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I swallow against a sudden swell of nausea. Ruslan is right. I should get to know my husband, if only so I’m not parenting a child with a terrifying stranger.
Also, I’m curious as fuck, and Alexei’s brother seems willing to talk.
I decide to start with something small and innocuous. “Has your family always called him Lyosha?” I ask, glancing back at Ruslan.
Alyosha is the commonly used short version of Alexei. That’s what I, as his wife, would call him at home if I could ever bring myself to be that informal. Lyosha is even more casual. It brings to mind a village boy running wild and climbing trees with skinned knees and too-short pants.
Is that what Alexei was like as a child? It’s hard to picture. By the time I met him, he was already almost a man… already dangerous and magnetic.
“Our father always called him Alexei,” Ruslan answers. “But Mama called him Lyosha, and so did Ksenia and I.”
Ksenia. Slava’s mom. The sister they lost. My heart squeezes in my chest, and my nausea intensifies. I swallow again and speak swiftly to distract myself from the unpleasant sensation. “Were the three of you close growing up?”
“Very, but not in a typical way,” Ruslan replies. “After our mother died, Lyosha took care of us. Even though he’s only two years older than I, he took on the role of a second parent to me and Ksenia.” Ruslan smiles, and for the first time, there’s something boyish and genuine in the curve of his lips. “He’d feed us chicken soup whenever we were sick, even though we had a nanny who could do that. He’d tell us stories about our mother and show us pictures. And every night, after our nanny would go to sleep, I’d climb into his bed, and he’d read to me the way our mother used to. When Ksenia was old enough, she’d climb in too. We’d huddle around him as he read our favorite books to us, and then he’d tuck us in for the night. He did that until I was twelve and Ksenia was nine.”
I’m so fascinated I forget about the roiling in my stomach. Strangely, it’s all too easy to picture Alexei in the role of a caretaker—maybe because I’ve already witnessed that side of him. “Why did he stop?” I ask.
Ruslan shrugs, his smile fading. “I decided I was too old for bedtime stories, and Ksenia didn’t want to feel like a baby, so she declared she was also too old. Lyosha acted like he was relieved, but in hindsight, I think he was hurt. It was for the best, though, because not long after that, our father sent the two of us to a military school in Novosibirsk, and Ksenia stayed behind.”
“Alone with your father?” I ask softly.
Ruslan’s expression changes. It’s a subtle change, one I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been staring straight at him, but as is, I catch the slight tensing of his jaw and the thinning of his mouth. “Yes,” he says evenly. “With our father.”
I’m dying to probe further in that direction, but I can sense those questions won’t be welcome. So I return to the topic Ruslan is willing to talk about. “You and Alexei seem to have more of a typical sibling relationship now,” I say, thinking back to all the times I’ve seen them interact. “Did that just happen to come about as the two of you grew up?”
“More or less,” Ruslan says, the tension leaving his features. “Being away at school was the real catalyst. When we first got there, Alexei acted as my protector, but I wanted to prove to the other kids that I didn’t need my big brother to intercede for me, so, being a dumb, easily embarrassed preteen, I kept picking fights with him and pushing him away.” He sighs and looks straight ahead. “For a couple of years in my early teens, we barely even talked. Then I realized what a little asshole I was being, and we reconnected again—this time, as brothers of a similar age, with all that it entails.” He glances at me. “What about you? With you being the youngest, did your brothers watch over you?”
I nod. “They still watch over me.”
In fact, they’re probably turning over every rock and clump of dirt to find me as we speak, but I don’t say that. With all their spies and hackers, my captors know better than I do what my brothers are up to.
Ruslan must take my words for the warning that they are because he sighs again and removes his aviators. Turning his storm-gray eyes on me, he says quietly, “Alina, listen… I know you think this whole situation is fucked up, and I don’t blame you. The way my brother went about marrying you is… unusual, to say the least. But he will be a good husband to you. And a good father to your kids. Believe me, I know.”
