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Not a man that you want. A bed you were forced into. A bedheforced you into.
It does me no good to feel that way or to think those thoughts. I’m stuck in this deal, and being jealous over Levin will only make it harder. I very much doubt that he’s anywhere right now seething with jealousy over my being in Grisha’s bed.
After all, he put me here.
I close my eyes, wishing I could just sleep. If I could, then I’d wake up, get through a breakfast with Grisha, and be able to leave with the excuse of class, or studying, or whatever else I could come up with. Instead, I’m lying here with my thoughts, and none of them are particularly good or fun.
I could use this time, if I was smart about it.
The instant the thought comes into my head, my stomach curdles with fear. The idea of slipping out of bed, sneaking through Grisha’s apartment, looking through his things–it’s all terrifying. I won’t have any excuse that I can think of if I get caught.
Levin picked the wrong girl.I’m not a spy. I’m smart, but notthiskind of smart. I wasn’t meant for deception, for being covert, for lying and sneaking around. I’veneverbeen that kind of person.
I can’t help but feel as if this is going to get me killed.
I lie there, frozen with indecision, using Grisha’s arm over my stomach as a reason not to try to get up, that it would disturb him, wake him. But if he moves–
It’s a good idea. I know it is. Anything I find shortens the amount of time I have to do this. A way of lessening my sentence.
The longer this all goes on, the more time I have to spend with Grisha, in his bed, talking to him and deceiving him and living with this knot of anxiety in my stomach that makes me want to throw up.
When he rolls over at last onto his other side, I don’t know whether to feel relieved or that much more terrified. Now I don’t have any excuse for not sneaking out, other than my own fear.
If he catches me leaving the room, or downstairs before I get into anything, I’ll say I was hungry and went looking for a snack.
I rationalize it, bit by bit, as I slowly push myself up and out of the bed, moving incrementally slowly to keep from rousing him. The bed is memory foam, the carpet soft and plush, so it’s not all that hard to keep silent. The door is still open–he hadn’t bothered closing it when we’d come upstairs, as if giving a middle finger to the idea that his wife might show up again and walk in on us.
It had felt a little like him establishing his dominance, if I’m being honest.
I take the phone with me as I slip out of the room, just in case. If Grisha wakes up and finds me gone, I don’t want him looking through it. There’s only one contact–Levin, under a fake name–and that seems like something that would raise a red flag, too.
I’ve never tried to go into Grisha’s office. I never cared, before this. I’ve spent time in every other room in the apartment, but Grisha rarely worked when I was here, and I’d never had any reason to want to go inside. Now, as I slip down the stairs and approach the office as stealthily as I can, it occurs to me that it might be locked.
It is. One turn of the knob, and I can tell I’m not getting in. Which is frustrating–because the fact that it’s locked means there’s probably something in there that would actually be useful.
I let out a breath, staring at the door. There’s nothing else I can think of. Grisha is a neat and exacting kind of man–he doesn’t leave papers or other things lying around. I can poke through the rest of the apartment, but I know I’m not going to find anything. If there’s something that would be useful to Levin, it’ll be behind that door.
But it’s not as if I can break into it.
I’m just about to go back upstairs and slip back into bed with Grisha when the phone in my hand vibrates. I nearly jump clear out of my skin, clapping my other hand over my mouth to stifle the startled squeal that nearly slips out. Quickly, I glance down at the phone, and my eyes widen.
It’s Levin.
Why the fuck is he calling me? Especially after he was so pissed at me for calling when I freaked out and left the apartment after the last date?
Emergencies only, my ass.
Quickly, I duck into the nearest room that’s open–which happens to be the guest bathroom. I close the door behind me, flipping on the light as I lock it and lean against the edge of the sink, hurriedly answering.
“Hello?” My voice is a hushed whisper, but in the silence of the house it still sounds too loud to me. “What are you doing? I’m supposed to be in bed with Grisha.”
“And you’re not?”
His voice is calm and collected as always, but I hear a hint of something else–a tension that sends a flutter of nerves through me. I can sense that something’s off.
“I was going to look through his office, see if I could find anything while he was sleeping. But it’s locked.”
“That’s my good girl.”
