49. Benny
Benny
“So right as the dress crisis was about to reach fever pitch, Sergei and Rosa turned up with Darya’s wedding dress, which just happened to fit Ofelia almost perfectly.”
I smooth the blanket over Lars’s inert figure, trying to ignore the fierce seizure of mingled longing and pain that is no less intense for being horribly familiar by now.
“Luckily, because Ofelia was so fed up with all the fussing that she was ready to get married in a sundress—which, obviously, I wouldn’t have allowed. And Alexei was no fucking help at all.”
I shake my head, smiling despite the grim ICU surroundings.
“When I told him he needed to get some designer to whip up something spectacular, pronto, he said that he didn’t care if Ofelia wore a hessian sack so long as she was happy.
Then he added that if we didn’t all leave her alone he’d take her out to the Quantum Drift, get the captain to marry them at sea, and be done with the lot of us.
You can see why I was so relieved when Sergei walked through the door with that dress. ”
I pause.
Say what you came here to, idiot.
But despite my resolve to talk openly, I can’t seem to find the words. It doesn’t help that the only responses in the room are the mechanical beeps from the machines keeping Lars alive.
Those beeps haunt my fucking nightmares.
One of the reasons I spend so much of these visits talking absolute drivel is to drown out their sound.
“You won’t believe who I’ve been talking to, by the way,” I rattle on, still dodging the topic.
“Remember that witch Seline who helped kidnap Ofelia? Well, she called Ofelia’s phone during a dress fitting, and I answered it without looking at who was calling.
Don’t ask me how, but we wound up talking, and would you believe it, she was actually very cool and genuinely funny.
And although I hate to admit it, she’s a bloody good tarot reader.
” I give his inert body a wry glance. “I know. You hate woo-woo bullshit. But honestly, I’m starting to see why Ofelia spent so much time with her.
She’s actually coming to the wedding, can you believe that?
Alexei took a while to warm up to the idea, but Ofelia insisted.
She got here yesterday, and we’ve been hanging out a little. ”
My smile fades. “I was so burned by what happened with Lourdes that I wasn’t too sure I’d be up for making a new female friend. But—plot twist—I think Seline might just be a friend I can tolerate.”
I roll my eyes skyward. “Not to mention that she’s not remotely weirded out by the whole bratva thing, since her brother Kiril was the ultimate psychopath.
Was being the operative word. Kiril ceased being anything at all after Mickey killed him, on camera, with nothing but his bare hands.
If there was a Bratva Weekly, he’d have made the cover of it.
From what I gather, the entirety of Miami is still talking about it, which Roman pretends to hate, but clearly fucking doesn’t at all. ”
I glance hastily over my shoulder, even though I know we’re utterly alone.
“I probably shouldn’t have said any of that, even in here. But this is my life these days, Viking boy. I’m so deep in the Russian and Italian mobs that I could rewrite fucking Goodfellas.”
I touch the still hand again, inhaling sharply. “I get why you always loved Alexei, though. Turns out he’s really tough to hate, much as I wanted to before all of this.”
Before all of this. Fuck.
This is where it goes wrong, when I let reality enter the conversation.
I inhale deeply again, running a hand through my hair.
Keep talking shit, Benny.
There’ll be time for reality soon enough.
“So the wedding is in two days’ time. The villa is a fucking madhouse, so many kids running around I can’t tell who belongs to who.
Aleksander, Darya’s oldest boy, apparently managed to sneak his toy bow and arrow into his luggage, and even though the arrows have rubber suction caps on the end, his aim is deadly.
I mean the kid is barely eight, and he’s already shooting acorns off his little brothers’ heads when he thinks nobody is watching.
“He hits them, too. Every time. I swear this lethal shit runs in their blood. When I look at Aleksander hanging out with Leon, Abby’s boy, it’s uncannily like watching kid versions of Roman and Dimitry.
No wonder Luke and Zinaida are staying in a separate villa with their baby girl.
If I was Luke, I’d lock Mila up and throw away the key until all of those boys are long gone. ”
I pause, but pausing means that nightmarish mechanical beeping, so I launch in again.
“Mickey is coming back for the wedding, apparently, but not until last minute. He’s gone very hardcore bratva since the whole murder-on-camera thing.
He’s also got that Phantom thing up and running, or at least the framework, whatever the fuck that means.
Yeah, I told you, Viking boy.” I give him a sideways quirk of a smile.
“I’m deep in bratva land these days. Alexei actually tells me shit like that now.
Not that I understand a fucking word of it, but it’s kind of sweet that he talks to me as if I do.
Christ.” I shake my head. “Did I actually just call Alexei Petrovsky sweet?
The doc must be slipping me some of your drugs.
“Oh, wait. Alexei’s not Petrovsky anymore, or at least he won’t be tomorrow, which is when Phantom is taking its first maiden voyage and altering his entire online identity.
He’s reverting to his family name of Naryshkin, which is pretty cool.
His father has been telling me a bit about it.
He’s been in to see you, more than once, but I guess you know that. ”
I feel an odd surge of affection for Alexei’s extremely old, but nonetheless rather intimidating, father.
“I’m beginning to see why your stories were always about Alexei and his father, rather than your own parents.
Honestly, after the way they’ve totally ignored this entire thing, I’m not sure I could face them even if they turned up here.
But it’s clear that you’re much more to Sergei than just his son’s friend.
And he talks about you in the present tense.
I swear that’s how I judge people these days.
When your mother told me that you were such a genius, I nearly fucking hung up on her. ”
I shoot him a rueful look.
“I’ve become a bit of a prick lately, to be honest. Been learning from the bratva boys. I like their code, you know? Loyalty to the death for each other, and a quick death to anyone who fucks with them.
