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I should be nodding my head in agreement, glad to finally have someone who sees Eve the same way I do. Except, as soon as I hear the words out loud—albeit from someone else’s mouth—I realize how ridiculous it all sounds.
“Eve is not a manipulator or a criminal mastermind. If anything, her father used her and sold her for his own gain,” I argue. “Eve has made mistakes, but she isn’t a monster. She cares about people.”
Sarah moves to stand in front of me, a large chunk of bullet held between her tweezers, and a knowing smile on her face. “Sorry. I just wanted to distract you enough to get this big honker out of your arm. Though, I think it served two purposes. Sounds like you aren’t as mad at your wife as you thought you were.”
The doctor walks away and my cheeks redden. “Eve still pulled the wool over my eyes. She still tricked me.”
I try to find the anger I’ve been holding towards Eve for days, but it doesn’t surface. The flame has dwindled to a spark.
* * *
Ihear music before I open the front door, and when I step into the entryway, I realize it is the piano in the sitting room. I also realize the sound is less like music and more like the plunking of random keys.
Eve is in the sitting room, trying to teach herself piano. She’d mentioned it in passing a few times. I told her I’d hire her a teacher, but things had been too hectic, and I’d forgotten.
Her long brown hair is falling over her shoulder, and I can see her biting her lower lip as she tries to arrange her fingers on the keys. She is so deep in concentration that she doesn’t see me watching her. She doesn’t notice as I cross the room slowly, eyes trained on her face. She doesn’t realize I’m there at all until my foot taps the edge of the piano bench, and she looks up, eyes wide.
Her hand flies to her heart, and her eyes flutter closed as she catches her breath. The same way she did the first time I walked in on her in my kitchen and scared her.
She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can get the words out, I grab her arm, lift her off of the piano bench, and pull her against me.
I can see the question in her eyes. The six-day window has passed, so what could I possibly want with her? Why am I doing this?
For me. I’m doing this for me.
I wrap a hand around her neck, tip her head back, and bring my lips down to hers. She goes fluid in my hands and lets me lead her to the couch. Much like the first night we kissed, I crawl over her, running my hands under her clothes and over her warm skin. Only, this time, Eve doesn’t stop me.
She arches her body into mine, digs her fingers into my shoulder blades, and looks me in the eyes when her orgasm roars through her. I finish moments later, panting and pressing my face into the hollow of her neck.
She smells like lemons and honey, and I take a deep breath of her, getting my fill until the next time. Then, I push away from her, zip up my pants, and leave her naked and alone on the couch.
21
Eve
I haven’t seen Luka in a month.
Well, I’ve seen him, but nothim. Not the way I saw him the night in the sitting room. I’d been playing the piano, thinking about him, and then suddenly, he was there. Like, really there. The way he used to be. The rage that had settled in the lines of his face was gone, and for a moment while we were having sex, I thought maybe he’d forgiven me. But then he left, and I didn’t see him for days.
When I saw him again, the angry lines were there around his mouth and eyes, and he didn’t talk to me or look at me or touch me. He didn’t touch me during the “six-day window,” either. He didn’t even come home those days. I wandered the mansion like a ghost, trapped on the other side with no one to talk to.
Perhaps that is why I’m so excited to see my father. I haven’t seen him since the wedding, and before, going a few weeks without seeing him would constitute as a blessing, but now I’m desperate for human interaction.
He had to ask permission from Luka, and apparently, my father had an easier time getting in touch with my own husband than I have because he texted and told me he would be over for lunch. Two guards showed up mid-morning to stand watch. I assumed Luka sent them to keep an eye on us. He probably wonders whether we aren’t planning to torch the mansion and make a run for it.
So, to display total transparency, I spent all morning in public spaces. I cook in the kitchen and then, instead of going up to my room between steps, I wait in the living room. I read or practice the piano with two sets of narrowed eyes on me at all times. When the soldiers report back to Luka, I want them to tell him how boring I was to watch.
My father arrives just as I’m pouring the spicy chicken curry over bowls of white rice. I usually make Italian meals for my dad—he thinks there is no better way to a man’s heart than homemade pasta—but I was desperate for something warm and spicy.
“Do you always have guards on you?” he asks, pointing at the guards as he walks into the kitchen.
“No, they are here special for you,” I say, smiling and holding back tears at the sight of him. It feels so good to see a friendly face. I cross the kitchen and throw my arms around his neck in a way I haven’t since I was a little girl. He hugs me back, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“How are you doing, kid?”
I waver, wondering how much of the truth to tell him. “Not as good as I hoped.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry, dear. Ivan Volkov can be a hard son of a bitch, and I think his son might be even worse. I’m sure you’ll win him over, though.” He nips my chin with his thumb and then brushes past me to the food. “What are you serving up today?”
