Page 1 of The Breath Before Forever

1.

“Happy birthday, to you. Happy birthday, to you.”

One wouldn’t think Vaslav Pashkov was the type of man to serenade his wife on her wedding night—even if that night also happened to be her birthday. Yet, he did exactly that, crooning happy birthday softly to Vera, and out of earshot of the scattered, few people that remained in the sitting room.

Mira promised Vera a wedding dinner worthy of celebration with her family and friend and delivered. After everything had been said and done, and the plates cleaned, Mira even refused help from anyone when she took her leave to tidy up.

“Enjoy your time,” Mira had told Vera earlier.

And oh, she was.

“Happy birthday to you, my Vera,” Vaslav finished, keeping the same harmonized tone. She hadn’t realized how good his gravelly voice sounded signing a song and made a mental note to get him to do that again later.

Despite the song being over, he kept them rocking in a slow semi-circle, some bastardization of a waltz. Wrapped in his arms with her face tucked—hiding, and smiling—against his throat, she didn’t care if they danced properly or not. Every soft kiss he grazed upon her forehead during and after his serenade, cemented her right there with him.

Present.

Pleased.

“How does twenty-seven feel?” Vaslav asked her.

Vera laughed. “I don’t know; you tell me. You’ve been here before. I’m still brand new.”

Basically. That’s what she planned to tell herself every year as she got older, anyway.

Even Vaslav chuckled at her joke while one of his hands stroked dangerously low on the small of her back.

Vera tipped her head back to see Vaslav’s almost wistful gaze finding something to focus on at the far end of the room. It wasn’t her mother who stood in the entry alcove between the dining room and a connected space meant for entertaining. Her father helped Igor to shove the leather sectional aside earlier. Doing so offered plenty of floorspace to dance.

Claire, busy showing off her pictures of the day to her husband, didn’t seem to notice the other two people talking quietly, and very close. Only a few steps away in the corner, Igor and Hannah didn’t notice the room, either, lost in their own conversation.

Staring at one another.

Vera couldn’t help but pick up on it.

Nonetheless, whatever Vaslav found that interested him over her shoulder, it couldn’t be important. In a blink, his attention came right back to where she wanted it.

On her.

“It’s been a minute since I was that young, that’s what I’ve settled on saying,” he said.

Ah.

That’s what had him looking lost in his eyes. She understood getting lost in another time of one’s life. Even if that time hadn’t necessarily been better.

He shrugged, too. Nonchalant.

The fading smile on his lips told her that he hadn’t offered the entire truth. Or rather, he did, and simply phrased it differently than she might expect.

Complex people; complex thoughts.

“Are a lot of years like that for you?” she asked, choosing her words as carefully as he clearly had. “A lot of time?”

The edge of his mouth twitched like he almost answered without first thinking. Of course, he caught himself and only muttered, “If not fragmented, it’s practically not there at all. Like white space and noise. I’m told that’ll get worse.”

She was ready for his next puzzle piece—the bit of information that helped to explain something else about this fascinating man. He only offered them occasionally, and she understood the reasons for that now. Part of him didn’t always know what the real story was; the rest, he held terribly close.

She hadn’t expected him to outright answer her with the truth, or rather—the reality he so easily handed to her with his words. That wasn’t his typical way, and for a second, it took Vera off guard.