“That sounds like an excuse.”
“It is not meant to be. Only context.”
“Does the context include him being...” I hesitate. “Insane?”
Another silence. This one heavier.
“You asked me once,” Micha says softly, “if you would have a marriage like an American one. With affection for affection’s sake. With softness that doesn’t need to be earned.” His brow tightens. “I do not think Gustav is capable of that kind of marriage.”
The words land with a cold finality. They feel like stones burying me alive.
“So I’m supposed to accept misery?” I ask. “Embrace it? Pretend it is romantic?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You are supposed to understand it may not look like the marriages you have known. But that does not mean you will not find your own kind of happiness. Your own rhythm.” Then, more quietly, “Many women in our world learn that love and survival sometimes look alike.”
We step beneath a stone bridge where the arch shields us from the wind. He turns to face me. My eyes burn, and I try to blink the heat away before he notices, but he does.
“Peighton, it’ll be okay,” he says softly.
I hug my arms around myself, trying to maintain the last little bit of dignity I have.
“I keep thinking maybe I can fix him. That if I try hard enough, I’ll get the version of him I liked... if only for a night. Before everything spiraled. Before he hated me. Before the punishments.” My throat tightens. “But now I’m not sure that moment was real. Or if I just wanted it to be.”
Micha hesitates only a second before lightly touching my arm. When I don’t move, he steps closer and wraps me in a hug. A real one. Warm and human. For a beat, I freeze, terrified someone will see, terrified of another punishment, another misunderstanding.
But he murmurs, “No one is here. You’re safe.”
And I break.
Not loudly or dramatically. Just a small, helpless sound that dissolves inside his coat as my forehead drops to his chest. His embrace tightens. It is nothing like Gustav’s fierce grip, nothing like the claiming hold I’ve become accustomed to. It is tender. Quiet. The kind of comfort I forgot existed.
For an instant, I remember being close to Gustav in my bed, the very first time he really touched me. The weight of his hand on my hip, the warmth of his breath on my neck. I thought it meant something. That it was the beginning of something safe.
Now, I’m not sure it ever was.
When Micha finally pulls back, he searches my face with a careful, almost sad expression.
“Gustav was not always like this,” he says. “Once he was... normal. Or as normal as a man raised in this world can be. But he carries pressure most men cannot imagine. And he has very few people he trusts.” His gaze softens. “One day, you might be one of them.”
I swallow hard. “I’m sure I’ll fail at this rate.”
“What if you don’t?” he counters.
I want to believe that. I want to believe I can help him climb out of the darkness instead of sinking into it with him.
“What if I leave him? Divorce him?” I whisper, but I already know the answer.
His jaw tenses. “You wouldn’t survive a week,” he says, not unkindly. “And the shame it would cause him... for his wife toleave him. You know this.”
I do. Mobsters rarely divorce. Wives disappear. And that truth is heavier than everything else.
But I still want to escape. I don’t reveal that, though. Maybe Tyra can help me hide.
We walk out from under the bridge. Snow begins to fall, slow, quiet flakes drifting down like ash. I tilt my head back and let one land on my cheek. Weightless little thing but it crushes me.
I’m trapped. Needed like a political prop. I’m ready to be human again. Not a thing to be used for politics.
I want to run. Change my name. Start over somewhere far away from this world of ice.
