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There was something about the way Babulya avoided ever talking about Papa Dimitri… or only speaking about him in the most glowing terms, even when Sloane could see by the woman’s face and manner she didn’t believe what she was saying. It had started making Sloane think that maybe they weren’t always as alone as she’d first thought.
It made shivers go up her spine, but then, she’d always reasoned to herself, she had nothing to hide so it was fine. She and Nicholas’s life was fine, they both did their jobs, and each night they got to have what they’d always wanted—someone to come home to.
There was no reason to rock the boat. Even if sometimes Nicholas did come home with knuckles that were bloody from fighting that he wouldn’t tell her how he’d gotten. But if she allowed herself to think about how tenuous her new happiness was… well, her breath came in a shortened gasp just thinking about it. Too long down that road and she’d be curled on the floor in a ball panicking about all the things she couldn’t foresee or control.
Sloane let go of Veronica’s arm with a bright smile. “Let’s get this cut and chilling in the display case for the dinner crowd.”
Veronica gave her an odd look at the non-sequitur but nodded. They went about their work in silence for the next hour and then Mikhail came in to cook and doing dinner service kept them busy the rest of the evening.
Sloane was exhausted but wired that night waiting for Nicholas to come home.
Except he was late.
She kept checking the clock over the tiny stove-top.
Eight-thirty.
Eight-forty-five.
Where was he? What if he was doing something dangerous? What if something happened to him?
She kept pacing back and forth in the small pathway between their kitchenette and the bed. She’d brought up food from the café and had it set out on the table.
If something happened to him… Her hands started shaking, and she tried to suck in a breath, but there were was no air. She clutched at her throat, feeling the old familiar panic rise up and hating it.
She hadn’t wanted this life here with him, but the thought of him never coming home again… She shook her head, unable to even fully think the thought. In such a short time, he’d become the center of her world, the big idiot.
And God, oh God, the thought of him never coming through that door again, of anything happening to him…
Where was he?
She jumped about a foot in the air when the lock finally clicked and Nicholas pushed through the door.
“You’re home!” She all but ran forward into his arms.
“Whoa, what’s this about?”
She clung to him, her head buried in his chest. The fear that had stiffened her limbs for the last half hour wouldn’t let go… and consequently she couldn’t let him go.
“Hey. Hey,” he said, finally unwrapping her limbs that had starfished around him. “What’s all this?”
But her throat was choked with residual fear and she couldn’t make a sound. Oh God, it had been years since she’d shut down like this. She tried to gulp for air but barely any made it in.
Nicholas just nodded, staying calm. “You’re having one of your attacks?”
She nodded, desperate as tears crested her eyes. She hated for him to see her like this.
He breathed out, but didn’t seem frustrated, just determined. He nodded as he slid out of his jacket. “I want to try something. Do you trust me?”
The tears fell down her cheeks as she desperately continued trying to gasp for air.
“Right now you need to stop thinking. No more thoughts. You need to give everything over to me. You are no longer in control. I am. You just said you trusted me, and now I am the one in charge. So strip and get on your knees.”
Sloane’s eyes widened in shock. What was he— This was no time for— She wanted to scream at him for being late and make him promise to never do it again. Even though she knew at the same time it was ridiculous. Both because it was likely a promise he couldn’t make and because she was still gasping for breath and couldn’t get out a single word.
“On your knees,” he commanded, in a voice that brooked no argument.
And she blinked, seeing it for the gift it was, even if at the same time she wasn’t sure it would work. But taking a break from her mind and the need to make sense of everything, to try to hold it all in her head—her fears and her need to control the uncontrollable—to just give that up for even a moment, God, she’d give anything.
So she did as he said. She abandoned everything to Nicholas and went blank. There was only his voice. “Take off your shirt.”
