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Asya comes to a stop in the middle of the store and looks around, her eyes skimming along the long racks of clothes and the shelves of shoes. She takes everything in, inhaling a deep breath, and squeezes my hand.
“Let’s start with underwear,” I say and lead her to the far corner of the store.
Asya peruses the things on display but doesn’t make a move to pick anything up. Her eyes wander over the underwear, lingering on some items for a few seconds longer than others. It’s usually the bright colors that draw her attention. She passes over the white pieces as if they’re not even there.
I pay attention to her gaze as she looks at the displayed undergarments, noting every article her eyes land on for a split-second longer than the rest. After she’s done with the displays, I pick up the smallest size of every item that caught her attention.
“All good?” I look down at her and find her watching me. Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears. I brush her cheek with the back of my hand, then nod toward the rack on my left. “Let’s do shirts next.”
We repeat the ordeal in every section of the store, and since my hands end up filled with clothes, Asya switches to holding the sleeve of my jacket. When we reach the changing room, I enter the stall and place the heap of clothes, along with the yellow coat she ogled for almost a minute and two pairs of shoes, onto the bench by the mirror.
“You can let go of my jacket and try on everything,” I say.
She nods but doesn’t let it go.
I reach for the first shirt on the pile and offer it to her. “You’re safe, mishka. No one can hurt you while I’m here.”
The corners of Asya’s lips lift a little, and she slowly releases her hold.
It takes her more than half an hour to try on everything, and only a few items end up being too big. I collect the clothes that fit under one arm and, taking her hand in mine, we leave the changing room. As I’m paying at the cash register, the chime of the bells over the door rings out behind us. I turn around just in time to see an older man in a gray suit coming inside the store.
“Mr. Morozov!” he smiles, walking toward us. “I hope your shopping experience went as requested?”
Asya stiffens, her hand squeezing mine in a mad grip. I look down at her to find her staring at the boutique manager with horror in her eyes.
“Come, baby,” I say, sliding my arm around her middle. She jumps up and tightly wraps her arms and legs in a familiar pose.
“Was everything to your liking?” the idiot keeps rambling as he approaches us. “I specifically—”
I grab the store manager by the collar of his dress shirt with my free hand while supporting Asya with the other. I jerk him around and slam him against the concrete pillar next to the cash register.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” I bark into his face.
“I . . . I . . . please!”
“I said only one person, a female, is allowed in here until we leave.” I shove him into the pillar again, then one more time for good measure. “Are you a fucking female?”
“No . . . please . . .”
“No. You are not!” I snap.
Fingers are in my hair, passing through the strands. Once. Twice. I turn my head to the side slightly and my cheek presses to Asya’s.
“He meant no harm,” she whispers next to my ear.
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” I say. “Do you know that quote?”
“Yes.” Another stroke through my hair. “It’s both true and idiotic. Let the man go.”
“No one scares you and gets away without punishment.” I release my hold on the store manager’s shirt and backhand him before turning to the counter to collect our bags.
I leave the store with Asya in my arms and carry her the two blocks to my building. A few people we pass throw dumbfounded looks in our direction, but they quickly look away when they see the angry scowl on my face. Most of Asya’s tension eased shortly after we left the boutique, but she keeps her face snuggled in the crook of my neck, her arms and legs clutching to me with all her strength. Stupid motherfucker, I should have just snapped his neck for scaring her. I’m still so fucking livid, I have to resist the urge to turn around and do that exact thing.
When we reach my building, I don’t even nod to the security guy in the lobby, just head right into the elevator and hit the button for the third floor with my elbow. As soon as we’re inside my place, I let the bags fall to the floor and walk to the living room. Asya is still plastered to my body as I sit down on the sofa.
“You can let go, mishka,” I say and stroke my palm down her hair.
She just shakes her head and presses her face more into my neck. A soft sigh escapes her, and then I feel something wet on my skin.
