Her hand draws back half an inch like she burned herself on me, then retreats to her champagne flute. I pour a little more. She takes it and makes a face that is half pleasure and half grief. “Champagne when my sons are in the woods without me. I feel like a bad person.”
“You are not. You are allowed to enjoy the moment.”
She nods. She puts the glass down and takes my water instead. “Water is probably the better call right now. I’m terrified, Roman.”
“Fear is a tool. Learn to wield it, and no one can use it against you.”
Mina smiles at that. Her hand finds mine on her knee. She threads our fingers together and squeezes once. “I want to be a good wife,” she says without opening her eyes. “Whatever that means.”
“It means you tell me the truth. Our marriage is…not anything I planned?—”
She laughs. “Same here.”
“But I enjoy your company, Mina. We will make our marriage whatever we both need. I would prefer we have a friendship. If something else blooms from that, all the better. If we remain only friends and we keep our sons safe, I would still call that a good marriage, given our circumstances.”
“I can do that.” She opens her eyes. “Ask me one more. Make it hard.”
“What do you want out of our arrangement?”
She looks at the window. She looks at me. “To live a boring, long, happy life.”
“I will do my damnedest to give you boredom and happiness and many years.”
She laughs again. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I’m thanking you in advance for all of that.” She pauses, then adds, “And for letting me hate your good plan and not punishing me for it.”
“You can hate my plans. I will still make them if it means keeping you and our boys safe.”
Her head finds my shoulder and her breaths go steady, as though she’s finally breathing again. She smells like the last frost before springtime—frost and flowers beginning to bloom. The weight of her head on me feels right. I like being her support. I like that she feels comfortable enough to lean on me.
Something in my gut tells me I could also lean on her, but Fyodor’s voice in my head begs for caution. I wonder when his voice will die too.
15
MINA
The plane hums.The map creeps across black water. I watch the thin line crawl and know it is only a guess. The rest of this night is a guess. He was right about that. We don’t know what comes next. We only know we are here.
I let that settle in my chest. It feels like a knot at first. Then it loosens. A little. I picture my boys asleep under thick blankets in a room that smells like soap and wood. My mother arguing with a kettle. Guard women circling outside. Everyone safe.
Roman sits next to me instead of across. His knee brushes mine. No words. He pours a small amount of champagne and more water and sets both on the table. His fingers are steady. The plane shifts. He does not.
“You were right.” The words taste strange and honest as I say them. I’m not sure if I like that combination. “We don’t know what will happen. We should enjoy what we can.”
He studies my face. “What does that mean to you?”
“Live in the moment.”
“We can do that.” He lifts my left hand and studies the ring. It sits there like it has always known my finger. He kisses the base of my thumb. The kiss is not a test. It is a question. I nod because my mouth is busy trying not to shake.
He kisses me then. Slow. Careful. Not because I am fragile. Because he knows I’m tuned tight and wants to retune me. I lean in for more. Heat runs up the back of my neck and across my scalp. His hand slides to my jaw. He pauses. He is asking again without asking. I say yes against his mouth because I don’t want to speak and stop this.
“Tell me to stop anytime,” he says against my lips.
“I will.”