“Actually, I like that. I might get it tattooed somewhere prominent. That would really piss my family off. Oh, and speaking of my family, they’ve finally cut me off completely.
Apparently some photos were taken of you and me in Greece, clearly very much together.
They were shared on Instagram by some major Saudi-celebrity-watching influencers, which means that now literally everyone in Riyadh knows I’m gay.
My sister Rana texted to say that while she really does care about me, our parents will stop her allowance if they know she’s maintaining any contact.
So I guess it’s just bratva family for me now. ”
The machine beeps.
Say what you came here to say, Benny, for fuck’s sake.
But still, my mouth just runs on, like it’s operating independently of my will.
“I suppose I should also mention that when you thought I was feeling you up the other day, I was in fact measuring you for a tux. I’m going to bring it in the morning of the wedding and dress you in it, because even if you can’t stand at Alexei’s side, at least you can look hot in a picture with me, which as we both know is the important thing.
Anyhow, my point is that I might not be in tomorrow, since Darya has assigned me to tux duty.
Actually, that’s a lie; I insisted on taking tux duty the moment I realized Alexei and Roman were making no effort to match outfits. ”
I give him a half smile. “Ofelia was worried I was taking on too much, but if I’m honest, I’ve been enjoying the distraction. And I’m not going to feel guilty about that, because I know how severely you hate the word guilt, especially when it’s about you.”
I glance at the analog clock on the wall. I’m allowed longer visits now, but even so, the nurses start walking pointedly slowly past the frosted glass if I push it over half an hour.
Say it, Benny.
“Speaking of guilt, there’s something I need to say before our time is up.” I slide one of my hands under his, palm up. It’s the way I cheat, letting his body weight give the illusion that his hand is actually holding mine, rather than lying lifelessly atop it.
“Alexei and I met with your medical team this morning. They were very tactful, but . . .”
Fuck.
“This is even fucking worse than I thought it would be, you know that, you Viking bastard?”
The anger hits me out of the blue, so fierce and painful it almost takes my breath away.
“How the fuck am I supposed to sit here and tell you that they want to fucking unplug you, like you’re some kind of malfunctioning goddamn computer?
I mean, they’re not saying it outright, not yet, but after more than a week, they don’t have to.
But if you think that’s what I’m feeling guilty about, asshole, you’re fucking wrong. ”
My voice is unusually loud, but for once, I don’t give a fuck.
“I’m sick of being quiet,” I say furiously.
“And endlessly fucking positive. Taking care of your goddamn brain waves, or vibes, or whatever it is that everyone does in here when they tiptoe around you. Coming in here and measuring you for a tux or telling you stupid gossip, when all you do is fucking lie there and give up. Because that’s what you’re doing, you gutless motherfucker! ”
I come to my feet, heat racing through my veins, almost shaking with the rage I’ve spent weeks suppressing.
“You came after me, remember? I’d have taken that one wild night in Paris and banked it, a memory I could look back on fondly in old age.
In no world did I ever expect you to show up at an obscure fucking cello recital a week later, or put me on your private jet days after that.
You just kept coming back. Even after I realized how fucked-up you were and told you not to.
Especially then. You wore me down, motherfucker. ”
Scalding tears of frustration and agony run unheeded down my face.
“And now you’re just going to fucking leave me here? Without a single word? At least you actually spoke to Alexei, or he imagined you or whatever. I can’t hear your voice even if I try to imagine it. Not even in my dreams, Lars. All of this might be easier if I could.
“But when I sit in this room or leave it, whether I’m asleep or awake, it’s like I can feel you, right there, so fucking close it feels like I could pluck you out of the air and bring you back—but I fucking can’t, Lars.
I just can’t. And it’s killing me, I swear to God, you bastard, it’s fucking killing me. ”
My words are harsh sobs.
“And I’m terrified it’s always going to be like this.
That whether I let you go or leave you lying on that damn bed, either way I’ll be left with this empty place inside me that you claimed as your own.
And that empty place isn’t just part of me—it’s just about fucking all of me, you Viking bastard.
It was never just my body you took, or even my heart. It was my fucking soul.”
I collapse back into the chair, my breath coming in ragged sobs, dropping my head onto his inert hand, pushing against the maddeningly silent lean stillness of his body.
“You were supposed to be a Viking,” I whisper brokenly. “And Vikings fight. They fight like hell. So why the fuck won’t you fight for me, Lars? For us?”
I shake my head on the bed, punching the mattress with clenched fists. “And if you won’t fight for me, asshole, then tell me this—why the fuck should I keep fighting for you?”
I’m sobbing so hard it takes a minute to register that there’s something wrong with the beeping. It takes a few seconds more for me to realize it’s because there’s been a change in Lars’s heartbeat.
“Oh my God.” I surge out of my chair, standing over him, pressing the call button frantically. “Please.” I can barely get the word out.
There’s the faintest hint of movement, and my eyes lock on the hand on the mattress, the still fingers I’ve clutched so desperately for weeks now.
Did I imagine that?
His unbandaged eye flutters, and my heart stops.
It flickers open. Tries to focus, then rolls away.
“Lars?” I can barely say his name.
His eye flutters closed.
“Wake up!” I lean over him, barely resisting the urge to shake him as footsteps come hurrying down the corridor. “Fucking wake up, do you hear me?”
Then, just as the door slides open, his hand moves again.
“What happened?” The doctor in charge takes in the changed heart monitor. “Lars.” He goes to the other side of the bed. “Can you squeeze my hand?”
I shake my head dumbly. “Probably not.”
The doctor looks slightly annoyed at the stupid grin on my face. “Why not?”
“Because,” I manage through my tears, “he’s currently giving me the finger with his other one.”