Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Anya
I stand in the stunning Kopolov family kitchen, mustering up the sternest voice I can, which doesn’t hold a candle to Semyon’s.
"Stefan, you listen to Zoya and any of the other people here," I tell him, petrified that my brother is going to do something reckless and the Kopolovs won't be too happy about it. I know how Rafail is. Jesus, I know how Semyon is.
"He'll be fine," Zoya says with a smile. "Won't you? We'll make popcorn and watch a movie."
Stefan gives her a side look. "Do you watch superheroes?"
"I love superheroes. Spider-Man is my favorite."
Of course she would love Spider-Man with his self-deprecating ways and nerdy teenage awkwardness. I love that. I give Zoya a little smile. "Superman's mine."
If Semyon understands the reference, he doesn’t let on.
I don't like being separated from Stefan.
We've been through so much in a short amount of time, and I worry about what it's going to do to him.
But then I watch him with Zoya, and I see him smiling.
When I look at Semyon, there's something about the steadfast way he watches all of us that brings me a small measure of comfort.
"Where are you going?" Stefan asks, his eyes darting between Semyon and me. "With my sister?"
My heart. My fierce little protector. Semyon gives him a little smirk, almost a smile. "We have some information to find, and we believe some of what we need is back at your home. Is there anything you want us to get for you while we're there?"
"You're going back home with her? I’m coming.”
Oh, Stefan.
I shake my head. "You can't. It isn't safe right now. You need to stay here where you're protected."
"If it's not safe for me, why is it safe for you?"
Stefan gets that glint in his eyes, the one he always has when he wants to fight and gets himself into trouble. Semyon steps forward and bends down so that he and my brother are at eye level.
"Your sister is safe because she's with me.”
And I feel it in my bones, carved into my heart. He means it. He means every word. A lump rises in my throat, and I'm not sure if it's because of my brother's protection or… my husband.
I used to feel safe with him. But then he changed. Or did he?
And for the first time, I wonder… Maybe I was the one who changed.
Maybe our circumstances did. Because right now, standing in the kitchen with the boy I loved by my side, I wonder if there's a small part of my heart that doesn't love him still. After all these years.
"Let's go,” Semyon says, reaching for my hand and lacing my fingers through his. Our palms meet. I have to draw in a breath.
"Semyon, if Eli was taken—”
"Yeah, I know,” Semyon says wryly. "If he survives this, he’ll fucking kill me.”
I can’t help but smile.
"Remember that time?"
"The time he found us soaked to the skin in the shed. All I was trying to do was keep you warm." He shakes his head. "Yeah, I remember that."
I thought Eli was going to murder Semyon. I'd never seen him hit anybody before, but he landed a right hook squarely to Semyon's jaw.
And I knew Semyon could fight—I'd seen him in action, and the vicious, calculating way he moved gave me nightmares. But with Eli, he didn't even raise a hand to defend himself.
My brother didn't believe him. I screamed at him to stop and dragged him off of Semyon.
“Did he hurt you?” Eli asked.
Hurt me? Hell, yes, he hurt me. But not in any way that my brother would understand.
“We talked about that on more than one occasion,” Semyon says with a wry half smile as we head outside. He never really smiles in a way that reaches his eyes. Always guarded. Always distant.
“Did you?” I ask him curiously.
"Yeah.”
Semyon opens the car door. I reach for the handle of the car on autopilot, not processing what I'm doing, when a low growl makes me freeze.
Oh. Right. I don’t open my own door when he’s around.
He reaches for the door to unlatch it, opening it for me. "That was a close one, Anya,” he warns. “Do you really want to have that talk if you disobey me?”
I squirm as a delicious thread of need claws through me.
I’m warming to it.
"What do you have to search back at your home?
" he asks me, changing the subject as he slides into the driver’s seat.
His car is impeccable, immaculately clean, and not a speck of dust. I note everything.
The way it starts right up, the gas tank is full, no flashing lights on the dash indicating it needs to be serviced.
I don't know why I'm focused on these details now. It feels like they matter.
"I'm hoping we can access his computer and the phone that he left behind. My father will be out."
Semyon's jaw tightens as he pulls onto the road and begins to accelerate. "I knew your father before he was an alcoholic. I knew him when he was sober."
I look out the window. "Yeah. Me too."
We don't speak for long minutes. "What time does he usually come home?"
“Later.”
I glance at the clock. We probably have two hours. My nerves rise the closer we get to home—no. Not home. I don’t live there anymore. There’s no small measure of relief when it comes to that.
