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Actually now that I think of it, maybe ever, not like that. And certainly not looking for an actual answer.
“Loyalty’s simpler than conscience,” I tell her. “You have it or you don’t. I made my choices young and I’ve been living with them since.”
Katerina scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s such bullshit, Nico."
I blink.
“Again, you saved a two year old from being murdered to start a war,” she says as she pulls the chair closer. “You’ve had someone watching her every day since and it sounds like you’ve put in genuine effort as to who could watch her. You brought her into your own house and built a goddamn nursery for her with every toy and comfort imaginable. And you want me to believe you’re just some guy who does what he’s told because it’s easier than thinking about it?”
She snorts and crosses her arms. “Try again.”
“Fine.” I lean back in my chair, a bit annoyed and impressed she sniffed me out. “I had a choice. I’ve had plenty of them. I made the easy one every time, because loyalty doesn’t ask anything hard of you. It just asks you to show up.” I shrug. “Deciding what’s actually right, on my own, without somebody telling me—that’s harder. I stopped doing that a long time ago.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her gaze is locked on mine.
“That’s still bullshit,” she says but there’s no real heat behind her words. “You’ve been deciding what’s right this whole time. You just don’t want to admit it, because then you’d have to explain why you still work for people like that.”
I don’t have a good answer for that one and she knows it, based on the smirk curving around that gorgeous mouth of hers. She tilts her head to the side, her gaze becoming sharper.
“But yet you’ve stalked me for two years,” she says slowly and my body burns at the word stalking. “You’ve had cameras everywhere following me. I’ve never truly been alone, have I?”
“I prefer the term, ‘keeping an eye on you’, but yes, you’re overall correct.”
She stares at me, waiting for the part where I apologize, but I don’t give it to her.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry about it,” I say unapologetically. “It’s the reason you’re sitting in that chair right now instead of some stranger who wouldn’t know how to keep you safe. I’m not proud of how I got here, but I’m not ashamed of it either.”
She looks at me a long moment, jaw tight and her fingers twitching, like she’s deciding whether to throw something at me.
“That sounds like someone who settled,” she says instead. “Instead of choosing something different.”
“Maybe. But you don’t walk away from a life like mine unless you’ve got something worth walking toward.” I meet her eyes, willing her to see the extent of my feelings. “I never had that. Not until recently.”
I don’t say the rest—that “recently” means her, that it’s meant her since she decided a stranger’s life was worth fighting for—but I don’t have to. From the way her breathing hitches, she’s understood.
The tension in the room is thick.
She’s not looking at the desk anymore.
Not the folder, not the map, not anything in this room except me.
I can see her fighting the urge to come closer and my mouth dries at that.
Her eyes drop to my mouth then snap back up, like she’s mad at herself for looking.
She scowls as her hands curl at her sides. She doesn’t know yet if she’s going to leave or come closer. My heart hammers.
Please don’t leave. Stay with me.
She doesn’t leave the room. Instead, she abruptly stands up, the chair skittering backward.
Her breathing has changed. It’s shallow and quick and there’s a flush climbing up her throat that has nothing to do with anger anymore.
She takes one step toward the desk before she stops. I watch her war with herself, my mouth dry.
“This is a terrible idea,” she says, and her voice isn’t steady at all.
I swallow. “Probably.”
