I could not survive pity from a man like him.
The airline attendant clears her throat softly. “Sir, should I process the seat?”
He does not look away from me. “Yes.”
My mouth opens. “Wait.”
He tilts his head. The movement is small, but it silences me somehow. There is power in him. Not loud. Not performed. Just there, settled into his bones.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
His mouth curves, barely. “Roman.”
Only that.
Roman.
I should refuse. I should step away. Call Mama. Admit defeat. Go home before my father’s men find me and turn my life into another locked room.
Instead, I look past him.
Across the terminal, Lev bends close to say something into Vika’s ear. She smiles like she’s won.
“Fine,” I say.
His eyes darken with something that might be approval. The attendant takes his card.
A minute later, she hands me a boarding pass.
First class. Moscow.
My fingers close around it.
Roman finally looks away, toward security.
“Come,” he says. “You look like someone who should not be left alone tonight.”
I should hate the command.
But I just pick up my bag and follow him.
3
ROMAN
I noticedher before she ever turned around. Not her face, but her spine.
There are hundreds of people in this terminal, all moving with the same dull panic airports create. Men checking watches. Women dragging children and luggage. Couples arguing under their breath. Staff smiling with dead eyes beneath fluorescent lights.
Then there was her.
And that is why I paid for her ticket, and why she’s now walking in stride beside me.
Her steps are quick at first, then uneven. She keeps her head angled slightly away from the premium counters. Once, her eyes cut left, and the change in her is immediate.
Her breath catches.
Her shoulders lock.
