He studies me for a long moment. “If you want… you can wait it out in my room. We can leave the door open. The backup generator should come on soon.”
On any normal day, I would refuse. I would rather sit in the dark alone than accept anything from him.
But right now, the thought of being alone in that pitch-black room makes my stomach twist. Back home, Milana and I would bundle together under the covers until storms passed. Right now, I’ll take whatever safety I can get.
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Maxim nods and leads the way to his bedroom, leaving the door wide open behind us.
“Don’t worry,” he says, voice low and almost teasing. “I’ll chase the monsters away tonight.”
A surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it. He glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s pleased he got that reaction.
There’s a sitting area with two large leather armchairs facing each other, a sofa and a low table between them. It feels very much like him.
He gestures toward one of the chairs. “Sit. Or do you want to lie down?”
I shake my head. “I can’t sleep right now.”
We settle into the sofa. Maxim reaches for a bottle of vodka on the table, pours two glasses, and hands me one. I take it without protest. The first sip burns pleasantly down my throat.
We sit in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, sipping slowly. Outside, thunder rumbles and rain begins to lash against the windows.
Eventually, he speaks. “Do you want to talk about why you hate the dark so much?”
I shake my head quickly. “No.”
He doesn’t push. He just nods and takes another sip, respecting the boundary. I’m oddly grateful for that.
A few minutes later, the power flickers back on. The room fills with soft light from the lamps. I should stand up and go back to my own room now.
But I don’t move. Some strange, stubborn part of me doesn’t want to leave yet. It would feel rude, I tell myself.
We start talking, about nothing important at first. He asks about my life back home.
“So,” he says, voice low, “what did you used to do with your days? Before all of this.”
I hesitate, then shrug lightly. “A lot of reading. Painting sometimes. Milana and I would spend hours in the garden or in the library, making up ridiculous stories about the people we saw from the windows. She was always the dramatic one. She’d turn everything into some grand romance or tragedy.”
Maxim’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. “And you?”
“I was the one who tried to keep her from getting us both in trouble,” I say, smiling faintly at the memory.
He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “You miss her.”
It’s not a question. I nod, looking down at my hands. “Every day. I miss feeling like I could breathe without someone watching. I miss Milana’s laugh when we were being silly. I miss… home.”
I find myself answering more than I expected. He listens intently, eyes never leaving my face. For once, there’s no arrogance, no command in his tone.
I curl up smaller in the big leather chair, knees drawn to my chest, the vodka warming me from the inside.
The storm outside feels farther away now. His voice is low and steady, lulling me. My eyelids grow heavier with every passing minute.
Just finish this drink,I tell myself,then I’ll go back to my room.
But I don’t even remember finishing the glass. My eyes drift shut, and I fall asleep.
I wake up slowly to the feeling of something hard poking against my stomach, and my pillow being exceptionally warm.
