I help him out of the car, but Rafail is too proud to lean on me. Instead, he pulls himself upright. We make quite a sight, me with smudged makeup and an updo that’s worse for wear, in ill-fitting scrubs over wedding lingerie, and my new husband in black trousers, a black shirt, wearing a sling. He wraps his good arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
“Welcome home,boginya,” he says when Ludmila opens the door.
“I assume that means ‘brat’ or ‘life-threatening hazard of a wife’ in Russian.” My habitual retreat to snark and sarcasm returns with a vengeance.
“It means goddess. You’ve been upgraded.”
That shuts my mouth in a hurry. Embarrassment steams my face. I guess opening your big mouth and sticking your blood-spattered high-heeled foot in it is one way to be a blushing bride. Needless to say, Rafail doesn’t scoop me up to carry me over the threshold, which honestly, I’m grateful for. As raw and ragged as this homecoming is for us, it feels true in a way that formality and tradition wouldn’t.
For the first time in my itinerant life, a sense of permanence settles over me. When I was a child, my mother and I moved often. Until Dmitri came along. The stability he brought proved to be an illusion. This won’t.
“What do you think?” Rafail asks, watching me look around like a hamster dropped into a new Habitrail.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Your belongings are here.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “Most of them. My menleft your shitty IKEA furniture behind.”
“That’s the great thing about IKEA. I can move anywhere and buy almost exactly the same thing,” I deadpan. Avoiding the sling and his bandage, I pat his chest and grin up at him.
“Your cheap furniture days are over,boginya.”
Tears well when I find my old clothes—half of which I would have tossed if I had known I was moving—neatly stored in a walk-in closet as big as my old bedroom. I search wildly until I find my old music box. The one where I kept that passkey for five years while not knowing what it was…along with one other thing.
Quickly, I clean up and change out of the scrubs into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. When I come out, I find Rafail lying on the enormous bed, shoes and all. Without the sunglasses, he looks exhausted. I suppose I’d be pretty beat if I’d been shot, too.
I crawl onto the bed and take off his shoes, tossing them heedlessly aside. Rafail’s eyebrow shoots up.
“The doctors advised against strenuous activity for a week.”
“Some honeymoon,” I grumble, scooting up and reaching for his belt. He doesn’t protest. “Don’t get too excited. I’m only making you comfortable so you can rest.”
“Too late.”
I part his trousers and find his hard cock trapped against his hip. “Poor baby didn’t get enough of a workout at the apartment, did he?” I croon.
“Brat.”
“You love it.” I wrest his pants off, but I’m stymied by his shirt. That will require moving his arm. He’ll just have to sleep in it for now. I lay sideways next to his good arm and take out the gift I’ve been hiding.
“What’s this?” he asks, taking the picture I’m holding.
“I don’t have a wedding gift for you,” I begin, feeling more than a little bit silly. “But I thought you might want to have this.”
He stares at the picture of us together from that night at my sweet sixteen party five years ago. I look so young and innocent. The way I’m looking up at him is the closest thing you’ll ever see to a human with actual heart eyes, despite the tiny furrow between my brows.
“We lost all the other pictures when we went into witness protection. This is all I have left to remember that night. I…” My throat closes around a clog of emotion. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Hailey,” he says softly, stroking my cheek. “You should have known better. The way I was looking at you that night.” Hehuffs. “Embarrassing. Look at this.” He pulls a smaller, slightly different version, one that has my mother and Dmitri grinning like fools while I stand there with a forced grin. Slightly behind me, Rafail stares at me with open affection and a hint of exasperation.
I never saw the emotions before when I was selecting which photos to have printed. The composition is a little bit off. Yet he chose this one, out of all the better options, to carry with him. It’s bent in places, showing that he’s carried it with him for a long time.
I burst into tears and throw myself across his chest. Rafail grunts and embraces me as best he can. Our mouths meet in a clash that softens into the most romantic kiss I’ve ever had in my life. Sweet and sensual. When we part, I say, “Rafe?”
“Hm?”
“What if you just laid there while I give you an apology blowjob?”
The one arched eyebrow returns. I stretch one hand down to squeeze his cock. His skepticism relaxes. “I see no doctors here to stop us.”
