13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

L ash

After Marissa and Samantha leave, the reality of the situation hits me.

Holy shit. Did I really just agree to be Zoya’s fake fiancé? To marry her if this crazy plan works out? What was I thinking?

Pictures of movies where the main couple fights constantly flash through my mind: The War of the Roses —that ended in death, right?; Mr. and Mrs. Smith —did they both die, too?; and other movies too numerous to mention. That’s what happens when people marry for all the wrong reasons.

And isn’t there that old saying, “Marry in haste, repent at leisure?” My earlier elation has evaporated, and now my stomach is coiling in knots.

Although my body is rebelling, part of me is euphoric that Zoya is staying, that I can keep her safe. What a mess. This is exciting and terrifying and it’s all made more dramatic because I barely know this woman and now my future is tied to hers.

I sneak a glance at Zoya. She’s smiling shyly at me, her blue eyes sparkling with hope and gratitude. My heart stutters. She’s stunning, fading bruises and all. And she’s counting on me.

Okay, breathe, Lash. You can do this. One day at a time.

“So, uh, what now?” I aim for a lighthearted tone despite my racing thoughts.

Zoya tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, I did promise to make you pierogies…”

“Yes!” Perhaps my “yes” sounded too enthusiastic, but I’d do anything to lighten the mood and give us something to keep our hands busy. She must be starving. I hadn’t realized how long our meeting took. It’s already afternoon. “Should we model this off of Kitchen Nightmares ? Kitchen Impossible ? Hell’s Kitchen ?”

“None of those.” She flashes me a smile that banishes the cramp in my stomach. “ Kitchen Boss and…” She saunters to the kitchen, grabs a carving knife, and brandishes it just enough to catch my attention. “And I’m the boss.”

She laughs and things are magically back to where they were before the whole 90-Day Fiancée thing reared its ugly head. Her laugh is magical.

I follow her into the kitchen as she gathers ingredients with a determined air. Flour, eggs, cheese, and potatoes. She seems in her element and I’m content to be her sous chef.

“Can I help with anything?” I hover nearby, feeling useless.

Zoya hands me a peeler and a bowl of potatoes. “You can peel these while I make the dough.”

“Yes, boss .” I mock salute and she giggles. I imagine it feels great for her to be in charge of something, rather than fearing she’ll earn a backhand slap with every word she says.

We work in comfortable silence for a bit until she asks me to put on some music.

“Here goes,” I say, a bit nervous about the playlist I selected—Labyrinth’s latest album. It’s layers of electronic music, a combination of primitive beats and electronic synth, all performed by an Other group led by a world-renowned minotaur.

“Beautiful.” She grants me a genuine smile as the kitchen fills with the earthy scent of potatoes and the soft slap of Zoya kneading dough. I sneak glances at her, admiring the focus on her face, the cute, serious furrow between her brows.

As I finish peeling the last potato, a thought occurs to me.

“Hey, since our mission is to get to know each other better, should we brainstorm some fun things to do together?”

Zoya looks up from the dough, one cheek adorably smudged with flour. “That’s a great idea! I’m sure you know all the hidden gems around here.”

“Not really. Until recently, Others weren’t allowed out of the Zone except to work. Now, though we’re allowed to leave, we’re still the oddities. Wherever we go, we attract attention, and not always of the good variety. It would probably be best if we stayed in the Zone. At least for a while.”

With a clank, Zoey sets down an old wine bottle I’d repurposed to hold candles. She used hot water to peel the wax off and is using it as a rolling pin.

She turns to me, hands on hips and an earnest expression on her face.

“Tell me, Lash. I got the impression you were serious about this ninety-day thing. Was I wrong?”

That she thinks I’ve been playing with her emotions makes my balls tighten. I thought she knew I meant what I said.

“No. You weren’t wrong. I wouldn’t lie to you… or the U.S. government.”

“Then at some point, we’ll be leaving the Zone together in real life, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So, I vote we try to follow the spirit of the K-1 program. We should do what couples do. Do what I dreamed about when I was still in Ukraine. Show me around the area, Lash. Since you don’t know many places, how about we discover them together?”

She just admitted she wasn’t sure I was serious about the 90-day visa. Well, I wasn’t so sure about her, either. Part of me assumed I was just a convenient means to a green card. It feels good to hear her say she wants to explore with me, have fun together.

“Okay. There are so many places I’ve always wanted to see, but never had the chance.” I’m suddenly filled with enthusiasm as I see this as not only an opportunity to get to know her better, but to have an adventure. “There’s so much to do in L.A. I’ll make a list.”

Zoya beams, her cheeks bunched in an enthusiastic smile. “That sounds lovely. I haven’t seen much, either.”

“But…” I want to make sure her expectations are realistic. “We’ll have to be careful. I’ll wear a hoodie, tuck my tail down my pant leg, and we’ll steer clear of anywhere Max might go.”

Zoya considers for a moment, then nods slowly as her smile widens.

“We’ll check out the zoo, maybe catch a movie. Oh, and I hear there’s this amazing view of the city from the old observatory…”

I’m getting ahead of myself, but the excitement on Zoya’s face fills me with ideas. We lose ourselves in planning dream outings, our laughter rising over the simmering food as the pierogies cook.

By the time we sit to eat our feast, the tight coil of anxiety in my gut has eased. This still feels surreal and daunting, but also exhilarating. With Zoya’s foot brushing mine under the table, I let myself believe we can make this work. That the connection brewing between us might just be real.

I don’t know what the next ninety days will bring, but I’m all in. Zoya deserves a chance at happiness, safety, and love. And damn if I don’t want to be the one to give it to her.

One pierogi at a time.