Once inside, I settle her down in the living room and head into the kitchen to make her some chamomile tea. When I come back, she’s sitting on the couch with a throw wrapped around her, staring into the distance.
“Here.” I press the cup into her hands. “Have a sip.”
She nods absent-mindedly and takes one forced sip before setting the cup down. To ease her into telling me what’s on her mind, I speak first.
“I was sitting at the café when I saw them. I didn’t think much of them at first, but then I noticed their tattoos, and each of them had one of the Zakharov unit. I got worried as hell, Gela, but if they saw me, it would’ve caused a scene, and I feared you could get injured. So I hid and waited. If you had left the café, I would have followed. You know that…don’t you?”
I begin to feel guilty. What if she’s pale and terrified because she thinks I abandoned her?
“I know that,” she whispers, and doesn’t even bother looking at me. There’s no rage, no disappointment, no confusion on her face. If my move isn’t the problem, what is?
I’m throwing darts in the dark here, but I take my shot. “I hope you’re not worried about your client being a spy. I need you to know that I did some research on the company and on Jason as well. Trust me when I say, he looks legit. Today was just a case of bad timing, I think.”
She nods, but something in her expression tells me I've missed the mark yet again.
Then it hits me. Today was full of triggers that must have reminded her of being cornered by men with guns in her office, until I saved her.
“Gela,” I say softly. “Are you thinking about what happened at your office?”
Her head snaps up, and I feel like I’ve cracked through her walls, thank god.
“I can't stop seeing it,” she admits in a shaky voice. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them pointing their guns at me, and the fear comes back so strong, I feel like I’m reliving that moment.”
Something in my chest twists painfully, and I move closer, placing an arm around her shoulders. When she doesn't pull away, I draw her nearer.
“I won't let anything happen to you,” I promise, meaning every word.
She leans into me, and I feel her body soften. “You can't promise that.”
“Watch me,” I growl.
We sit in silence for a few moments, and she lets her head drop to my shoulder. It's strange how natural it feels to sit in silence with her. I just wish she weren’t feeling so anxious.
“You know,” I whisper, needing her to know that none of this was easy on me either. “Watching the way your client looked at you while I hid ate at me.”
She pulls back and looks at me with surprise. “What? Jason?”
“He kept checking you out.” I frown. “I didn't like it at all.”
“He was not,” she protests, but I can see a hint of color returning to her cheeks.
“Trust me, I know that look. Men don't look at potential colleagues with that kind of interest.”
She rolls her eyes. “So what, you were jealous?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Is that so terrible?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “It is when it makes you want to hurt someone. That's not healthy, Valentin.”
“What's not healthy is how I feel when another man looks at my wife that way,” I say, and the word 'wife' suddenly feels very heavy on my tongue from how true it rings in my heart.
The air between us suddenly begins to thrum, and I become acutely aware of every point our bodies touch. Her eyes dance between mine, almost shyly, like she’s afraid of me knowing what she feels.
“Well, having a wife is more than a signature on a paper,” she whispers reluctantly. “It's... wanting the same things.”
Her eyes drop to my lips, and then she looks away, like it’s too good to be true. I think back to that day after we kissed in myoffice and how she’d told me it can’t happen again. Her words were confident, but there was disappointment in her eyes when I took it without a fight.
“And what if I do want the same things as you?” I lean closer, testing my theory. “What if I want more than just your safety, Gela?”
