40. Mel

After a good-sized glass of wine at dinner, I find that my guilty conscience has dulled to a muted roar at the back of my head. Gleb didn't drink—I don't know that I have ever seen him do so—and he drove me and Gabby safely to his home.

To my astonishment, as he pulls into the parking garage beneath his building, I realize just how close we are to the house I used to rent in Harlem with Annie and the girls.

"I didn't know you lived here," I say, perking up. My tongue is considerably looser with the help of wine, and I find it far less challenging to talk to Gleb—or look him in the eye—than I did at the courthouse nearly six hours ago now.

"That's because I never told you," he states flatly, bringing me down in an instant with cold, hard reality.

"Right," I say, biting my lip as I cast a glance toward him.

Gleb was very quiet all through dinner, while Pyotr and Silvia prodded me for more details on how I've been doing and what Boston was like. I can't shake the sense that Gleb is angry with me. He's only grown stiffer and more curt since his sharp and entirely justified words on our drive from Connecticut to New York.

And I fear that it's because I've trapped him in a marriage when he only just told me he thinks it would be best if we went our separate ways. What feelings we used to have for each other, I think I've destroyed by pushing him away every time he tries to help me and by fighting my feelings for him for so long. It might be too late.

Now he's been forced to not only protect me but spend every day in the same apartment with me when I know he would rather I not be there.

He steers us into a parking space near the elevator bank, his silence sullen, and puts the rental in park. Carefully avoiding his eyes, I look into the back seat to find Gabby sleeping once more. The poor little girl must be so tuckered out after everything she's been through.

Wordlessly, I open my door and slip into the back to collect her. This time, she's so tired, she hardly stirs as I lift her into my arms. Gleb collects the bag of clothing Silvia lent me and Gabby from the back, and together, we make our way to the elevator.

"It was sweet of Silvia to give us some clothes," I say softly, trying to make conversation and ease the awkward ride up.

Gleb nods. "I'll go back to New Haven tomorrow and collect what belongings I can."

"Thanks."

His soft grunt is the only answer I get before the doors ding open onto his floor. He leads the way to the room marked 1233 and unlocks it, then swings it wide for me to go first.

My heart skips a beat as I enter Gleb's personal space for the first time. It feels strangely intimate to be here, though he came to the house I shared with the girls on a regular basis. It's a nice place, open and spacious, with a clean-cut, modern feel and elegant but spartan decor that somehow fits Gleb perfectly.

The temperature, just on the cool side, is somehow soothing, and Gleb's masculine scent of leather and smoky pine lingers subtly in the air. It makes a shiver of anticipation run down my spine.

"Your room will be the first door on your right down the hallway." Gleb gestures in the direction he's talking about as he drops his keys into a metal bowl on the entry side table. The door clicks softly closed behind us, followed by the shck of Gleb sliding the bolt home.

My room?

A knot forms in my throat, though I know that, logically, he wouldn't intend for me to sleep with him. I shouldn't be intending to sleep with him. Right?

So, what's with the feeling of rejection?

"Great. Thanks." I lead the way, hugging Gabby close as she snoozes softly against my shoulder.

Following just behind, Gleb flicks on lights to help me see the way, and though I know I'm supposed to be here, I can't shake the feeling that I'm intruding on his personal space. A space he never would have invited me into if it weren't out of necessity.

"Will this do for tonight?" he asks, stopping behind me as I pause in the doorway of his guest bedroom.

A queen-size bed sits in the center, the clean sheets and comforter look so soft and inviting. A dresser stands opposite the bed, a nightstand on either side, with a closet to my right.

"This is perfect."

"I can get you a second bed for Gabby if that would make you both more comfortable."

"No, that's—" I swallow hard. "You really don't need to. This is more than enough space. We've shared much smaller beds than this before."

Gleb gives a curt nod.

Stepping inside the room, I lay Gabby gently on top of the sheets to get her ready for bed. Gleb follows me in, and for a second, my stomach quivers at his proximity—no longer necessary now that we're out of the car and elevator.

Then he sets down the bag of clothes Silvia lent us, and I kick myself for getting my hopes up, even momentarily.

"I'll leave you to it," he says definitively and turns noiselessly to stalk toward the door.

"Gleb, wait," I insist, straightening quickly to follow him into the hallway.

Pulling the door shut behind me so we don't wake Gabby, I'm grateful to find that he actually did stop. As he turns toward me, we're suddenly in very close proximity, my back pressed against the guest-room door, my fingers still wrapped around the handle.

