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I pull away from our embrace, blushing as I wipe the tears away from my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I choke out emotionally. She must think I’m unhinged. After all I’ve been through maybe I am, but this is the most comfort I’ve felt in a long time.
“Hey… it’s ok,” Ashlyn says, reassuring me. She holds each of my shoulders in her hands and looks me in the eyes. “You’re here. You’re safe. And you’re going to stay that way.”
Another tear races down the side of my face. I nod and smile as I wipe it away. My hand brushes through her ruby red hair, feeling the silkiness fall between my fingers.
“I like it,” I say with a smile.
Ashlyn shakes a set of keys in front of me. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She grabs my arm and we head out the doors, crossing the line of cars merging and honking their way down the street in front of the airport terminal. We walk towards a parking garage directly across the street. I draw a deep, steady breath into my lungs, probably filling them with car exhaust. Even so, it makes me feel like a new person.
I feel a crushing guilt over leaving Viktor behind. He may have survived the shootout, but I may never know. If I stayed in that pantry in the restaurant, I would be dead by now. I’m sure of it. And even if by some chance I survived, I’d live the rest of my life with Viktor facing the potential of danger.
Running was the only choice I had.
We walk up a ramp, passing one luxury car after another. Ashlyn takes long, proud strides in knee-high leather boots that come to thin pointed heel. The fur on her coat drifts back and trembles with each strike of her foot against the asphalt. She seems different, but she also looks happy and, borrowing from her usual sunny mentality, I decide that’s what’s most important.
I assume we’re heading further upstairs or wherever the less expensive cars are until I see the taillights of a platinum-hued Aston Martin light up. I crane my head at Ashlyn in shock and watch her head straight towards it. She turns to me and gives me a prideful grin, cocking an eyebrow when she sees my reaction.
We reach our respective sides of the car. Ashlyn pulls her door open, but before she sits in the driver's seat, she pulls off her fur coat. “This damn coat is not made for driving,” she remarks as she throws it into the back seat. I look back and gasp when I notice another change in Ashlyn: her breasts. I’ve never been one to pay attention to Ashlyn’s body, but her chest is noticeably larger, jutting out past her shoulders and clinging to the fabric of her sweater.
Ashlyn’s face lights up when she sees I’ve noticed the change to her body. “Get in,” she says. “I have some big news to tell you about.”
I lower into the blood-red leather seat on the passenger side, sinking my body into the bucket seat. The backrest curls around my sides as if it’s embracing me. Anyone with a pulse would love how this feels. I attach my seatbelt and lay back, feeling like I’m in heaven.
The engine wakes up with a deep roar as Ashlyn presses the gas pedal. I jump in my seat, still rattled by the sudden chaos of the Bratva dinner shootout.
“Oh, sorry!” Ashlyn says with a giggle. “I’m still getting used to how powerful this car is.”
“It’s okay,” I say, accidentally glancing down at Ashlyn’s chest as I try to relax into my seat.
“You don’t like them?” Ashlyn says, looking down at her chest.
“No, no! It’s not that,” I insist. “I just didn’t know you were interested in getting them.”
Ashlyn stays quiet as she pulls her car out of the parking spot and turns towards the garage exit. She seems a bit deflated at my answer.
“You know I support you,” I say. “If it makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. I just wish you didn’t feel you needed to keep that away from me.”
Her face brightens again. “I didn’t keep it a secret. To be honest, I never thought about getting breast implants, but one day I realized I wanted to go for it,” she says as she pulls onto the expressway. She drifts between cars, passing one after another in zipper-like fashion, driving much faster than the speed limit. “It’s part of the changes I’ve had in my life lately,” she adds. She turns and winks at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in on everything,” she says as she presses further on her accelerator and we speed towards the downtown Chicago skyline.
* * *
We pullup to a row of homes on Astor Street. Ashlyn and I used to walk down this street, marveling at the Queen Anne and Georgian Revival mansions standing shoulder-to-shoulder, dreaming of living inside one of them one day. We joked we would buy adjacent mansions and connect them so we could live together. It looks like one of us is making that dream a reality.
Ashlyn pulls her car around the block and turns into the alley behind the mansions. I’m waiting for her to explain what’s going on, but I think she’s enjoying keeping me wondering, waiting to see how I react as she reveals one surprise after the other. To be fair, I’m enjoying the surprises myself, but at this point I’d like to make sure no matter what’s changed in her life, she’s safe. It might be paranoid of me because my taste of the luxurious life was through the Mikhailov Bratva. I think I’ll always be suspicious of a sudden uptick in wealth after what I’ve been through.
We enter the house through a service entrance. Ashlyn walks next to me, covering my eyes until we get to the foyer, pretending we walked in through the front door. I stumble around as she uses her hands to steer my head in the right direction. The floor changes from hardwood to what feels like marble.
“Okay!” she sings as she lifts her hands from my eyes. It’s breath-taking. The floors are a checkered black and white marble. A spiral staircase lined with plush emerald carpeting cascades down from the second floor, stopping close to my foot.
Ashlyn takes my hand and tugs my arm, “Come on,” she says with a squeak in her voice. I follow her into the living room, an airy chamber with eggshell-colored walls lined with antique wainscoting. A gaping marble fireplace stands in front of us at the opposite end of the room. A black baby grand piano sits in the windowed corner of the room.
“I feel like I’ve stepped into heaven,” I whisper.
“Sometimes I have to remind myself this is real,” Ashlyn says with a laugh. “Come on,” she says as she heads into the next room. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
I follow her lead, panning my head around to take in the dining room. She spins around to me as she takes a few backward steps toward the kitchen. “Wait until you see the bathrooms,” she says with a glow in her eyes. She turns back around when we get inside the kitchen. I slide into a bar seat next to a massive center island, sliding my arms over the pristine white marble.
“Are you planning on telling me about the lottery you’ve obviously won?” I joke.
