Page 116 of I’m The Worst

Voices blend together into a low, constant hum, but every time an armed soldier moves too close, every time someone is stopped or questioned, my body tenses all over again.

When a man behind us speaks loudly, I flinch and press closer into Wolff. His arm tightens around me before he leans down, his mouth brushing near my ear.

“Say something to me. Now.”

My mind blanks.

Completely.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” His breath is warm against my hair. “Keep talking.”

“I don’t know⁠—”

A quiet exhale leaves him, almost impatient. “Since when do you have nothing to say?” he mutters. “Your favorite restaurant. Back home.”

I swallow hard, forcing words through the tightness in my chest. “There’s a place by the lake. In the city. It’s small, kind of tucked away. Nothing fancy, but…I used to go there a lot. The soup is really good.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His fingers stroke my arm in slow, steady movements. “You like a restaurant because of soup?”

I huff out a small, nervous laugh. For a second, the tension in my chest eases just enough to breathe. “What about you? What’s your favorite thing about the city?”

His eyes move constantly, tracking the line, the soldiers, the exits—everything at once—and I almost think he’s going to ignore me completely.

“I don’t like the city,” he says finally. “It’s too loud.” There’s a pause. Long enough that I assume that’s all I’m getting. “But I like the view of the water at sunrise. From my land.”

Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly. It’s the first time he’s said anything personal…that wasn’t about violence.

“Land?” I echo, lifting my head just enough to look at him. “What, like a farm?” A small smile pulls at my mouth despite everything. “Am I married to a farmer, Cody?”

His arm shifts around me, pulling me a fraction closer, and I swear there’s something there again—something faint and fleeting…almost…real.

“If I was, would that be a deal-breaker, Lauren?”

My lips purse as I pretend to think. “Depends. Do you wear flannel?”

“No.”

I sigh. “Pity.”

The line moves again, and we follow, one step, then another.

“What about mini cows?” I ask, the words coming easier just to keep the moment going. “That feels important for a farm.”

He glances down at me briefly, his expression unreadable but not as hardened as it was before.

“No mini cows, solnyshko.”

“This marriage sounds terrible.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I don’t mean to, but my hand drops, brushing his, and for a second, everything stills.

His body goes rigid.

Then his fingers thread through mine, his grip squeezing once.