I can’t hold back the tears anymore.
They stream down my face as I grieve for the father I never really knew, the man who died trying to do the right thing.
Mikhail stands abruptly and moves to the window, his back rigid with tension.
“I need some air,” he mutters, disappearing into the small bedroom.
Father Miguel pats my hand. “Give him time. Guilt is a heavy burden, especially for a man like him.”
I nod, wiping my eyes. “Thank you for telling me the truth. About everything.”
“Your father made me promise to look after you if anything happened to him.” The old priest’s eyes are sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”
“You’re doing it now.” I stand and embrace him. “You’re keeping us safe.”
After Father Miguel retires to his room to rest in the afternoon, I find Mikhail sitting on the edge of the narrow guest bed, his head in his hands.
The bedroom is sparse, just a bed, a dresser, and a crucifix on the wall.
Afternoon light filters through the thin curtains, casting shadows across his face.
“Mikhail,” I say softly, closing the door behind me.
He doesn’t look up. “I fucked up everything. Your father, your future. I…you should leave me. Annul the marriage. I’ll sign the paperwork.”
I freeze, his words a jumble. “M-Mikhail?”
He finally lifts his head, his cold green eyes ringed red. “It won’t keep my uncle for tracking you down though. You’ll need witness protection. Another country maybe. And your friend. I…”
His words finally process, and my heart pounds in my ears, my mouth dry. My steps are unsteady, but I stumble to him and fall on my knees, my hands shaky as I cup his face.
“What the hell?” My grip tightens, and a sliver of pain flashes in his dead eyes. “Did I ask for a fucking divorce?”
“Sophia.”
“Shut up.” My hands move to his hair, my fingers tight as I guide our mouths together. My kiss is desperate, my lips molding around his until they find life and finally kiss me back with all the desperation we’ve suffered through since Adrian’s text.
We finally break apart, breathing heavily, and our eyes lock together.
“I am not fucking leaving you, Mikhail Artyomov.”
Life finally flares in his cold eyes, and he pulls me up onto the bed, his arms wrapping around me with desperate intensity.
His lips find mine again and I latch onto him greedily, then pull back with a moan.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper against his mouth, glancing at the crucifix on the wall. I want this man with every fiber of my being, to show him how much I need him, here, with me. But… “Not here. Not in Father Miguel’s home.”
“I need you.” Mikhail’s hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “You…need me too.”
The laugh that slips from me is soft, and I can’t resist this man.
We undress each other slowly, reverently.
His hands shake as he unbuttons my shirt, and I help him with trembling fingers.
When we’re finally bare, he pulls me against his chest, and I feel his heart hammering against mine.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair. “For your father. For everything I put you through. For being the monster who destroyed your life.”
