Andrei.He's alive. He's here. He's?—
He stops when he sees me, his eyes going wide with a mixture of shock and relief. We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us moving. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. He's wearing clean clothes, but I can see the edge of a bandage peeking out from under his shirt.
He was hurt. He was shot, but he's alive. And now he's standing here, looking at me like I'm something miraculous.
"Liesl." My name comes out rough. "You shouldn't be out of bed."
"I had to find you." My voice is barely a whisper. "I had to know if you?—"
I don't finish the sentence. He crosses the distance between us in three long strides, and then his hands are on my face, tilting my head up so he can look at me. "You're awake." He says it like he can't quite believe it. Like he's been waiting for this moment and now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do with it. "You're okay."
I reach up and cover his hands with mine. "Are you?"
"I'm fine. The bullet went through. Clean exit wound. Viktor got me patched up."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"Three days." His thumb strokes across my cheekbone, the gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "You lost a lot ofblood. The doctor said you needed rest. Your body needed time to heal."
Three days. I've been unconscious for three days while he's been awake for at least some of that, dealing with the aftermath of the cabin, probably worrying about whether I'd wake up at all. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
His brow furrows. "For what?"
"For suggesting the meeting. For convincing you to bring my father to talk to us. For—" My voice breaks.
"Liesl. Stop."
"But—"
"It's not your fault." He leans down, resting his forehead against mine. "None of this is your fault. Your father made his choices. He allied with Volkov. He used you as a pawn in his business strategy. He pulled a gun and was willing to kill you to get to me. None of that has anything to do with you."
"I should have known." Tears are burning behind my eyes. "I should have realized he wasn't…"
"You wanted to believe the best of him. Of your parent. That's not a weakness,ptitsa." His hands tighten on my face. "Don't apologize for having hope. Don't apologize for trying to see the best in people. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I—" He stops, jaw clenching, like he's fighting with himself over what to say next.
"One of the reasons you what?" I prompt softly.
He pulls back slightly, his pale blue eyes searching mine. "At the cabin, before we both passed out. Do you remember what I said?"
My heart stutters. "I—I think so. But I thought maybe I imagined it. Or that I was dying and my brain was making things up."
"You didn't imagine it." His voice is low, rough with emotion. "I meant it. Every word."
"Say it again." I press my lips together, staring up at him. "Please. I need to hear it when I'm not bleeding out on a forest floor."
He takes a breath, and for a moment I see vulnerability flash across his face. Raw and unguarded—terrifying for a man like him.
"I love you, Liesl." The words are quiet, but I can hear the sincerity in them. "I love you more than power, more than the organization, more than my own life. I love you, and it terrifies me, because I don't know how to protect something I care about this much."
I feel my eyes fill with tears. "Andrei?—"
"But I don't know if you can love me." He continues like he needs to get it all out before he loses his nerve. "Not after everything. Not after what you've seen, what you know about me. I'm not a good man, Liesl. I've done terrible things. I'll probably do more terrible things. And you—you're sunshine and hope and everything good in this world. You deserve better than?—"
"I love you too." I cut him off, my hands moving to grip his shirt. "I love you. I've loved you for longer than I wanted to admit. Longer than makes sense. I love you even though I know exactly who you are and what you've done."
His eyes widen, and I see his expression go soft and open, relief and joy and disbelief all tangled together.
"But," I continue, and his face immediately shutters, bracing for rejection. "I can't be a possession. I can't be something you own, something you lock away and control. I need you to trust me. To let me be my own person, to make my own choices, to have a say in my own life. I can't just be yours, Andrei. I need to be?—"
