“I slept.”
“In your study?”
I say nothing.
Her expression shifts. “You didn’t come back.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because I was afraid I would fuck you before you understood what you were asking for.
I say, “Because you needed rest.”
She studies me. She doesn’t believe that is the whole answer.
I gesture up the stairs. “Go.”
She starts walking ahead of me, slowly, one hand on the railing. I stay behind her, close enough to catch her if she slips, far enough not to touch.
She pauses near the top. “Yaromir?”
“Yes?”
Her back is still to me. “Did you leave because you regretted it?”
The question is quiet. Too quiet.
I look at the line of her shoulders under the robe. “No.”
She turns her head slightly, not fully. “Then why?”
This time, I answer more honestly. “Because I didn’t trust myself to stop twice.”
She goes still. The back of her neck flushes pink. For several seconds, she says nothing. Then she continues up the stairs.
I follow her to my bedroom.
Our bedroom.
And when she steps inside, I remain in the doorway.
She looks back at me. “You’re still not coming in?”
“Not yet.”
Her mouth tightens, but there’s something else in her eyes now. Not hurt.
Anticipation.
I close my hand around the doorframe. “Sleep, Anya.”
This time, she doesn’t argue.
But before she turns away, she says, very quietly, “I didn’t regret it either.”
Then she closes the door between us, and I stand there for a long moment, staring at the wood.
