Chapter 39

Thirty-Nine

R uby

Kirill leads me to the bright red car where a woman dressed in black, apart from a neon pink blazer, exits the car. Her smile is wide and over-the-top happy, which makes her extraordinarily beautiful in my eyes.

"Hi!" she greets us enthusiastically as she hands Kirill a set of keys. "I'm Brooklyn." Her now empty hand falls to her belly—a belly that I realize is quite pregnant. "Congratulations on your purchase, and welcome home."

I don't know what it is, but seeing the pregnant woman has ice spreading through my veins just as a cold sweat prickles my flesh. The group begins to move toward the house, but I'm not present. At least not mentally. I'm way back in time, trying to calculate the time between my past period, and now.

I can't. I just know that when I thought I was going to get it—I didn't. I blamed it on stress, like I've blamed everything lately. But can I be blamed? My life is the pinnacle of chaos.

Oh, God…

"Are you feeling all right?" Kirill asks me quietly as I lean against the wall of a lovely entrance. It's board and batten, topped in a lovely floral blue wallpaper.

If I weren't freaking out, I might have laughed. This does not seem like a house Kirill would buy.

Me, however—I could stay here in this entrance forever.

"Mmhmm." His eyes narrow as my head bobs quickly.

"Are you sure? You're pale."

"Oh." I wave it off. "Must be jet lag."

"Mmm." He doesn't look convinced. I hurry to follow a happily chattering Brooklyn from the entrance. Mostly, I'm just trying to escape my husband and his questions, but it doesn't take long before I'm thoroughly absorbed in the home that I can now call my own, for however long we are to remain here in America.

If I'm being honest, I pray we never leave. I could live out my life and die here in this house happily. It's that perfect.

When I see the newly green cluster of clearly lovingly tended roses, my emotions get the better of me, and I begin to cry. I can see them from where I stand at the kitchen sink—farmhouse in style, and crafted of white porcelain. The cream-colored, antique designed cabinets, with the charming curlicues bracket the sink, topped by a warm stone granite in shades of cream and brown, veined in gold. A charming brick backsplash ties it all in with the most charming, black iron fixtures.

"The house comes furnished, but anything you don't like, the seller is willing to have removed."

"We like it," I hear myself say, before I glance, my face on fire, at Kirill. Smiling, he nods.

Brooklyn laughs. "I like it, too. Good choice."

"Why were they selling? This is—" I sigh. "It's such a lovely home."

"They raised their family here in this house. The wife has loved the sea for as long as she can remember, and now that they're retired, their children off living their own lives, they've decided to buy a houseboat and sail." She clasps her hands with a dreamy sigh. "I think it's just a dream."

I couldn't agree more.

The bedroom is an oasis. The charm is over the top. Kirill told me that the only things he'd asked be replaced, at his cost, were the mattresses on the beds and the bedding. Which, I'm grateful for as I fall onto the plush bedspread in tones of cream and green, exhausted.

Pavel and Maxim are staying in the guest house, which I can see makes Kirill uncomfortable by the way he checks his handgun before sliding it into the drawer on his side of the bed. Apart from us, Dimitri is the only one in the house.

Where it clearly gives Kirill anxiety, I feel only peace. As though we're finally a couple—living like a couple.

Still, propping myself on my elbow, I ask, "Are you worried?"

"I am always worried." He shoves a blade beneath his pillow. It's sheathed in leather, but it still freaks me out.

"You don't sleep with weapons in Russia."

His eyes slide to me. "In Russia, there are multiple men prepared for an attack who live in my house."

"Why are Pavel and Maxim in the garage suite then, if it bothers you so much?"

His eyes settle on my face, the corners softening. "Because it makes you happy."

This man…

"If it makes us unsafe in a way that makes you afraid, I would prefer they are inside."

He doesn't even reject the idea. Simply asks, "Are you sure?"

I feel my insides deflate a little as I nod. "Yes."

Kirill stands, lifting his phone to his ear. He speaks in Russian, ends the call, and makes another, again, in Russian.

When he finishes, he releases a relieved breath. "Pavel and Maxim will move in tonight. There will be a security team arriving tomorrow who will stay in the garage suite."

Again, I nod. I can't help but wonder just how dangerous my husband's life really is to warrant the live-in protection detail he feels is necessary. I want to ask, but I'm honestly not sure I want to know at this point. I'm not sure I have it in me to know. That if I know, I won't dissolve into a fit of terror.

So, I don't ask. I simply tap the bed next to me and whisper, "Come to bed, Kirill. It's been a long day."

He shoots me a soft smile. "It really has. The demon is already fast asleep."

"Nala." I laugh. "The demon is called Nala."

He crawls up the length of my body, murmuring. "And the talker is silent for once."

I'm breathless. "Fast asleep."

"And you, wife?"

"Me…?"

"Are you tired?"

My breath catches. "Not anymore."

He kisses me long and deep. "Good. Because neither am I."