The word sits between us, heavy and cold. Murder.
I shudder despite myself, pulling my daughter closer. She stirs, murmurs something sleepy, then settles again, trusting me completely. The weight of that trust makes my chest ache.
“You’re exhausted,” Aleksander says more gently. “Both of you are. You shouldn’t be answering questions right now. Especially not tonight.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man who held me on the plane—who shielded my eyes, who kissed me like I was something precious—with the man who says murder so calmly, like it’s a fact of life.
My heart starts to race. “Aleksander…did you know that man?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His silence feels deliberate, measured.
“I’ll explain,” he says at last. “But not here. Not in a moving car. And not when you’re this tired.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, my voice breaking. “You keep telling me to trust you, but you won’t tell me anything.”
He turns to me fully now, and the intensity in his gray eyes makes my breath catch. “I’m not asking for blind trust. I’m asking you to let me get you somewhere safe first.”
Safe. The word sounds hollow and comforting all at once.
I shake my head, tears burning behind my eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
His voice softens. “I know. But right now, I’m not risking you getting pulled into something you don’t understand. Not with your daughter there. Not on my watch.”
That does it. The way he says it. The weight behind the words. I realize then that whatever Aleksander is, whatever he’s mixed up in, he’s already decided one thing with absolute certainty.
He’s not letting me go.
“We’ll leave for New York first thing tomorrow,” he says, like it’s already decided.
“No,” I say immediately, too fast. “Aleksander, we should just keep going. I don’t want to stay here. I don’t even want to be in Boston.”
He doesn’t argue right away. He just glances at me, then at my daughter curled against my chest. Her cheeks are no longer flushed, her breathing steadier now. I press my lips to her forehead without thinking.
At least her fever has gone down.
The fight drains out of me all at once. My shoulders sag. I hate that this is what tips the scale, but it does. I can be scared for myself later. Right now, she needs rest. Quiet. A bed.
Aleksander notices the moment I change my mind. He always seems to.
“Just for the night,” he says, softer. “You both need sleep.”
The car slows, then turns into a covered drive. A hotel rises in front of us, all glass and soft lighting, understated and expensive. The driver steps out first, opening my door.
Before I can protest, Aleksander is already there. “I’ll carry her.”
“I can—” I start, but he’s already lifting Lily carefully from my arms, like she weighs nothing, one arm supporting her back, the other tucked under her knees. She stirs, murmurs, then settles again, trusting him instantly.
My heart does something stupid and traitorous the moment I see them together.
Inside, everything is hushed and warm. Marble floors, low voices, the smell of polished wood. Aleksander checks us in with quiet efficiency, his hand resting lightly at my back as if it belongs there.
A key card slides across the desk.
In the elevator, I finally find my voice again. “I’d like a separate room.”
He looks at me, calm, unreadable, then a corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says easily. “I’ve booked the penthouse suite.”
The words land heavier than they should.
