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“It was your idea, Yakov,” she continues. “You said Kayla could come over.”
“I didn’t say she could move in. And you’re pregnant. You need your rest.”
“That’s what that was!” she cries out, flinging her hand to the door Kayla disappeared through. “Being with her and having fun is restful, Yakov. She’s my best friend.”
I should tell her. She needs to know that the Gustev Bratva is as much of a threat as ever. Pavel Gustev is gunning for you, Luna, and I’m not taking any chances.
But she’s pregnant. More than that, she’s pregnant and just barely recovering from the trauma of being kidnapped by Pavel’s older brother. What would all of that stress and fear do to her and the baby?
Luna sighs and steps closer. Her vanilla scent swirls around us. “What’s going on, Yakov?”
“You need to rest,” I repeat.
She frowns. “I don’t need to rest. I’m not tired! What I need is for you to tell me why you are acting like?—”
“Do you ever just fucking listen and do what you’re told?”
Luna jerks away from me like I slapped her. Her lips are parted, her blue eyes wide. She stares at me long enough that I almost crack. I almost tell her that I’m running on three hours of sleep because she had nightmares all night and I wanted to be there to soothe her.
I almost tell her that I’m trying to be at the hospital for Nik as much as I can, but Mariya is tugging on the leash I have her on, and there’s only so much I can do to help Nik, anyway. The doctors aren’t optimistic and neither am I.
I almost grab Luna and tell her that I can’t fucking breathe when I think about how close I was to losing her and Mariya and Nik. I almost lost everyone and I can’t go back to that place again. I won’t fucking survive it.
Instead, I stare at her. I watch as her face turns cold and angry.
“Fine,” Luna finally snaps. “You want me to rest? Great. I’ll rest. I’ll go sleep in the guest room so I won’t be disturbed. Being far away from you would give me some fabulous rest.”
She stomps into the house, but I don’t go after her. Instead, I walk into my office and pour myself a drink. I toss it back just as she slams the guest room door closed upstairs.
There’s still time. I could go to her and explain things. I could make this right.
But it’s so much easier to pour myself another drink instead.
21
LUNA
I’m grouchy. And it’s not just because I woke up in an inferior guest bed without Yakov’s arm around my waist.
It’s also because, without his arm around my waist, I was in and out of nightmares all night. I woke myself up three different times panting and crying with the very beginnings of a scream caught in my throat.
Each dream started out the same: Akim walking through the cell door, his face twisted in a vicious smile. But with every step he took towards me, he became less and less distinct. The edges of him blurred and faded away until he was a faceless shadow. Just as I started to think he would disappear entirely, the shadow lunged for me and the entire world went dark.
Part of me wishes I had cried out in my sleep. Yakov would have come to me, I know it. No matter how upset we were with each other, he would have crawled into bed, curled around me, and soothed me back to sleep.
Instead, I tossed and turned all night. And now, even though I’m exhausted and sore, the thought of lying in this bed for another second sounds miserable. Especially when I can smell bacon cooking downstairs in the kitchen.
A few weeks ago, the smell of bacon would have made me gag. Now, it sounds heavenly.
I grab a fleece blanket from the end of the bed and pull it around my shoulders before I pad out of the guest room and down the stairs. Bacon first, then shower. That’s the order of operations today.
I turn into the kitchen expecting to find Hope at the stovetop, but it’s Yakov. He’s in a pair of gray pajama bottoms slung low over his hips and no shirt. His front is covered with a white apron, but I can see every ripple of the muscles across his shoulders and back as he turns the bacon over in the pan.
Oh, God—he’s fighting dirty.
He looks back at me, face unreadable. “Good morning.”
I nod and start to walk around the island to wait for him to finish with breakfast. I’m giving him the silent treatment, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want whatever he’s cooking.
