“It meansmy little nightingale.”
She sits up quickly and stares at me, her brows creasing further. She opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “What?!” she finally says, her voice reaching a fever pitch. She clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. “All these years I thought you were calling me a moron or a bitch or something terrible,” she cries, throwing her arms up and letting them fall back down on the mattress beside her. After a while of just staring at the wall and trying to come to terms with the information she just discovered, she finally asks, “So…whylittle nightingale, of all things?”
Her face turns towards mine, but I don’t dare meet her eyes. I keep mine trained on the ceiling above us. I’ve never told anyone this story, least of all her, and I hope that the alcohol in her system keeps this secret only mine forever. “I heard you singing.”
She pauses for a beat and then asks, “When?”
I’ve heard her sing more than once, unbeknownst toher, so I choose my next words carefully. “The first time was soon after we had signed the first marriage contract. I climbed the lattice near your bedroom window and snuck inside your room. My plan was to hurt you…or maybe even kill you. Who knows. I was just so angry about the whole thing and trying to find an outlet for my inner turmoil.”
I hear her breath stutter in her lungs as she lies down beside me, her face still turned towards mine.
“But then I heard you singing in the shower. You sounded like one of the nightingales that I would hear singing in the woods when I was a little boy and my mother would take me for walks. So pure and sweet. And I knew in that moment that I couldn’t hurt you. You were innocent in all of this, just like I was. We were just kids, trying our best to circumvent the environments that we were born into.”
She’s quiet then. So quiet that I think she’s fallen asleep. But then she stirs next to me and confesses in a whisper, “I’ve never let anyone hear me sing.”
“Well, then I consider it an honor,” I tell her seriously. She does truly have a beautiful voice. I’ve heard her numerous times over the years, but I keep that to myself. Right now isn’t the time to divulge the fact that I have cameras installed in her apartment or the fact that I’ve stalked her over the years. I can remember several road trips to her all-girls’ school during my summer breaks where I would break into her dorm room and hide in the shadows while she slept. Watching her sleep always brought me so much peace, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I always envied her; being able to escape her demons when I, myself, never had that luxury.
“I’m glad you didn’t kill me back then. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to get to know you. Therealyou,” she says, surprising me.
“I realized pretty early on that I could never truly hurt you, Savina. You’re the only person in this world I never want to hurt,” I confess. She’s the only one I care about besides my little brother. I have an extremely short list when it comes to people I would kill for and die for, and she’s definitely at the top. “I’ll always protect you,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I would protect Savina with my life, whether she’s my wife or my brother’s. I would gladly take a bullet for her or give up my soul in exchange for hers. My loyalty to Savina knows no bounds. But I keep all of that to myself as well, because I don’t want to worry her or scare her off. My obsession for her is deep. Deeper than she could ever even imagine.
I can see a glint of tears in Savina’s eyes right before she closes them. And then she curls up beside me again and rests her head on my stomach. It doesn’t take long before sleep overtakes her, and I can feel a small puddle of drool forming on one of my favorite shirts. But I don’t mind. She’s done it before, and I find it cute. I also love the fact that she feels safe enough with me to fall asleep in my arms.
I run my fingers through her soft hair for a long time, listening to her steady breaths as she sleeps. I count the freckles on her face. She still has thirty-seven, just like the last time I counted.
My eyelids grow heavy, and I know I should leave her alone for the night. Go to another room. Crash on the couch or something, but I stupidly decide to stay with her.
“Happy Birthday,privighetoarea mea mica,” I whisper to her before I allow myself to succumb to my exhaustion.
And I hate to admit it, but I end up sleeping like a goddamn baby with her in my arms.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Savina
I WAKEUP alone in Dimitri’s bed. The pillows and sheets still carry his familiar scent, and I inhale deeply before sighing contentedly. Glancing around his room and being able to actually see it in the light now, it’s exactly how I would have pictured it. All dark tones, clean and manly but still cozy and comfortable. I never would have thought someone like him would have so many pillows, but I woke up in a mountain of them, and it makes me smile. Dimitri has a soft side even if he refuses to show it.
Yawning, I stretch and sit up. Too fast.Ouch.My head pounds, feeling like someone is drilling inside of my damn brain. I am completely and utterly hungover, and my stomach lurches in protest as I pull back the sheets and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Shit,” I mutter miserably.
It takes me several minutes to gather my wits about myself before I trot to Dimitri’s bathroom and relieve myself in the toilet. Groaning,I go to the sink and splash water on my face. Fumbling with a blob of toothpaste on my fingertip, I haphazardly scrub at my teeth and tongue, trying to get the stale alcohol taste out of my mouth. Then, I follow up with some mouthwash I find stashed under the sink.
Feeling minutely better and a little more human, I make my way out of the bathroom, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet in the hallway as I walk towards the delicious smell of food.
Dimitri’s apartment is spacious with an open floor plan. The kitchen, dining room and living room are all interconnected but smartly divided by furniture and half walls. Dimitri’s back is turned towards me as he stands over the stove. I look at the small, round table and see that it is set with a plate, silverware, and a full glass of orange juice with two small pills sitting adjacent to it.
I pad quietly into the room, not wanting to startle him. But as if he already knew I was there, he says, “Good morning, Savina.”
“Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I got ran over by a big truck,” I confess with a sigh.
“Figured as much. Sit down. I’ll have breakfast ready for you in a moment,” he says.
I take a seat at the table and watch him closely. He’s making some eggs and bacon, and they smell divine. “You know how to cook?” I ask, curious.
