"By who? We can't exactly walk into the FBI and announce I'm with you."
"We'll figure it out."
"That's not a plan!"
"Mariana." He cups my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "You're carrying my child. You think I'm going to let anything happen to either of you?"
"Let?" I pull away. "There's that word again. Like you control what I do."
"I control what happens to what's mine."
"I'm not yours—"
"You said you were. Last night. Multiple times, if I recall correctly."
Heat floods my face. "That was... I was... you were doing things with your fingers!"
"I can do them again if you need reminding."
"This is serious!"
"I'm being very serious." He leans closer, and I catch his scent—soap and that exotic cologne. "You're mine, Mariana. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's my mother calling.
Shit.
"I need to take this."
Mikhail nods, but doesn't move. I answer anyway.
"Mamá?"
"Mija! Thank God. I've been so worried. The news, they're saying terrible things—"
We switch to Spanish—the language that always makes me feel closer to home, safer somehow.
"I know, Mamá. I'm okay. I'm safe."
"Where are you? Are you eating? You sound tired."
I catch Mikhail's eye. He's watching me intently, probably understanding more Spanish than he lets on.
"I'm fine. I'm with... friends."
"The same man from before? The one who's protecting you?"
"Yes."
"Good. A woman needs protection sometimes, even strong ones like you."She pauses."Mariana, there's something different in your voice."
How do mothers always know?!
"I'm just tired, Mamá. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you, but you have to promise that you're going to trust me and not worry too much despite the situation..."
"What's going on? Of course I'm already worried. Did something happen? Does that man you're with have something to do with it?"
I nearly drop the phone. "Uh... Yeah, I guess so, something like that..."
