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The movement is tiny, as subtle as a butterfly landing on a flower petal. But to me, it feels like someone just knocked over a mountain.
“I felt it,” I gasp.
Galina’s eyes light up, mirroring my own thrill. There’s color high on her cheekbones, her lips slightly parted like she’s out of breath. This woman is the embodiment of glowing. She reminds me of another time years ago when I felt joy just like this.
Another lifetime ago, Kristina pressed my hand to her stomach. She welled up with tears when I twitched in surprise from feeling our baby kick. That was when I learned the meaning of serenity.
An overwhelming warmth wells up from my center. It presses at the back of my eyeballs. “I’ve only felt happiness like this once before,” I whisper, gently trailing my fingers over her belly. “When I felt my baby kick inside Kristina.”
Her smile falters. “Oh, Arsen.”
There’s enough love in her eyes that I could fill an ocean with it. It soaks into me, and while it brings me a different sort of joy, it also makes me kick myself internally. She loves me so much, yet I keep hurting her each time I mention Kristina’s name. Dropping my hand, I hang my head in regret. “I never meant to make you feel like a prisoner. You’re my wife, and if anyone is a prisoner here, it’s me. I’d do anything for you. I mean that.”
She watches me quietly before reaching back, closing my door, and shutting us inside. Whatever she wants to say, she wants privacy. “You keep calling me your wife, but I can’t forget that our marriage was just a tool.”
“At the start, yes,” I agree. “But it’s become real—more real than anything I’ve ever given myself over to.”
Lighter than the kick of our baby, she rests her hand on my cheek. I lean into her touch—not on purpose, on instinct. The craving I have for her is incredible. It’s more compelling than hunger or thirst. It’s the kind of feeling that could drive a man insane.
We’re watching each other, waiting for one of us to make the next move. My desire to kiss her has my mouth tingling. I have to clench my jaw, my hands, every muscle to resist grabbing her face and capturing her lips.
I won’t make the first move.
Not here.
Not after she told me she needed space.
Galina runs her nails slowly down my jaw. “Do you love me?”
“With every fiber of my being,” I reply. I don’t have to think about it.
Her eyes search mine hastily. “Are we really on the same side?”
That word … sides. It carries a weight with it that settles on the back of my neck. In my life, there have always been two sides—those with me, and those against. Galina belongs with the former. So why, then, are my hackles standing on end?
Our fighting has been boiling down to our principles not aligning. That kind of thing ... can it even be fixed? Can we reconcile our differences when they’re so stark? I want to throw back my head and scream yes, but my gut won’t let me.
My world is dangerous, and I’ve learned to thrive in it. Part of that is because I’ve been able to see the plots against me before they can become reality. I haven’t always succeeded, unfortunately. And tragedies have given me a sharper sense of preservation.
That’s why … as I mull over her question… my paranoia is going haywire.
Galina won’t betray me. I think it, but the fear doesn’t vanish. If I try to say it out loud, there’ll be no conviction. As much as I want to believe she’ll always choose what’s best for me, I can’t.
And I hate that.
I hate that I can’t bring myself to trust her even as my heart screams at me to do exactly that.
My hands start to rise, but I force them back to my hips. I want to touch her ... God ... this is torture! “We want the same things.”
“Do we?” she muses sadly.
“Your future … mine … our baby’s. It’s all I think about. I swear, Galina. I swear it.”
Tell me you think about it too. Please. Please.
Her lips glide apart. I expect more words. She’s been arguing with me fiercely for so long; surely she’s not done yet. Galina digs her fingers into my hair, leveraging herself forward, dragging me toward her until we crash together in a kiss.
The resistance inside me splits apart. Grabbing her by her shoulders I thrust us together, seeking more of her mouth … more of everything. The thin robe does nothing to stop the firm tips of her breasts from rubbing against my chest. My undershirt is just as useless. The clothing feels the same as skin.
