Rose POV

My cheeks were raw from how often I wiped them with my sleeve. The tears kept falling.

Dimitri believed me.

Just thinking it set me off again. Fresh tears rolled down my face, landing on the collar of my coat, which was already soaked. I tried to duck my face, an attempt at hiding my out-of-control emotions from Dimitri.

He believed me.

It didn't feel real. I was ready to throw it all away—accepted it as a hopeless case to ever make him believe. Despite the number of times he said the words—I couldn't believe him completely.

The part of me made of scars and broken trust refused to believe him. It was my last defence to keep myself from completely crumbling when he rejected me again. But until then, I allowed myself to feel at least some of the relief if he was telling the truth.

Please, let him be telling the truth.

I didn't know where to go next after the big reveal—a fact he had kept to himself for almost a month. It would be easy enough to be pissed at him, but I wasn't exactly willing to have any conversations with him since the accident.

Mason didn't even tell me. The bastard had sent Dimitri spiralling, rethinking everything he knew, and Mason probably enjoyed watching every moment. It was likely a twisted version of revenge for me.

The thought made me laugh, though it became a sob and a gasp.

I was a mess… and Dimitri was carrying me in his arms.

He glanced down when I risked peeking up. His head tilted to the side with a hesitant smile, "The fire should be going—that'll warm you up quickly."

Maybe my endless crying scared him, but Dimitri had cupped my cheek and declared I needed to get warmed up. My ankle was still stiff; I really needed to walk around more. My first step back to the house almost landed me face down in the snow. Dimitri had caught me and effortlessly lifted me into a fucking princess carry.

At least, I could blame the cold for the redness on my face.

I kept waiting for him to ask questions—mainly any question about Ivan.

But he never did.

I bite my tongue. Fear kept me from asking just in case it broke the façade. So, I remained quiet, occasionally crying, while in Dimitri's arms as he walked back to his family's house.

It was a fucking day, and it wasn't even lunchtime.

No one was outside when we returned, the sound of muffled laughter trickled out of the house, a mix of Russian and English. I expected Dimitri to return my feet to the ground when we reached the porch, but despite my complaints, he carried me into the house.

I hadn't bothered to look around the house much that morning, half awake when I went to the bathroom. Their home was the complete opposite of Abe's—his was spacious with limited personal objects, whereas Dimitri's family home was filled to the brim. Shelves and cabinets covered the walls, and the empty spots of the pale blue wall had framed pictures hung. I could see almost every part of Dimitri's life from an infant to recent with the photos that filled the room.

Ivan was in the majority of the photos next to Dimitri.

Voices came from the kitchen, which thankfully, Dimitri bypassed, and instead took me to the living room. A sizable leather lounge faced a television, with two sofas on either side. In the corner of the room was a lit fireplace with quilts bundled to the side. Dimitri finally lowered me by the fire, sitting me on the sofa closest, and wrapped a quilt around my shoulders.

"Stay here and warm up. I'll get you something to drink," he informed me, not giving me any chance to deny him. So, I sat awkwardly on the sofa in his living room, tear-stained face and softly snuffling.

I wasn't sure what to do.

The warmth of the fire was quick to reach me; it took a bit of struggling with the brace, but I managed to remove my coat. I winced reaching to untie the laces of my boots, careful not to anger my ankle any more than I had. Pain pulsed from it with each heartbeat, but I wasn't about to admit to anyone that I was in pain.

"How did it go?"

I jumped, looking up at Ivan. He stood before me with a half-smile and eyes pinched—he was nervous. "You guys didn't want to give me a heads-up?" I demanded softly, peeking towards the kitchen, but no one had stepped foot past the threshold. Toeing off my shoes, I sat up in the chair, pulling the quilt around my shoulders. I searched around, and scoffed, "Mason is hiding."

Ivan shrugged, hands in the pockets of his dress pants. "He wasn't sure how you would react."

My eyes narrowed. "So it was him."

"Yeah. He was trying to throw everything by that point." His eyes weren't focused on me; the corner of his lip lifting. "We were both trying to get Dimitri's attention."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Ivan's head tilted with a wry expression on his face. "The moment either of us mentioned Dimitri, you stopped listening. And anytime he tried to talk to you, you went out of your way to avoid him."

I grimaced, shying back from the irritation in his tone. "I know…I just…"

"I know," Ivan soothed, crouching in front of me. His hand settled over my knee and sent a chill through my body. "I'm glad you gave him a chance. What did he say?"

"He…" I bit my bottom lip as the rush of emotions returned, "He said he believes me." Tears threatened to fall again, but I forced them back.

A grin grew on Ivan's face—near splitting it. His stupidly happy smile sent me over the edge again.

Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I quickly brushed them away. "Fuck…"

"Fuck," a small voice copied me and caused us both to freeze. Ivan's eyes were wide, staring at me with a barely contained laugh as he turned slowly to look behind him. A little girl stood behind him with large brown eyes gazing up at me. She tilted her head to the side. "Fuck."

