“Because you matter. Because I can’t lose you.”
Her lip trembles. “You can’t protect me from the whole world.”
“I can keep you from the worst of it. I can protect you and the baby.Ourbaby.”
“But—” She starts, then looks down at her fingers where she’s twisted the belt of the robe into a knot.
I pull her in, not hard—just enough to offer warmth. I can sense her wanting to hold back, wanting to step away. But then she just sighs, leaning into me.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says into my shirt. “I don’t know how to live this life. I don’t know if I can be brave enough.”
“You don’t have to be brave,” I say. “You just have to be honest. When you’re afraid, tell me. When you need your friend, we can make it happen the smart way. You give me your honesty; I give you my protection. That’s the exchange.”
She snorts a wet laugh. “So romantic.”
Not to mention that it’s hypocrisy. I’m asking honesty from her, while holding back so much.
“It’s the best I can do.”
There’s so much more I want to tell her. I haven’t begun to scratch the surface of my feelings for her in words. But the way I’m beginning to feel for her is something I can’t quite wrap my head around.
A thought edges up, ugly and familiar:You don’t deserve this.Not love, not her, not the child.
I let it pass. There’s no time now for self-pity.
I lower my mouth to her temple. “Whatever happens next, you don’t have to face it alone.”
She nods once against me. “And if I run?”
“I follow,” I say. “Close, or at a distance. Whatever you need. But Iwillbe there.”
We stand together until her breathing evens. Then she pulls back, wipes the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand, and looks out over the floor again.
“You said answers,” she says. “But it feels like I have more questions.”
She’s smart, senses there’s more. But I can’t tell her yet.
For a heartbeat, I think she has some sixth sense, that she’s on the verge of asking the question that will rearrange every line on the map—the one about Jonas and Peter and what everything really means.
She doesn’t, of course. How could she know?
Then she sighs, steps away, and nods at the door. “Take me home, Sasha.”
I signal to Bogdan through the glass. He looks up from an iPad, meets my eyes, and gives a nod that means the route’s clear, the car’s warm, and the men are briefed. Time to go.
As we descend the stairs, the men look up and then away, the way trained men do. Gabriella walks closer to me than she did on the way in, as if she’s more aware of her place in everything.
For the first time, we feel as if we’re walking side-by-side.
And I like her there.
CHAPTER 17
GABBY
One week later…
“You sent it.”
