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She sighs, shaking her head. “There’s a certain appeal to danger. Does danger make me seem more appealing?”
I hold her tighter. “You think I’ll go mad if I can’t race out of here with guns blazing, shooting up Manhattan chasing after you, is that it?”
Eden squirms a little. “I can’t picture you in Holtsville. Obviously, it drove my father slowly mad.”
I laugh, pressing my lips against her cheek, and Eden leans into my kiss. “I admit it,” I reply. “My obsession for revenge consumed me until I found a reason to give it up. But it scares me to think about how it could hurt you.”
As our lips meet, I feel the first spark of hope ignite within me—a longing that Eden won’t let go of.
“Nikolai, your obsession is no different from my father’s.” Eden speaks the thoughts I’ve been thinking aloud. “The desire for revenge nearly ended our baby’s life. Are you thinking about the consequences if it continues?”
Once again, her words punch me in the gut. I found Eden, and her love calms me, but her father lost Eden, and now, he’s going mad. I can’t say I’m nothing like her father because the truth continues to dare me to acknowledge it.
Tears well up in Eden’s eyes, but she doesn’t hide her pain. “You’re not him, Nikolai. You’ve proved it. The baby has changed you.”
“And you have too,” I whisper against her ear. “I promise I won’t turn into Zakhar.”
As our fingers intertwine, I feel that spark of hope again, but it’s fragile. It needs to be nurtured and protected like our love.
“Eden,” I swallow hard. “I don’t want to be the reason for more pain in your life. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you because of my demons. I can’t expect you to love a madman unconditionally.”
Our confessions leave us vulnerable but somehow connected more than before. The weight of our lies could’ve broken us apart, but this time, it leads to understanding. I understand her better now.
“Nikolai,” she says. “I still want to marry you. More than ever, actually. I want to be your wife, to be by your side through everything—the good and the bad. To love you until the end of our days.”
My heart swells with relief and then is soothed by love. “Eden, I want our marriage. What are you thinking?”
“I want to see my parents’ old home in Long Island.”
I nod. “If that is what you want, we will go there.”
20
NIKOLAI
At the endof a winding drive, the tall iron gates creak open despite the lack of rust on the painted hinges. I drive onto the grounds of the Long Island mansion where Eden was born while she sits quietly beside me in the Mercedes with her hands folded in her lap. I decided we would come here alone, assuming neither of us could have anticipated the sight looming over us. In a neighborhood filled with sheltered clapboard houses close to the ocean, the imposing mansion looks like a gothic misfit.
Momentarily, the wind off the ocean fills the silence with an eerie rustle before it rushes through the trees.
“Can you believe it?” she says, her eyes wide.
It’s too bizarre to comment. I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from the towers that rise above the roofline like devil’s horns. “It’s like looking at a twisted reflection of my late father’s home.”
The silhouette is strikingly similar to the Starukhin mansion, and it’s precisely the kind of thing Gennady would use to overtly remind people they belonged to him. The car passes by a garden folly of a granite gargoyle carved with a fierce expression, eyeingthe gravel drive. Another example of my father’s excesses. It looks down on us as we drive by, like a warden over its prisoners.
“Your father must’ve had a sick sense of humor.” Eden’s tone is laced with the bitterness I feel.
“And a blatant sense of excess,” I reply firmly. The concrete drive is in shambles, so we exit the car and walk down the slate path. The solitude of the setting surrounds us and announces the perception of dread that clings to this place. “Are you sure about this?” I ask Eden with concern.
“Yes,” Eden replies firmly, staring at the brick monstrosity. “I need to see this place and to understand what happened that night. And maybe then I can find some closure.”
I nod, understanding the significance of being here. I also want closure. The tragedies in our lives bear down on us as we stare at the red brick facade. It’s a physical manifestation of all the love taken away from us.
I sneak glances at Eden, silently admiring how she holds her growing belly. Her tender gesture stirs something in me, and the need to protect Eden is gradually replacing the blinding drive for revenge. But am I replacing one madness with another? Of course, my wife and child need me, which will always justify my actions, even the most heinous ones.
“Stay close to me, Eden,” I say softly, taking her hand in mine and holding a skeleton key in the other. My father gifted many properties, but he always made sure he had access to all of them.
Eden slips her hand out of mine and walks toward the overgrown yard leading into a small, wooded area. The backyard is a chaotic patch of weeds and bushes with barely visible pathways disappearing into the shadows of many tall trees. Thedrone of cicadas hums in the stillness, beckoning Eden to follow. I navigate the unruly garden after her, noticing freshly broken twigs on the ground. I look back at the house, wondering if we’re really alone.
