“No,” she admits. “I didn’t. If anything, they made me feel more conspicuous.”
Her words are quiet, but they’re weighty. This is a new lifestyle for her. She hasn’t adjusted to the constant surveillance and the relentless presence of a team of guards. They’re not optional for her, though. Not as long as this threat is still active.
Truthfully, she should be afraid. There’s nothing stopping my assailant from coming after her just for petty revenge. Especially if the assailant is actually Kostya, as I suspect. He has every reason to try and hurt her after she ended their relationship. She screwed up more than just his matrimony plans that night.
“That’s wise,” I say, my voice even, controlled. “You should be vigilant. It means you’re starting to understand the situation.”
My words come out colder than I intend, but I don’t try to soften the blow. She needs to understand what she’s up against. Her life is going to be different now, there’s no getting around that. Still, I don’t like hearing that she’s afraid, especially when she’s more protected than she’s ever been.
This is her city. This is her home. It infuriates me that someone has gone through so much trouble to scare her.
I arrange my features to make sure the anger doesn’t show on my face, but I can’t stop the way it spreads through my chest. She deserves so much more than this. This has gone too far.
I keep my hands relaxed on the table even as the thought sharpens. Whoever tried to kill me didn’t just threaten me. They made her afraid. For that alone, they deserve more of my wrath than any enemy I’ve ever faced before.
She nods slightly, accepting my words even if they aren’t comforting. I can see the effort it takes for her to stay composed, to meet my eyes instead of looking away.
“I know you’re trying to fix it,” she says after a moment. “I just didn’t realize how different it would feel. Being watched all the time. Wondering if someone is looking for you.”
For you.Not for her. Not for us. The assailant is looking for me, and I’ve dragged her into this without her permission. The distinction matters more than she understands.
“I will fix it,” I tell her, not to reassure her necessarily, but to lay out an indisputable truth.
This is going to end soon. I am going to make sure that she’s safe, and I’m going to kill the man who’s trying to kill me. Once that’s accomplished, she can go back to whatever life she wants.
She studies my face like she’s trying to decide whether to believe me. Frankly, I don’t care if she believes me or not. I know what I’m about, and I don’t make promises I don’t keep.
Dinner ends without much more conversation. When she stands, she does so hesitantly, like she’s afraid of setting off a bomb.
“I think I’m going to sleep in the other room tonight,” she says gently. “I just feel like being alone.”
Her words are simple, but non-negotiable. She’s not asking my permission, she’s just letting me know not to expect her. I nod once, giving her my acknowledgment, but I can’t help but feel a little hurt that she doesn’t want to be with me. I can’t blame her, but I don’t like it at all.
“Of course,” I answer, holding her gaze for a moment.
She waits, maybe expecting resistance. When none comes, she gives a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and walks down the hall without looking back.
I let her go because this is temporary. Once this is all over, she won’t be here anyway. Getting used to distance now is smarter than pretending it won’t come later. Knowing that doesn’t lessen the hurt, though. It doesn’t stop me from wishing that she would choose to stay. That she would agree to be my wife for real, and not just because her life is at stake.
After dinner, I work for a while in my home office. I go over shipment reports, order numbers, and movement logs. It should feel good to be back in control of my empire. I’ve been running it remotely for so long, it should feel like a relief to be back at the helm. This kind of mundane work used to quiet my mind and calm me, but it’s not working tonight.
My focus keeps slipping, no matter how hard I try to concentrate. I remember finding her in my bed the other night. I remember how nice, how domestic it all felt. That feeling won’t last much longer, at least not if I do my job well. This nightmare will have to eventually come to an end, one way or another.
Even though she’s in another room, I feel her presence like a physical weight. Just knowing that she’s sleeping in the guestroom makes the apartment feel less empty. Before she came, I never considered that my life felt empty, but now it’s all I can think about. I don’t want to be so aware of its emptiness when she’s gone.
I push the thoughts away and stand. Movement will help get me out of this endless thought loop. In the bedroom, I go through my familiar nighttime routine without much thought. First, I take my jacket off. Then I pull off my watch and put it on the dresser. I even take the time to carry my shoes to the closet and put them back in their place, rather than leaving them on the floor by my bed.
It all helps me to feel like I’m in control of my life. This is the usual pattern of things. It feels good to feel like some things will always remain the same.
The closet lights come on softly overhead when I flip the switch. Everything is exactly where it should be, where I left it this morning. Except for the garment bag hanging near the end of the rack. I don’t remember putting it there. It takes me a moment to piece together what it could be.
For a moment, I just look at it, before realizing what’s inside. The shape of it should make the answer obvious, but my brain is clearly not working the way I need it to. I take a step toward the bag, internally debating if I should even look at it. Isn’t there some superstition about seeing a bride’s dress before the wedding?
Our wedding definitely doesn’t need any more bad luck around it, but I can’t stop myself even if I want to. I grab the zipper and slowly drag it down the length of the bag. It’s loud in this smallspace, and almost accusing, as if it’s shouting at me not to do this.
I refuse to listen, of course. I’m assaulted by an endless sea of white fabric, so bright that it takes me a moment to even make out the shape of it. When I finally do, I realize that it’s quite a simple dress. There’s no lace or beading or any frills at all.
I think back to the dress Alina had on the first night I met her. It was covered in sequins that made her look like a gold disco ball. That dress was much more elaborate, and it was just for the engagement party. It makes me wonder if she really wanted this dress, or if she just settled for something simple that made sense.
