“Take that away,” Mikhail orders someone. “Make her a plate with everything, and I’ll take it upstairs. No knives.”
“Konechno,” Svetlana answers. Then, the sound of her heels fades away behind me.
Slowly, Mikhail’s warm fingers lift my chin. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I think so.”
How did he know to ask Svetlana to take away the knives? The question sits on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t voice it. I don’t even want to remember the visual of that wooden handle. The answer, however, comes to me anyway, because I remember how much he must know about me.
I swallow. “You know. About what I see in my nightmares.”
“Of course I do,” he confirms. “Tell me, what do you need?”
I wrap my hand around his. “Just…don’t leave—stay. Stay with me.”
He releases a slow, controlled breath, as if he was afraid I was going to ask that.
“Is it me? Am I being too needy?” I ask. “Because if I am, I can sleep somewhere else—I can stop bothering you. You don’t need to leave your home and do God knows what just for some peace and quiet.”
Part of me wants him to say it’s not my fault while the other prays for the opposite. It would break me either way, but if he says I’m suffocating him, at least I can do something about it. And he won’t have to leave.
“It is you,” he says quietly. “Part of the reason is to settle that old debt, yes. But the rest…it’s you. If I don’t leave, someone else will, and if they mess up, you’re in danger. If I mess up,I’min danger. I’ll always choose the latter. I’ll always keep you safe, Cecilia, even if it costs me my life. That’s a promise, and you can be mad about it all you want, but it’s how things will work between us.”
Tears form in my eyes, but I blink them away.
“That’s not something I want or can afford,” I say, reminiscent of the little game we play involving debt and restitution.
“Believe me, you have given enough. More than I deserved or could’ve asked for.”
He smiles, and there’s something deeply sad about this smile, as if he’s saying goodbye. It hurts and angers me simultaneously, so I pull away from his hold, a sob lodged in my throat. As I walk out of the room, I can feel him behind me, the sound of his steps mimicking my pace. Entering my study upstairs, he follows me in, taking a seat on my piano chair.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
“Why? What’s left to talk about?” I ask, but I’m dying to be in his arms again.
“Please,” he says, extending his arm in invitation. He has never begged me for anything.
I take two steps in his direction and offer him my hand. He gently pulls me into his lap, taking one leg and hooking it on the other side of his body so I’m straddling him. My pussy sits directly on top of his hard length, and I try my best to ignore the delicious feeling.
“I meant to tell you this morning,” he says, fixing a piece of hair behind my ear, “that people reached out to me, asking for my wife to perform at their events.”
“They did?” I blink, surprised.
He nods. “One christening in spring. A restaurant opening on the Upper East Side in a few weeks. And a wedding this summer.”
“And…what did you tell them?”
“That my wife will let them know what she decides. That the queue is long, and they should consider themselves lucky if she says yes.”
I don’t hide my surprise when I ask, “You don’t have a problem with me working? Won’t it make you look bad?”
But unlike the criminal my father introduced me to at the stupid gala he organized for me to meet my match, Mikhail doesn’t seem bothered by the idea in the slightest.
“You’ll never have to work a day in your life if you don’t want to. But I can tell this isn’t just work for you—it’s your passion. And who am I to deny you that? Play your music, Cecilia. Make this dreadful world a better place for all of us,” Mikhail says, his hands brushing my thighs. “Besides, why bother to maintain a certain image when people already know who we are?”
He places a soft kiss on my lips—warm and a little desperate—then pulls back, watching me with a question in his eyes.
I’m getting the thing I always wanted. The music, the stage. I should be happy. No,ecstatic. My life is infinitely better than it used to be. And yet…
