Page 229 of Sexting His Assistant

I say, “It is unpleasant.”

“For both of us.”

“Yes,” I say.

Her eyes drift closed, then open again with effort. “When I’m better?”

I look at her face, at the sleep already pulling her under, at the stubbornness still surviving at the edge of it.

I say, “When you are better, I will not be this reasonable.”

A faint smile touches her mouth. “Good.”

Her hand loosens on my shirt.

Within minutes, her breathing evens out.

She falls asleep facing me, one cheek pressed into the pillow, lashes dark against her skin, the tension finally gone from her body.

I stay beside her and don’t move.

I tell myself it is because she might wake frightened.

I tell myself it is because Mirov said she should be monitored.

I tell myself many things that are practical, disciplined, and easier to survive than the truth.

But the truth is lying in my guest room, wearing the clothes my mother bought, sleeping peacefully because my mouth made her forget fear long enough to rest.

The truth is that I imagined forever today and didn’t hate it quickly enough.

I watch her sleep until the room begins to lighten, and I know with a certainty that should frighten me more than it does that my old vows are no longer holding as firmly as they once did.

25

NINA

Four days after the attack, there’s still no sign of Misha.

I call him every morning. I call him every night.

Sometimes I call him in the middle of the day because I convince myself that maybe he is finally somewhere with signal, or maybe his phone died and came back, or maybe he has been waiting for me to try at the exact right moment like the universe is some badly designed puzzle.

He never picks up. His location stays off.

His messages stay unread after the one I sent from the hospital.

At first, I was scared.

Now I’m scared and angry, which is worse, because anger gives me energy I’m not allowed to use.

I’m staying in Luka’s house, in the blue guest room, pretending I’m not getting used to the quiet.

That may be the most dangerous part.

The house is huge, but it does not feel empty. It has staff moving through it quietly, guards outside doors I’m not supposed to notice, Yelena’s presence like warmth in the walls, and Luka everywhere even when he is not in the room.

I know, even though he tries not to show me, that Misha’s disappearance is making him restless.