21. Natalia

21

NATALIA

Evangeline was like the flap of a butterfly's wings somewhere around the world that starts a hurricane. One little suggestion, and it's been days of swirling, spiraling thoughts that have stormed in my head for days on end now. And each and every time the clouds clear, only one way forward remains:

I have to fix things with Andrey.

"If not for myself, then for you guys," I say to my belly.

I want to delay it. Actually, scratch that—I want to run screaming into the hills rather than dive into the thorny mess that is my emotional baggage.

But my babies deserve better.

Which is how I find myself seeking out Andrey for the first time in months. A move that's accompanied by palpitations, severe doubt, and what I'm sure will read as an erratic spike in my blood pressure on my weekly medical report from Dr. Abdulov.

When Shura and I collide as I turn into the kitchen, he grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm's length. "Yikes. You okay, Nat?"

"You should work on your sweet talk," I mumble. Then I gulp. "Actually, I'm looking for Andrey."

His eyebrows disappear in his hairline. "That explains it. He's in his room, I think. We just finished up with a meeting."

I walk upstairs with every intention of stopping outside of Andrey's room, but then I pass it and have to double back. Weirdly enough, I pass it a second time. And a third.

"Stop being a wuss!" I chide myself. "Time to be a big girl."

Finally, on attempt number four, I manage to stop my feet and knock once.

Maybe he's not here. Maybe he's in the shower. Maybe I'll just have to come back and ? —

"Come in," he calls before I can run down the hall like the scaredy cat I am.

It took so much energy to get here that I have no clue what I'm going to say, but I doubt all the planning in the world will change that, so I draw in a breath and open the door.

Then that breath rushes out of me in a violent burst when I'm faced with the rippling muscles of Andrey's bare back.

He's pulling his shirt over his head with one hand like we're in the middle of a sexed-up fragrance commercial, showcasing his spectacular brawn and the canvas of scars that make my knees weak.

Maybe I should bring that up in therapy.

"Hey," I greet awkwardly.

He twists around at the sound of my voice. "Natalia?"

"Hey," I repeat again. Cringe. "Er, sorry to disturb you?—"

"You're not disturbing me," he assures. "I was just about to step into the shower."

My face heats up—as does another part of my body that I'm trying to ignore. "I can come back later."

Some time when you have a shirt on and aren't about to be soaking wet would be preferable.

"No need. I'm all yours."

If only that were true.

I squash the internal dialogue in my head. It's really not helping.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course."

Since he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to cover up all those abs, I keep my gaze north of his neck. "I want to clear the air."

An eyebrow arches with intrigue. "Okay. Clear away."

My heartbeat thunders relentlessly against my chest. Now, I'm regretting my decision to walk in here unprepared. Maybe having a rough idea of what I wanted to say would've been the smarter move. Notecards. A few bullet points in Sharpie on the palm of my hand, maybe.

"You told me that I could trust you, and you let me down."

I walk over to the window and take a seat on one of the two armchairs. Andrey—still shirtless—sinks into the remaining armchair opposite me.

"The thing is, I asked for help. I told you what I needed and you didn't hear me. Or maybe you didn't want to. Either way, it felt like… like I was being abandoned."

I curse the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I so wanted to do this without crying. But I'd underestimated the intensity of speaking openly and honestly about my feelings.

Especially with the one person who seems to have the most influence over them.

"And therapy has helped me discover that I have abandonment issues. I hate getting close to anyone because I'm terrified that they'll leave me. And you… you left me while you were still around."

His eyes shimmer in the sun through the window. Still, he says nothing.

"You gave me space when what I really needed was for you to lean in. And…" Wringing my hands together, I urge myself on. "And worse, you thought you could solve it all by having sex with me. Like sex was a Band-Aid to make it all better."

I pause, giving him a small window to butt in, say something, apologize, maybe even defend himself.

But he still says nothing.

"And I'm not blaming you entirely. I let it happen. I didn't stop you. I… I wanted it as much as you did." I swallow, ignoring exactly how much my body still wants it right now. "But no matter how good it feels in the moment, that feeling doesn't last long." A straggling sob escapes me. "And it left me feeling used and even more invisible than before."

I open my mouth but then I realize, I don't need to. I've said everything I wanted to. For now, at least.

" Lastochka …"

Despite the coldness in his eyes, despite the hardness in his face, his voice is soft and laced with tenderness. He takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, the same way he did the day he told me he was moving Aunt Annie into the manor. Hesitantly, I meet his eyes.

They're blazing—it's like someone has just set them on fire.

Maybe that someone was me.

"I never meant to make you feel that way."

"I won't let anyone treat me like that again, Andrey. Even if that someone is you." He nods and goosebumps erupt along my skin like wildfire. "If I'm going to be with someone, it's going to have to be a true partnership. If I'm going to have sex with someone, it's going to be with someone who truly loves me."

Shadows flit across his eyes like a veil. As my heart rate increases, I force myself not to lose sight of why I came here in the first place.

"There isn't going to be any more casual sex between us, Andrey. I want a real relationship or nothing. If you come for me, it's going to have to mean something."

Exhaling deeply, he leans back against the armchair. "I hear you."

We sit in the silence for a few minutes longer. I have no idea what he's thinking, and I guess I'm gonna have to make my peace with that.

"Thank you for listening," I blurt, getting up from my seat.

His hand twitches suddenly as though he wants to grab my arm and stop me from leaving. But then the same hand clenches into a fist.

"You're welcome."

I half-turn towards the door before I stop myself and face him again. "There's something else I want to thank you for."

He gets to his feet and steps towards me. I'm close enough that I catch the deep woodsy musk. It's like my own personal version of catnip. Except this cat is going cold turkey.

Whether she likes it or not.

"You saw that I needed help and you wouldn't take no for an answer. No one's ever fought so hard for my mental health before."

"I want you to be happy, Natalia. As much as I want you to be safe."

Dammit— these pesky tears just won't seem to leave me alone. "I'm not the only one who needs to talk to someone, Andrey."

I suppose it's my way of saying, I want you to be happy, too.

I'm not sure if it translates though, because he tenses up immediately. "There's a lot I won't be able to say to a therapist."

"Evangeline knows our history," I point out. "And she's discreet. You can trust her."

"That's the problem, lastochka : I don't trust anyone."

"You have to try." I inch closer to him without even realizing it. "You don't have to talk to a therapist, necessarily. Find someone you trust and talk to them."

Those silver eyes bore into mine. So intense, so direct… so full of promise. "Can I talk to you?"

The fact my jaw doesn't unhinge and fall to the floor is a small miracle that I'm grateful for as I swallow and nod. "You want to talk—Me? The girl who shot you?"

He actually smiles. "Yes. You, the girl who shot me."

I hide my surprise behind the calmest smile I can manage given the circumstances. "You can always talk to me, Andrey. About anything."

He nods, his lips pulling up at the corners. "I just might take you up on that."