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“I have the resources to protect them, Emma. Let me.” Her mouth falls open; she hesitates. So I go in for the kill. “This is my fault. Those men are after you and the kids because of me. Give me a month to fix it. Give me a month to make the world safe for them again. Then you and I can forget each other ever existed.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. For a moment, I wonder if she’s praying, and if so, what exactly she’s praying for. Then she opens her eyes again and looks at me. “Okay.”
I nod and follow her into the room to get the kids.
It strikes me, as I hoist a snoring Reagan into my arms, that this might possibly be the worst decision of my life. And still…
I wouldn’t take it back for anything.
8
EMMA
Some silences are dangerous.
Like the one we’re in right now. Ruslan at the wheel, driving carefully so that he doesn’t wake the three sleeping children in the back. Me, picking at my nails and trying to fight the stupid, stubborn hope that’s resurfacing slowly no matter how many times I try to drown it.
That hope keeps saying stupid, stubborn things. Like,If we have to spend this month together, maybe, just maybe it will change something between us.
Maybe he’ll hear me out.
Maybe he’ll believe me.
And if he does those things, then maybe there doesn’t have to be a goodbye at the end of this month. Maybe there’s a chance I can tell him about this baby and we can raise it together like we planned.
Then again, you know what they say—the best-laid plans…
I’m not just blowing smoke here. I’m not creating a narrative out of nothing.Hewas the one who kissed me in the motel parking lot. You can’t fake passion like that.
Whenever I think Ruslan isn’t paying attention, I sneak a peek at this profile. Those damn cheekbones. They were made for great things. A man with a face like that can’t just be an ordinary guy. He can’t be a teacher or a plumber or a damn accountant.
I expect that we’re headed towards 48thStreet. But the route Ruslan is taking points us in the direction of Madison.
The Inner Sanctum?
That’s surprising. And it fuels the hope that’s kindling in my gut. Sure, he cares about the kids—but maybe they’re the excuse he’s using to care about me, too?
Kirill helps Ruslan and me take the kids up to the penthouse. I follow the two men as they lead me through the labyrinth of rooms. One bedroom down the hall from the master has a huge, king-sized bed. We pile all three kids there and back out slowly.
Kirill disappears just as quietly as he came, but Ruslan stays behind. He stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, scrolling through his phone and ignoring me completely.
But it’s enough that he’s here.
Even though I’m still mad at him and even though a part of me hates him for refusing to believe me, I’d rather him be here than leave us all on our own.
His oaky scent and his stabilizing presence make me feel somewhat relaxed, somewhat safe. I’ve spent the last few days obsessing about next moves and money and survival. It’s nice to know that, for the next month, I can lay my worries at his feet and he’ll take care of them.
Even if he doesn’t actually want to.
I tiptoe towards the window tentatively. Perhaps this is the beginning of a fragile truce. For the kids’ sake. It’s all for the kids’ sake.
Allof the kids.
Including the one in my belly.
I’m not sure how much of my current thought process stems from the hormones and how much stems from the fear of being alone. All I know is that I donotwant to be alone right now.
Ruslan puts his phone away and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. I feel like a shy tween at her first party, when the boy she has a crush on happens to bump into her and there’s a few minutes of real face-to-face contact.
