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Could he be bored with me?
No. I slam the door on that pathetic, insecure idea. Whatever else he might be, Peter is the polar opposite of fickle. Once he sets a course of action, he doesn’t deviate from it, whether it be avenging his family or inserting himself into my life. Yesterday, he told me that he loves me, and I believed him. I still do.
He’s not taking me back because he wants to get rid of me.
He’s doing it for me. Because he loves me.
He loves me enough to risk losing me.
We land at a private airstrip near Chicago just as the sun is setting. I have no idea how many favors Peter had to call in to clear this with air control, but the plane touches down on the runway with no interference. A nondescript sedan is waiting for us when we exit the plane, and Peter leads me to it, his strong fingers gently restraining my elbow.
His face is like a block of granite, as hard and remote as I’ve ever seen it. We didn’t have a chance to talk during the flight, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. For the majority of the trip, he was on the phone and planning with his men, and I alternated between restless naps and silent crying. A few hours ago, we learned that Mom made it through the surgery, but her vitals continue to be unstable.
It’s not a good sign.
We stop in front of the car, and I see a man in the driver’s seat.
I look up at Peter’s shuttered face. “Are you going to—”
“He’s going to drop you off at the hospital,” he says in a hard, flat tone. “I won’t be coming with you.”
I expected as much, yet the words still slice across my heart. “When—” I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “When will you come back for me?”
He stares at me, his emotionless mask briefly cracking. “As soon as I can, ptichka,” he says thickly. “As soon as I fucking can.”
The lump in my throat expands, and tears sting my eyes anew. “So I’ll be here until Mom recovers?”
“Yes, and until I finish with—” He breaks off and takes a deep breath. “Never mind. You have enough on your plate. All you need to know is that I will be back for you.” His eyes sear into me as he cups my face between his big, rough palms. “You hear me, Sara? No matter what happens, as long as there’s breath in my body, I will come back for you. You are mine, ptichka. For as long as we’re both alive.”
I wrap my hands around his solid wrists, burning tears streaking down my cheeks as I hold his gaze. Once, his statement would’ve terrified me, but now it lessens the squeezing ache in my chest, gives me something to hold on to as he leaves and my new world—the one that’s centered around him—falls to pieces.
Coming home is what I’ve fought for all these months, but I feel no joy today, only a terrible void in my heart where Peter has so ruthlessly carved a space for himself.
He leans in and kisses the tears off my cheeks. “Go, my love.” Releasing me, he steps back. “There’s no time to waste.”
And before I can say anything—before I can tell him how I feel—he turns and walks to the plane, leaving me standing by the car.
Leaving me to return home alone.
9
Peter
I should be pleased that we outwitted the US authorities and this mini-operation went off without a hitch, but the pain in my chest is too crushing, too raw. I know this is only temporary, but I feel like someone ripped me open and tore out my beating heart.
My ptichka was crying when I left. And maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I got the sense she wasn’t overjoyed to be home—and not just because of the circumstances. The way she asked me when I’ll return for her—when, not if—and the look in her hazel eyes…
It was everything I’ve ever wanted, and I had no choice but to walk away. To set her free when every selfish instinct screamed for me to hold her tight, to chain her to me and never let her go. And above it all is the irrational fear for her safety, the terrible paranoia that something could happen to her while I’m not there. It stems from her accident, I know, but that doesn’t lessen it one bit.
I’m going to have her watched, but I won’t be nearby and that kills me.
“Are you sure about this?” Ilya asks, buckling himself into a seat next to me as our jet lifts off, the wheels folding in with a screech. “It’s not too late. We could still turn around and—”
“No.” I close my eyes and force my breathing to even out. “It’s done.”
