Instead, it’s just Artem, updating me and letting me know that everything is fine at home.
Still, I drive too fast getting back there.
Svetlana is in the living room when I get back, reading a book on the side of the sofa nearest the window. She looks up, startled, and for a moment, we just stare at each other across the small space of my living room. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes that makeup can't hide, her pale blonde hair pulled back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. But she’s still beautiful. So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
I go to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. For once, I don’t have blood on my hands—I just observed tonight—but I still feel as if I need a shower to get the memory of all of it off of my skin.
“Where would we live?”
The question is so abrupt and unexpected that I nearly drop the glass in my hand. I look up to see her looking at me acrossthe living room, and there’s something in her gaze that I haven’t seen before. It’s not quite hope, but not quite despair either. Something in between. Something that makes my heart hammer against my ribs. "If we tried to make this work. If I had the baby. We can't stay here. I mean… I suppose we could, but this isn’t really?—"
I stare at her, my mind racing. This is the first time she's spoken about the future as if it might actually exist. As if we might actually exist beyond this strange limbo we've been living in.
"No," I agree. "We couldn't stay here."
"So where?" she gestures around the apartment. "Do you have some secret mansion tucked away somewhere? A house in the suburbs with a white picket fence?"
The sarcasm in her voice is familiar. But underneath it, I hear the real question. The one she's actually asking.
Can you really give me a life? Can you give our child a life?
"I have money saved," I say carefully. "Enough to buy a place. Somewhere you'd be comfortable. Where we could raise a family."
"And Ilya?" Her voice drops on his name, and I see fear flicker across her face. "How would that work? You can't exactly tell him you're shacking up with his ex-fiancée and raising a baby that might not even be yours."
The words still feel like a physical blow, even though I've heard them before. Even though I know the truth of what happened to her in Russia, what those animals did to her while I was too late to stop it.
"I'll find a way," I say flatly.
"Find a way." She shakes her head, her mouth turning down. "That's not a plan, Kazimir."
"I know that?—"
"Do you?" She clicks her tongue against her teeth. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've thought about the fantasy but not the reality. You want to play house, but you haven't considered what happens when Ilya finds out. What happens when my father tracks me down? What happens when—" Her voice cracks, and she presses her lips together hard, fighting for control.
I close the distance between us in a few strides, sinking down next to the couch and reaching for her, but she pulls back, shaking her head.
"Don't."
"Svetlana—"
"I need a real plan." Her hands are shaking now, and she clasps them together in front of her stomach. "If I'm going to do this. If I'm going to have this baby and trust you to protect us, I need more than 'I'll find a way.' I need to know that you've actually thought this through. That you're not just acting on some... some obsession that's going to burn out the second reality sets in."
The accusation stings because part of it is true. I am obsessed with her. I have been since the first moment I saw her on Ilya's arm, looking like a princess from some fairy tale, all ice and elegance. The obsession has only grown worse after I've had her, after I've tasted her skin and felt her come apart beneath my hands.
But it isn't just obsession. Not anymore.
"You want a plan?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intend. "Fine. I'll get us a house. Somewhere outside the city, far enough that we're not tripping over Ilya's men every time we step outside. I'll tell Ilya I can’t do this anymore. That I’m retiring from the life. He’ll understand. He’ll let me go.”
"For how long?" she challenges. "A month? Six months? A year? He’s not going to never check in on you again, even if hedoes just let you quit, which I find it hard to believe is a thing that happens. Eventually, he's going to find out."
"Then I'll deal with it when it happens."
"That's not good enough!"
"What do you want me to say?" I snap, my own frustration boiling over. "That I have all the answers? Can I guarantee nothing will go wrong? I can't. This is the life we're in, Svetlana. There are no guarantees. There's only what we're willing to risk."
"And what are you willing to risk?" Her eyes blaze. "Really? Because it's easy to say you'll protect me when we're here, alone, playing pretend. But what happens when it's real? When Ilya is standing in front of you, demanding answers? When will my father's men come for me again?"