Seeming surprised to find me so close, Gleb takes a step back, and even as he gives me the space I usually crave so desperately, I feel as though the distance is a knife to the gut. Because it's not me he's creating that space for this time.

It's him.

He needs to be farther away from me.

God, it hurts an astonishing amount, and I wonder if this might not be what it felt like to Gleb when I fled New York three years ago.

No wonder he's ready to be done with me.

Swallowing down my emotions, I fight to contain the tremble in my voice that gives me away. "I just… wanted to say thank you for coming to get me again. It feels like you keep having to come save me, and…" I shake my head, my eyes dropping to my feet as the emotion trickles into my tone, overtaking it.

"It's fine, Mel. Really. You just… have impressively bad luck, I would say," Gleb says.

Is it me, or did he just actually go for a joke?

I lift my gaze, and my heart stutters when I find the corners of his lips curling into a subtle smile. Releasing a breathy laugh, I nod. "Combined with terrible judgment," I add, thinking about my choice to run from New York and seek refuge with the Kellys.

The hint of a smile slowly slides from his face, making me wonder if I'd imagined it in the first place. And when I search Gleb's eyes for an answer, all I find is frustration and pain. It makes my stomach knot painfully.

"I'm sorry I keep asking for your help. I know this marriage is less than ideal, but I appreciate your willingness to… go with it for Gabby's sake—and mine."

Gleb grunts, and suddenly, I can't make sense of the storm behind his green eyes. God, he really must be pissed about it.

"But it's just a contract, right?" I push out, my voice rising several octaves and giving me a falsely chipper tone as I try not to cry. Willing myself to keep it under control, I flash a smile. "We can get it annulled as soon as things blow over."

"Right," Gleb agrees.

My weak attempt to see if there's any hope of our marriage being something more than a ploy has completely backfired.

I have my answer, I suppose.

He's ready for this to be set right once my life is no longer on the line.

"Well, good night," he says before I can come up with an adequate response.

"Night," I murmur, watching him turn to stride lithely down the hallway to his room. He never looks back, though I watch until the door closes behind him.

Then I slip silently back into my room with Gabby.

She's still sleeping soundly, dressed in her adorable pink dress. Digging into the bag Gleb brought in for us, I find a pair of children's pajamas and pull them out. Taking my time, I slowly change her into a comfier outfit as I consider all that's happened since I woke up this morning in the hospital.

It hardly feels like all of it could have happened in one day.

No wonder my head is still spinning. Or maybe that's the concussion combined with the wine I probably shouldn't have drank. But the doctor didn't say anything about that, did he?

I shake my head, focusing on the task at hand as I slip Gabby softly beneath the covers. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I leave her sleeping soundly and go back to the bag to dig out a pair of pajamas for myself. Then I slip from the room, turning off the light as I go so I can change and clean off my makeup in the guest bathroom.

Setting down my clothes on the counter, I turn my attention to the mirror and slowly work the bobby pins out of my hair that Silvia so carefully styled. It really is nice to be near her and Pyotr again.

Even if I'm all sorts of confused about this fake-yet-temporarily-very-real marriage, I love them for wanting me to be safe. For caring enough to take the whole day to help me, to support me, to welcome me home, to get to know my daughter, and to be willing to love her simply because she's a part of me.

It fills me with an intense sense of appreciation and belonging to have received the homecoming I have. And when my thoughts turn to Gleb, that same overwhelming gratitude applies to him too—more so, really. Because he's done more for me than anyone should ever be asked to do.

I don't deserve him.

I don't deserve the kindness, the fierce, unrelenting loyalty, the protective concern—the willingness to put his very life on the line for me.

I especially don't deserve his love after the things I've said to him.

How many times have I pushed him away out of fear? Out of my inability to trust?

I've lost count.

And even if this last time was justified, even if I did it to save his life, I don't think Gleb sees it that way. Unfortunately for me, my epiphany might be too little too late.

A wave of self-pity washes through me, and frustration quickly follows.

What the hell am I doing?

If I want Gleb, then it's never too late. Right?

I need to show him what I want.

I need to tell him how I feel—why I did what I did, why I said what I said.

Butterflies come to life in my stomach at the thought of approaching him.

I bite my lip, willing myself to find the nerve.

I meet my eyes in the mirror. Suck it up, Mel, and grow a spine. He drove all the way to Boston for you. He married you, for Christ's sake. It's your turn to go out on a limb here.

Quickly finger-combing my hair into a semblance of order, I pull myself together.

Then I take a fortifying breath and square my shoulders.