinner and several party invites to see if she’d show up at the library. But he’d told himself he’d only watch her from the shadows.

He wouldn’t approach her or give her the satisfaction of knowing how badly she’d hurt him when she pretended to be as into him as he’d secretly been into her. For years. Ending his longtime crush.

Or at least it should have ended it.

But then, that painter touched her. Dared to pull her in for a hug. A savage feeling had writhed inside his chest. That had been enough to drive Yom closer, where he could overhear their conversation. Hear the guy with blond dreadlocks, who looked like the walking urban dictionary definition for the term trustafarian, ask her out. Then pressed her when she told him she was already seeing someone else.

At least he tried to press her.

It didn’t matter that she’d betrayed him—that the shy, virgin Library Girl had been an illusion from the start. The word “mine” ripped through Yom’s head, and the next thing he knew, he was stepping out of the shadows. The look on his face must have been murderous. He sensed that from the way the grown man fled without another flirtatious word, nearly tripping over his feet.

And now, Yom stared down at her, feeling an odd mixture of sick to his stomach and darkly thrilled that she was staring back at him like he was a monster she’d met in the dark woods.

Yom didn’t know whether to feel vindicated or contemptuous.

He ended up sneering down at her. “What kind of coward abandons someone after he has asked her out? Just because a bigger guy comes along? You truly know how to pick them.”

“Oh, Julz?” She glanced over her shoulder at the near smoke trail the trustafarian left in his wake. “I didn’t pick him. He’s just an old acquaintance. I think he’s taking a few years to, you know, explore and replace himself….”

She trailed off, most likely because Yom’s hateful stare had turned dissecting as he tried to gauge how much of this empathetic personality she displayed was real and how much of it was just part of the act he’d fallen for back in Berlin.

“Anyway, I’m rambling again. Hi! Yes, hi—that’s what I should’ve said.” She had the nerve to reset her terrified expression with a friendly smile. As if they were old friends who’d just happened to run into each other. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you, um…”

She reached a hand up to ruffle the back of her neck-length locks. “Getting a head start on Statistics?”

She remembered their conversation?

Yom hated the way his chest lurched at the thought of her actually paying attention while she was conning him. Hated her for pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Hated that something still pulled him toward her. Then and now.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Yom could only glower down at her for making him something foolish out of the circus. A helpless marionette, being yanked by her strings.

He stood close enough to feel the soft whisper of her breath as she talked. But an awkward silence stretched between them like a chasm that could not be crossed.

“By the way, I’m… I’m…” She visibly swallowed. “I really am so sorry for what happened back in Berlin. The way I just cut out without any explanation. That must have been so confusing after I said… and even signed a contract saying I would, you know…”

He waited for her to explain herself. To serve him a pile of donkey shit about why she ran away.

But she left it there, nervously pushing her locks behind one ear.

She should be nervous.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Would only watch her from afar without engaging. Or ever letting her know how bad she’d cut him. Like the blade of a hockey skate, slicing across his chest.

But standing there with her made his belly ache. With a hunger no plate of food could fill.

“Well, I’m just going to…”

She edged past him carefully. Like someone stepping around a live mine.

Yom could not blame her for interacting with him in this manner. It took everything inside of him to stay where he was. He controlled his breathing as she carefully moved past him. So as not to grab her and explode all of the questions that had been boiling inside of him directly into her face.

Why did you do it?

Did you mean anything you said that night?

Were you disgusted by me? Is that why you ran?

What does Carrington have that I don’t?

Can’t you see that he doesn’t truly love you? Not like I c⁠—

He stopped himself there. Clenched his teeth to keep from saying any of that psychotic shit out loud.

For her own safety and his, he let her scurry past him to her Anne Tyler carrel.

But then his eyes returned to the Prince study desk. Like a switchblade.

“Do not do it. Do not act the Rustanov.”

The conversation he’d had after calling his Uncle Alexei on an encrypted line echoed in Yom’s head.

“I know your father raised you a certain way after your mother’s leave-taking. And if this were the motherland, of course, we would make sure that Carrington could never plot against a Rustanov again. But you are back in the U.S.A., and my wife has already taken too much heat and discredit during her last campaign for being married to a Rustanov. The country is watching us closely. So, for now, you must suppress your Rustanov tendencies. But call me when the school year is done, Tyoma. We will talk then.”

Uncle Alexei had warned him in no uncertain terms. But Yom hadn’t answered.

“Tyoma? Tell me you understand.”

Yom understood, but perhaps not in the way Uncle Alexei wished before they hung up.

He squinted at the purple carrel, then back at Lydia, who had placed an expensive set of GoNoTo headphones over her ears as if she had already blocked out his existence—as if she didn’t even know him.

She thought him a thing that could easily be avoided if she kept her head down and stuck to the library.

That was fine, Yom decided as he turned and headed toward the building’s front doors.

Lydia didn’t realize what it meant to cross a Rustanov. To make one your enemy. Yet.

But soon… He balled one fist at his side as he strode out of the library. A predator on the hunt. Soon, she’d understand just how badly she fucked up when she’d used her wiles to turn him into a besotted fool.

He’d make sure of it.