She stared at me. "What does that mean?"
"It means marriage." The word hung between us, heavy and irrevocable. "If you're my wife, you're protected by our laws. And you can't testify against your husband."
For a long moment, she didn't speak. Didn't move. Just looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
Then she laughed.
Not the happy, warm laugh I loved. This was bitter. Sharp.
"So that's what this has all been about," she said, pulling away from me. "The protection. The dinners. The touching and the teasing and the making me want you. It was all just a setup for this. For trapping me."
"No." I reached for her, but she stood, putting distance between us. "That's not what this is."
"Really? Because it sounds exactly like what this is." She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes bright with anger and unshed tears. "You need me to marry you to solve a problem. And you've been softening me up, making me care about you, so I'd say yes."
"I do want you to say yes," I said, standing. "But not because I've been manipulating you. Because I actually want to marry you, Shanice. I want you as my wife. This situation just gave me a reason to ask sooner rather than later."
"Convenient timing."
"Shitty timing, actually." I moved toward her slowly. "Because now you think I'm only asking because I have to. But I was always going to ask. I told you that. I told you I was going to ask for more, and I meant it."
"How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to know this is real and not just you protecting an asset?"
The word 'asset' made me flinch. "You think that's all you are to me?"
"I don't know what I am to you." Her voice rose, anger bleeding through. "I thought I was starting to figure it out, but all I know is that once again, someone else is making decisions about my life. Once again, I don't get a choice. I have to give up what I want to stay safe."
"Shanice—"
"No." She held up a hand, her whole body trembling with rage. "Do you know what I've given up? Everything. I gave up my apartment. My independence. My sense of safety. I put off school for years to help raise Zara because Katrina needed me. And now, just when I'm finally getting my life back, just when I'm doing something for myself, you're telling me I have to givethat up too. I have to become your wife and what? Just accept it?"
"It's not like that."
"Yes, it is." Tears spilled down her cheeks now, hot and furious. "It's exactly like that. And the worst part is, you're right. I don't have a choice. Because if I say no, they'll kill me. Or you'll have to send me away. I'll lose Katrina, Zara, and everything I have left. So what kind of choice is that, Mikhail?"
My chest felt like it was caving in. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this. Sorry doesn't give me back my life." She moved to the door, yanking it open. "Get out."
"Shanice…"
"Get. Out." Her voice was ice. "I can't look at you right now. I can't be in the same room as you. So just go."
I wanted to argue, to stay and fight, then make her understand. But the look in her eyes stopped me. She was hurting, and probably felt like she was being pushed into a corner. That I’d taken away her choices just like everyone else had. So I walked out of her room and closed the door behind me. I’d give her time. That’s why I didn't go far.
I sank down against the wall opposite her door, my back against the cold surface, and stayed there all night. I listened for nightmares or any sign she needed me, though she'd made it clear she didn't want me there.
I heard her crying around four, pacing around five, and the shower turned on at six. And through it all, I stayed. Because even if she hated me, even if she never forgave me, I'd still protect her. That's what you did for the people you loved. The word hit me like a freight train. Did I love her?
Fuck.
At seven, her door opened.
She stepped out, dressed for class, her eyes red rimmed but dry. She saw me sitting there and stopped. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
"Good morning," I said quietly. "I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes. I need to change."
I stood, not looking at her directly, not trying to justify or explain. What was there to say? She was right about everything. I walked past her to my room, showered quickly, and changed into fresh clothes. When I came downstairs, she was waiting by the door, her bag over her shoulder, her expression blank.
