Mikhail
The penthouse is quiet when I arrive home. I half expect Maria to be sitting where she was that other night after the bombing, flipping through a book from the shelf, admiring the glossy photos of art from museums she would like to see.
Places all over the world, but she’s forced to stay here with me.
But she’s nowhere to be found. I make my way up the stairs to her door, my mind still seeing the reproach in her eyes earlier, the wild fear when I reached for her, and behind the fear, unmistakable revulsion.
I knock and hear only a sniffle. Gently, I open the door and find her wrapped in a robe and lying on her bed. The silly dress she wore is gone. She’s changed into her pajamas and her hair is still damp from the shower.
“Are you all right?” I ask, searching her eyes.
Maria’s face pales as she watches me walk toward the bed. Her lips part slightly, trembling as she tries to form words. She has no makeup on and her eyes are wide-the picture-perfect image of innocence and vulnerability. It makes me want to protect her from everything, including me.
“I don’t know anymore,” she stammers, her voice barely audible. “What happened, Mikhail?”
I hesitate before I can answer. The man broke through not only my security but Sonia Karamazov’s security as well. I’ve already gotten an apologetic call from Nina, who is fearful that this could ruin her reputation.
But none of that matters to me. The only thing I can focus on is Maria.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I finally say.
She doesn’t look convinced. She seems to hold herself together, but I can still see the cracks in her facade of bravery.
I hate that this had to happen. I hate that I’ve dragged her into something she obviously doesn’t understand-something that is tearing apart her innocence.
But most of all, I hate that I give a damn.
Her gaze pins me. “You’re lying!” she shakes her head. “Liar! Liar! Why can’t you just tell me the truth? Why do you have to keep me in the dark about everything?”
I have no time to grab Maria’s fists when she lunges at me. She starts beating my chest. It doesn’t hurt, not physically, at least. I let her do it until she’s tired from the effort. Pleased that she’s fighting back again.
She scowls. “Why can’t I hurt you the same way you’ve hurt me?”
“Maria,” I warn her.
She shrinks away from my touch. “Don’t. We had an agreement. We work as a team, but that’s it. What you did. The look on your face.” She shakes her head. “Don’t you care?”
More than you can ever realize.
Maria stares intently at me as if she’s expecting more.
I sit on the edge of the bed, but not too close. “Watching that man try to take you away … I can’t lose anyone else, Maria. I won’t.”
“You don’t care about me.” She swallows down her tears. “Just admit it.”
I glance at her, her concern etched across her expression. I can’t do emotions. They lead to weakness, and weakness kills well-meaning people. It takes all my strength to force out a response.
“I know I shouldn’t, but somehow I do.” The truth shocks me, and so does admitting it. I’m starting to care about her. And the thought scares me more than anything else ever has.
Maria lifts her hand and inches it toward me slowly as if she wants to pet a wild beast. I sit motionless, waiting. She places her hand on my shoulder, and for a moment, we sit in silence, listening to nothing.
“Aren’t you scared?” Maria asks quietly, her breath warm against my neck.
“Of what?” I ask, feeling her shiver.
“Of … death,” she says, pulling away slightly to look into my eyes.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, I’m unable to speak. “No,” I speak honestly. “I’m scared of failure. It won’t ever happen again.”
“There’s more to life than revenge, Mikhail,” she says softly. “And dying.”
How would you know? I want to ask viciously. You’ve never lived it. But then that’s when it hits me. She’s never lived it, so she can never be jaded by it. She can still believe that life isn’t just made up of failures. That it all doesn’t end the same way.
Maria’s breath is warm against my neck, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine. For a moment, I allow myself to get lost in a sensation that I thought I had forgotten. I close my eyes and remember. You should’ve been an artist, Mikhail … My breathing becomes ragged as anger builds in me swiftly.
It won’t happen again. I won’t fail again.
I pull her arms off my neck and stand up from the bed. “Get dressed. I have something to show you.”