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"Egor," he says. I stifle a snort. Egor? Really?
"And this is my Angel."
My desire to laugh quickly flees when my heart squeezes. My nose tingles and my throat tightens.
He calls me angel. And I love that he does.
Danger, my mind warns. Don't let him in. Don't fall for any display of kindness.
"Are you alone here?" Maksym asks. I give him a sharp look. Why does he ask that?
"My wife is asleep," the man says, getting to his feet and wobbling toward a small, dim kitchen. "Tea?"
Maksym and I share a look. If this couple figures out who we are...
"No, thank you," I say. I'm so tired, and sooty, and dirty.
Maksym nods. "I'd love a cup, thank you,"
It's so weird seeing him like this, all gentle and kind.
Sirens fill the night, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The entire forest won't burn after all.
"Boris?" a thin, reedy voice comes from the top of the stairs. I look and see a tiny, frail old woman wearing a tattered white robe, her gray hair tucked into a knot at the nape of her neck. "Oh, my," she says when she sees us. "Is everything okay?"
The man gives Maksym a sharp look which confuses me at first. "Yes," he says. "These two were caught in a fire but safe now. We've made a call."
"No!" the woman says, and she tightens the robe around her as she wobbles down the stairs, carefully grasping the rail. The man doesn't want his wife to worry about the fire that could be closing in on us at any minute. "Are you alright?" she asks.
"Yes," I tell her. "Just weary and a little frightened." She comes to me and looks from me to Maksym, then back again. Reaching for my hand, she gives it a gentle squeeze. "With a man like that by your side, you don't need to be afraid."
I can't help but smile at her. It seems so long since I've had the gentle reassurance of normalcy. Hell, kindness.
She gives me a wink. "I should know," she says, elbowing the air toward her husband. I stifle a laugh. It's humorous thinking an old, frail man like him could protect anyone, but there was a time when he could.
"And where were you two going?" she asks, sitting back on the couch while her husband brings us a tray of tea.
"Our honeymoon," Maksym says.
"In Istra?" the woman asks.
"We wanted a romantic getaway," he says, squeezing my knee. "My angel likes to be away from crowds and noise."
"Do you, now?" the woman asks me, raising a curious brow. She's not as trusting as her husband, though. I can see it in the sharpness of her gaze as she looks from me to him. At our fingers, noting the lack of rings. "Where did you meet?"
"Sylvia," the man says from the kitchen. "Don't pry."
She gives me a big wink.
"Oh, at a little café where I worked," I tell her. And when I say that, the memory of our first meeting comes to me. I can't help shooting him a reproachful look.
He squeezes my knee in response. "We did," he says. "And the rest is history."
He drinks his tea and talks easily about Istra. He's spent a good deal of time here, I surmise, since he speaks so easily of its history and people. After a bit, we hear more sirens.
"They're coming to do their jobs," Maksym says, his eyes first on me then Sylvia. "All will be well."
Will it, though? Who came for us? I yawn so widely Sylvia shakes her head.
"I'm a terrible hostess," she says. "Do you need a place to rest for the night?"
"That would be perfect," Maksym says. "We'll pay you for your hospitality."
"Of course," she says, getting to her feet. "We have a guest room you're welcome to."
We follow her to a small doorway under the stairs. When she opens the door, I stifle a snort. Will Maksym even fit in here? But he just bows his head in thanks. I take a few pillows and blankets offered to us.
"Thank you so much," I tell her, returning her smile. But there's something in her eyes that says she knows we aren't who we say we are. She knows something is up, but she's too polite to pry.
I take the washcloth she gives me and head to the tiled, ancient bathroom. It's seen better days but is clean and welcome after what we've endured. I splash water on the wash cloth and clean the soot from my face, hands, and body. Maksym joins me silently at the door and follows suit. We say nothing as we wash away the remnants of our ordeal. I wonder what's going on in his mind.
I'm washing away the remains of a fire. He's washing away the remains of a former life.
