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I tuck the blanket around her body. “If you do, I’ll be here to wake you up.”
Every time.
That night, I sit outside her door on the floor, waiting just in case she cries out again.
The sun rises without Galina making a whimper.
A member of my staff wanders down the hall. The young woman—Varya, I think, and I feel bad for not being sure—locks her knees in the middle of dusting a nearby vase. She didn’t expect to see me on the floor, certainly not at this hour. “Sir,” she stammers, “are you all right?”
Grimly, I lift one leg, then the next, groaning as I stand. My body is stiff, but I don’t care. So long as Galina can sleep through the night, I’m content.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. Casting a look at Galina’s door, I lower my voice. “Don’t wake her. Keep everyone away; she needs to sleep as long as possible.”
“What about you, sir?”
Yawning, I scratch my messy hair. “I suppose the same goes for me. Unless the house is on fire, or Yevgeniy himself comes knocking, do not let anyone wake me up.”
She nods rapidly, making space for me to pass. She watches me with wary eyes until she can’t see me anymore. I told her I was going to my room, but that was a lie. I head directly out the front door into the cool morning air. There’s only one guard keeping post. He dips his head to me in deference as I pass.
It’s a struggle to acknowledge him in return. I do it because I respect my boeviki. Even if I’m dead on my feet, they deserve to know I see them. My heavy legs bring me to the garden. Through the thick hedges, I weave until I come to the fountain.
This was Kristina’s favorite spot, I think, settling on the stone rim. Spacing my feet apart, I rest my arms on my thighs. The fresh air is clearing the cobwebs from my head. I’ll have to sleep soon, or I won’t be any good to anybody.
But not yet.
I need a moment here, among the roses and the rising sun, to gather my thoughts.
I told her about you. Craning my neck, I study the pale flowers. I wonder if that was right. If I’d kept you from Galina ... Would it have been smarter?
Yes, I expected her to learn about my late wife eventually, but I started ripping off the locks on every secret I’d trapped away.
I didn’t have to be so honest.
Because of my choices, the things that are unraveling between Galina and myself aren’t stopping. Each time I think I see the end of the string, a new spool reveals itself. I’ve never seen the end of my own threads. Will I be laid totally bare at this rate?
She’s revealing everything too. The memory of last night has my skull throbbing. Her ex pushed her down the fucking stairs. My fingers curl into tight fists. She begged me not to hurt him. I won’t, for her. Until I’m given a reason to.
I hope for Simon’s sake that Galina is right about him.
Because the second I get wind that he’s prowling around, trying to get a mere sniff of her, I’ll find out.
And when I do, nothing Galina says will keep him safe from my wrath.
20
GALINA
Somehow, though I know I had awful nightmares, I don’t wake up with the usual migraine. Historically, after terrible nights, I’m wrecked the next morning. This time, I wake up with a cartoonish, cat-like stretch that makes my body sing.
It’s because of him. My attention goes to my bed, the spot Arsen sat while he cradled me against himself. Arsen chased the demons away. I didn’t even know that was possible. Throwing open my curtains, I recoil at the bright sun. Then I see the clock on my dresser.
No way, it’s noon? I slept that long? No wonder I feel amazing.
So what if it’s late? Not like I have anywhere to be. I take my time cleaning myself up. I even pick a cuter dress than usual, a long, flowing green one that makes my eyes pop. Sitting at my vanity, I curl my hair off my neck; I could do it with my eyes shut at this point.
Subconsciously, I’m trying to look nice for Arsen. I want to thank him for how he comforted me last night. I hope he was able to get as much sleep as I did in the end.
Halfway down the hall is a woman. The tall, triangle-tapered windows cast beams of daylight across her lithe figure. She’s in profile, chin tilted down as she taps at her phone. If a person could be described as sharp, that would be her. From her black bob to her sloped nose to her knees below her thigh-length skirt, she’s nothing but angles. I have a funny feeling that if I were to touch her, I’d get sliced up.