I don't want Semyon to see the shit I grew up in. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but now that I'm married and know what his home looks like, I’m embarrassed.
"You're wringing your hands, Anya." I'm not sure if he's expecting a response when his large hand comes to rest on my knee and gives me a gentle squeeze.
I didn’t realize the way I was nervously tapping my knee, clearing my throat, and tugging at a lock of my hair. Did he actually notice those things too?
His hand slides slowly on my thigh, flexing. I remember the kiss earlier. I remember when I was a girl how badly I would've done anything to have Semyon's attention like this. To have him touch me.
"You kissed me once," I say quietly.
"Jesus,” he curses.
I blink at him in surprise. “What?”
“Anya, honey, I held myself back so many fucking times,” he says, shaking his head.
I want him to say it again.
"I was obsessed with you, but you were too young for me, and my world was too dangerous.”
I look at him sideways and move his hand further up my leg.
"And I'm old enough now?”
"Yeah, baby, and you’re as fucking dangerous as I am."
Baby.
Me? Dangerous? He cuts his gaze to me, those beautiful blue eyes hidden behind his glasses. "Do I look like the kind of person who exaggerates?"
Thump.
My heart.
I distract myself on my phone when a text comes in from Ophelia.
Ophelia
Um, you know the other day you got that bad review you told me about?
Yeah
Semyon wasn’t the only one I cried to.
Ophelia
Sooooo. Did you hear what happened to him?
Oh no. I give Semyon a sidelong glance before I reply.
No?
Ophelia
He’s in full body cast, Anya. And that small bookstore across town that gave you the glowing review?? They posted on social media today that someone made an enormous anonymous donation.
I narrow my eyes at Semyon. “Semyon,” I say warningly.
“Mmm?”
I gulp. “Did you beat up the asshole who left me the terrible review?”
“Well, not directly…”
“Semyon!”
He frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “No one treats my wife that way, Anya,” he says, as if that’s the natural order of things. To him, maybe it is.
No. Not maybe.
I’m quiet for long minutes. "And all this time," I say in a whisper, “I thought you hated me."
"Hated you? Are you fucking kidding me?" He shakes his head. “I’m half-tempted to pull this car over right now just to put you over my knee for that.”
I stare. His eyes dart to the side of the road, as if looking for a place to actually park. My pulse spikes. The tension between us is palpable.
“Um. Let’s save that for later,” I whisper. “We have work to do. Also, I’m…sober now.”
“I’m aware.” I watch as he breathes in through his nose and out again. Finally, he nods.
“I don’t hate you and never have. I distanced myself because I didn’t want to hurt you.” His voice lowers. “There’s a difference.”
In silence, we turn down my street. He parks the car. “Now, baby, let’s get this over with so I can get you back home to myself.”
I turn to him and let my head fall to his shoulder.
No one treats my wife that way.
At first, he freezes as if he doesn’t remember what to do.
Then he opens his arms. I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, and his arms come around me.
“Do you like that, Anya? Does that feel nice? If it does, I need to know. I need to learn how to… comfort you.” His voice lowers to a half growl as he welcomes me closer, his arms tightening. “C’mere.”
I blink back hot tears, my voice a shaky whisper. “Yeah. I like this.” I smile. “You’re doing great. Just like you did the other night.”
He strokes his hand down the length of my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “I like that too.” He sounds almost surprised.
The moment feels fragile, like a dream I’m afraid to wake from. I blink back the tears and sit up.
We have work to do.
“Let’s do this.”
“Yeah,” he says in a husky whisper. “Let’s go. But we can come back to this whenever you want.”
I can’t help it. I lean in and kiss his prickly, stubbled cheek before I sit back in my seat and let him come and open my door for me.
Then I remember we’re going to my home and how I hate that he’s here with me.
When Semyon looks around my apartment, I feel something tighten in my stomach. It's not the first time he's been here, but I wonder if he's forgotten—
"You did a beautiful job here, Anya. I remember what it was like growing up, and I can see that you put your touch everywhere."
I could be hormonal, but I think that might be one of the nicest things anybody's ever said to me.
There are very few people in this world who know your history—your siblings, your parents, a childhood friend.
But Semyon… he's one of them. He knows. It's one of the reasons why I've never been able to trust him.
"Thank you," I say, turning my back to him so he doesn’t see the tears shining in my eyes. What is wrong with me? I’m an emotional basket case.
"I remember every detail of this place, and I can see how hard you’ve worked."