"No," I hurried to climb out of the chair, gingerly lowering myself to the ground so we were at eye level, "Don't say that word," I begged. Dimitri was going to kill me—teaching his younger…whatever she was, swear words.

"Zoya has always been quick to pick up things," Ivan smirked, hand covering his mouth, but I could see the mirth in his eyes. "She's going to be saying that all day now."

"You aren't helping," I retorted, moments away from giving him the finger before I caught myself. I turned back to Zoya, wondering if I could bribe her into forgetting the word; she didn't look older than three. Shouldn't be too hard.

Zoya turned her attention away from me before I could say anything. With a toothy smile and hands outstretched, she called to Ivan, "Uncle Van. Up."

My stomach twisted, knots formed, and it felt like I'd been punched. Ivan's expression was a combination of wonder and sorrow, kneeling but unable to fulfil the girl's demand. I released a long breath. "I guess she's still young enough."

Ivan arched a brow, sparing me a glance before focusing on Zoya again, watching her as she bounded across the room. "She can see me?" he questioned. I threw out my good arm to catch Zoya before she jumped onto the thin air that was Ivan's lap.

"Little kids can sometimes. I've only seen it a few times, though," I shrugged. "Most parents brush it off as imaginary friends."

Zoya reached for Ivan again, fingers stretched towards him. Ivan held his hand out, a sad smile when her fingers passed through his. It made Zoya frown, her cheeks puffed with a mumbled, "Fuck."

"Fuck," he replied dryly.

A throat cleared, followed by soft footsteps across the room. My eyes snapped up, an excuse on the tip of my tongue, but I lost my words when I discovered Dimitri's grandmother eyeing me. Her gaze felt more like a glare, unwavering even as she sat on the lounge. I felt weirdly exposed. Zoya was still attempting to interact with Ivan, and a wave of uncertainty washed over me.

Yeva's lips pursed, eyes flicking to the girl in my lap, and then to the side—looking directly where Ivan sat.

I didn't breathe.

After a moment, Yeva's attention moved to the knitting needles and yarn on the cushion beside her. At first, I thought she wouldn't speak, but then she did. "Ivan was always her favourite."

Ivan's face lit up even as his eyes glistened in the light. I didn't know how to reply. Maybe she overheard Zoya say Ivan's name? How else would she know that she was interacting with Ivan?

A lucky guess?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, Yeva's eyes met mine again. "I don't guess."

My jaw went slack, as did my arms, letting Zoya run free around the room again. "How do you know?" I questioned. "Can…Can you see him?"

"No," she replied, eyes back on her knitting, frail fingers moving gracefully. "I cannot see them, but I can feel them. You can do both." It wasn't a question. Yeva knew.

Ivan managed to take Zoya's attention, following her out of the room as she excitedly babbled about her toys. I didn't move from the floor, frozen in place with a million questions going through my mind. "Did Dimitri tell you?"

He must have. What other reason would there be?

"He didn't have to tell me," Yeva scoffed, "I knew you were coming long before he called. Dimitri can be an idiot at times, but he will make it up to you."

A lump was in my throat, my eyes burning from more tears building. "Wait. Are you saying that you believe… in ghosts?"

Her fingers paused, eyes lifting to meet mine. The corner of her lips quirked up. "Don't you?"

I inhaled sharply, teeth catching my bottom lip. She believed in ghosts. She believed I could see ghosts. How the hell did I manage to go over a year with no one believing me, to two people believing me on the same day?

"Rose," Dimitri's voice startled me, suddenly in the room, fondly glancing from Yeva to me. When his eyes reached my face, his expression shifted to concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping towards me. A mug was in his hand, steam rising from it; I could smell the chocolate.

I brought my hands to my face as he crouched before me; my cheeks were wet again. "Dammit," I mumbled, wiping my face and wincing at how raw my eyes felt.

"Can I get you something?" he offered, hesitantly holding the mug of hot chocolate towards me. I glanced at the marshmallows bobbing at the top as they melted—for whatever reason, that made me cry more.

I was ready to cut Dimitri out of my life and accepted losing a friend, but now he believed me and was being so fucking caring. I was overwhelmed. I pushed myself away from him, clumsy getting to my feet and avoiding his eyes. "I just need a minute," I replied. Dimitri was still crouched as I passed him, lips parted with uncertainty in his eyes.

My room was only a few steps away, and I slipped in and closed the door behind me. I needed a fucking minute to process everything that had happened.

"Did I do something?" Dimitri asked, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door.

"She needs time. You two will talk soon," Yeva answered sagely, followed by a lashing, "You'll do well to listen this time."

Sorry that it's a super short chapter, but I really wanted to give you a little something for Christmas.

The next post may not be for 2-3 days. I hope you all have a lovely holiday!