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"Will you truly marry her?"
Shane follows Ilya onto the terrace, hidden behind a vine-wrapped arch and towering potted ferns. The smell of tobacco lingers in the air between them, like a dense barrier Shane cannot dare to breach. Yet, he follows all the same, desperate for even a moment more with the man.
"Is what father wants," Ilya says, evenly, hardly an inflection to reveal what lurks underneath his cold exterior.
Shane clenches his hands by his sides. "But you do not love her."
Ilya scoffs, flicking his cigarette, ash following into the space between them. "I love her enough."
The words are spoken as if he is reciting the headline of the morning gazette but with each syllable uttered, Shane's heart trembles in its locked cage, pained with want, desire, a yearning so strong it steals the breath from his lungs, filling it with the burning stench of tobacco.
"I will never marry," Shane says, glancing down at his feet, at the shine of his boots.
"You will meet someone." Ilya sounds disbelieving, like he considers Shane's words nothing more than the insolent mutterings of a child.
Shane shakes his head, though he keeps his gaze averted. "I cannot," he reaffirms, strong in his conviction. "I am incapable of loving... a woman" He inhales sharply, the acrid taste of smoke at the back of his throat. "In all the ways that I must."
"You are being dramatic," Ilya says.
"Am I?" Shane snaps, finally meeting Ilya's eyes and baring his anguish in barely restrained tears. "I can never father a child. I can never be the viscount that is expected of me. But it does not seem to matter when all that consumes me is you." His voice cracks at the edges. "I ache when you are not near, when I can no longer see you or touch you. I can't—"
Shane cuts himself off and turns away again. He glances at the archway, following the path of the winding vines to keep his eyes away from Ilya. "Please don't marry Lady Svetlana," he whispers tremulously. "Please, Ilya."
"Shane."
"I know your father demands it of you," Shane continues, hands fisted so tight he can feel the pinpricks of nails digging into his palm. "But your brother is already married. If it is money your father wants, surely, we could... If we start a business, a partnership, we can—"
"Shane, stop." Large hands wrap around his fists, gently unclasping his fingers. "You are hurting yourself."
"Ilya..." His eyes sting as the tears he had held so long at bay begin to fall silently.
Ilya tilts his chin up and strokes along the curve of his cheeks. "Okay." He places a kiss where the tears have tracked down his face. "Okay."
"What?" Shane asks, confused.
"I will not marry Svetlana," Ilya says, briefly closing his eyes for a moment as he exhales slowly. "We will start a business. To satisfy my father, and then... I shall tell him."
Shane's eyes widen, hope blooming in place of acridity that had taken hold of his heart. "Yes! I will speak to my father at once! He has spoken about starting a trading company in the past." He pulls away from Ilya and makes to turn when he is tugged sharply back.
"Shane," Ilya stops him with a rumbling chuckle. "Kiss me."
"Oh," Shane breathes, but unable to deny Ilya of anything, he surges forward, lips slanted in the familiar warmth of Ilya's embrace. Even the taste of tobacco is welcome on his tongue, an earthy richness that can only be Ilya, his Ilya.
"Ya tózhe tebyá lyublyú."