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“You’re kind of beautiful, too.” My smile is mournful. “I’m leaving in a minute, Callan, and I’m not coming back,” I whisper, unable to say it any louder.
“We had a deal.” He shifts to rise up, but Stalin holds him flat to the bed.
“We did, but I’m breaking it. I can’t allow anyone to be hurt because of me. Whatever the Russians have planned for me is for me to deal with.”
“Bullshit,” he murmurs, the drugs are taking over. He shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “We. Have. A. Fucking. Deal,” he spits.
I do laugh now.
“Quite literally,” I say and take his hand, only just noticing the few grazes on his knuckles. “The Russians aren't your concern, they’re mine, and what will be, will be. I should never have come to you with it. I’m sorry. I’m ready to deal with it now—to deal with what’s coming,” I say with conviction.
“Where are you going to go?” He almost sounds sarcastic, but with the fringes of sleep pushing in on him, his tone is muddled. He looks over my determined expression. I’m fighting to hold the hurt in.
“I’ll work it out. I made a mistake asking this of you. It was a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Like hell it is!” he shouts, and the monitor he is attached to beeps frantically.
“I’m sorry, Callan. The deal’s off. I’ll arrange something myself. I’m sorry to have troubled you with this,” I say with a frown, concerned with the rising beep of the monitor.
“What’s changed? Have they been in contact? How long was I out?” He is firing questions at Stalin and me, his face twisted in anger. He pushes against Stalin’s hold, getting in my face, but I can’t look at him. I'll want to stay.
“Nothing happened,” I say quietly. “I changed,” I admit and press a kiss to my fingertips. Callan’s eyes widen when I press them to his lips. “I can’t do this. I’m starting to feel things I shouldn't.” I drop my hand and stand, looking down at him. He snatches my wrist, but I peel his fingers away.
“Zara, I can make this happen for you, this,” his big palm slaps his chest, “this didn't happen because of the Russians. This is just business.”
“I know that.” I’m not sure I do, though. Callan would never admit his plans to me.
“I will make this happen. You’ll get a new life. I made you a deal.”
“That’s the problem,” I cup my throat, holding back tears. “I don’t want you to be the one sending me away. It will crush me. I care about you, Callan. I don’t want to, but I do and knowing how easy it will be for you to walk away will hurt me. I need to do this myself.” He looks stunned. His mouth flaps, but he says nothing, his face contorting with rage.
“We had a deal!” he seethes, “you’re mine for a month.” He begins to twist with the intention of getting off the bed. I take an uneven step back, bumping into Tony.
“Deals change,” I call brokenly, moving slowly away from him.
“Not mine!" he roars. “You’re mine, Zara!”
“The deal was off when I fell in love with you,” I whisper. They’re all watching silently, gaining an up-front and private showing to my pain. I catch the sheer shock plastered on his face as my honest words register through his drug-induced state. He isn’t the only one shocked by my admission. Stalin’s eyes flash to mine. Callan is stunned, silent, and I decide it’s best to take my leave.
“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, all of you, and I’m sorry. So sorry.” I eye them all, stumbling my way through my words. I can’t look at Callan for more than a moment. He is, for once, speechless. “Stalin, could you arrange for my things to be sent to mine, please?” My throat thickens, and I know I’m going to cry. “Bye, Callan,” I croak and walk quickly from the room.
I know there are some of my things in the utility room, so I head there and pull some clothes from the dryer. I half expect Callan to be roaring through the apartment, demanding I come back, but the place is silent. My confession was one he never expected to hear. As soon as I’m dressed, I grab my handbag and fly through the door, slamming into Tony on a grunt.
We stare silently at one another. But he surprises me by saying, “Let me drive you home.” I nod through the barrage of tears, ready to fall. We ride the elevator soundlessly, and Tony helps me get in before taking Stalin’s usual place.
It’s not until we are nearing mine that I say, “I suppose you think I’m daft for falling in love with a man who won’t let me kiss him.” My fingers are nervously playing with the strap of my bag. Saying it out loud results in my stomach curdling with shame. I’ve been a stupid, stupid woman. He was never going to love someone like me.
“People fall in love for less,” he remarks. I hum, nod, and stare out the window. “For what it’s worth, he was different with you,” Tony states, pulling up outside mine. Some part of me should welcome the sight of the brick Georgian house, with the small matching plant pots and shrubs I proudly placed beside the front door, yet the only emotion I am experiencing is one I wished to never feel again.
“It’s not, but thanks,” I say softly. How can it be worth anything when he doesn't feel the same? If he was going to make me disappear and walk away without a second thought, cast me aside like I am nothing, I was just someone to pass his time whilst I was having the time of my life. “Thanks for the lift.”
I shut the door and make my way up the steps to my front door. I always believed myself strong, resilient, but now I have no emotion left to share, no emotions to give. No energy to even care. I’ve simply given up. I trudge up the steps, stopping at the door when I hear the car thrum as it pulls away. I have little regard for Tony, but he is the last link to Callan and seeing him drive away makes this all so final. With a sad twist to my mouth, I unlock the door and go in.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two things alert me, telling me that I’m not alone; one, the subtle essence of male aftershave, the kind of subtleness that tells me it’s a few days old, and second, the low purr of music coming from upstairs. I click the door shut loudly, and after a few moments, footsteps sound through the house before Oscar’s face appears above, hanging over the bannister.
“Thank god. I’m sorry, but I’ve moved myself in. Anita is driving me mad!” He rounds the top and jogs down the stairs, his smile wide, happy to see me, but it soon changes the closer he gets. By the time he reaches the bottom step, his face is a mirage of concern. “Zara, god, what’s wrong?” The moment his fingers touch my arms, I buckle and sob, letting him hold me tight.
