An accurate description, in my experience.
Maksim pulls his phone out, turning away and raising it to his ear.
I’ve clearly been dismissed. Yet I descend another stair. “Is something wrong?”
“We have information to share,” Aleksandr states, not looking at me. “Lev isn’t answering.”
I grasp the railing again, suddenly needing its support.
An errand. Lev called his father’s request a fucking errand, and I should have asked more questions. Should have instantly considered an innocuous word having different, dangerous connotations. He was gone all morning yesterday, morose when he finally returned. Went to bed early, saying he needed the sleep before a busy morning.
Maksim’s hand lowers, and I know he didn’t reach Lev.
My stomach swoops. I start to feel lightheaded for reasons unrelated to exertion.
Maksim glances at me, then at his impassive brother. “What did you say?”
“The truth,” Aleksandr replies. “She’s worried she’ll be a widow.”
“Victoria’s dream, you mean?”
Aleksandr’s response is in Russian. Low and lethal.
Maksim just smiles. If Lev’s younger brother hated me less, I might actually like him.
I sink down on the polished steps, pulling my new phone out of my shorts’ spandex pocket. It came programmed with one number, but I’ve never called it before. I’ve never had any reason to—this is the first time he’s left since we got married.
It rings once before I hear, “Carina?”
Relief slams into me with the force of an avalanche. My elbows land on my knees as I release a long breath.
He repeats my name, a little louder, and I manage a word. “Hey.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I register motion. I focus on blinking away the moisture that appeared. Crying won’t elevate anyone’s opinion of me.
A pause follows when I say nothing else, then, “You called me.”
I huff a watery laugh. “Maksim said you weren’t answering.”
“I’m working.”
“I know. I?—”
“And he’s not my wife.”
The giddy sensation that appears every time he calls me that materializes in my stomach.
“I’ll be home by six. We’ll go out on a date.”
“A date?” I echo.
“It’s when two people dress up and?—”
“I know what a date is,” I interrupt. “We’ve just never …”
“Six,” Lev says, then hangs up.
I lower the phone, biting my lower lip to hide the smile struggling to appear. I glance up.
