20. Cathy
20
CATHY
Two days later…
I n the quiet of the kitchen, I lean against the counter, talking to Anya as she chops vegetables for dinner. “You know,” I say, “I miss the small things—like having a cozy movie night. Just sitting back and getting lost in something lighthearted.”
Anya stops mid-chop, her eyes sparking with that look of hers, the one that always makes me feel like she’s up to something. “A movie night?” she repeats, a touch of excitement in her voice.
“Yeah, though it’s probably not the kind of thing that would happen here,” I add quickly, shrugging.
Anya just smiles to herself, a little mysteriously, and goes back to her work. I let it drop, assuming the conversation will go nowhere.
Later that evening, I wander through the hallways, heading toward the room Anya mentioned for dinner. But when I push open the door, it’s not a dining room that greets me.
It’s a cozy, dimly lit room, where a large projector screen is set up, and a soft sofa piled with blankets and pillows faces it. A low table is arranged with snacks—popcorn, some chocolates, and drinks—and the atmosphere feels surprisingly… inviting. I can hardly believe my eyes.
“Is this… for me?” I murmur aloud, still trying to process it.
As if on cue, Ivan steps into the room. He’s dressed casually—well, casual for him—with his hands tucked into his pockets. He raises a brow at me, amusement flickering in his eyes, though his face remains controlled. “I heard you wanted a movie night. Does this meet your approval?”
It takes me a second to find my voice. “I… I didn’t think—well, thank you.”
His lips twitch, just a fraction, and he gestures to the sofa. “Don’t thank me yet. I don’t even know if I can stomach whatever it is you want to watch.”
His lips quirk up as he lowers himself onto the sofa, patting the space beside him in a way that makes my heart skip.
I take the seat next to him, reaching for the remote. “All right, let’s ease into it, then. Ever seen Die Hard?”
A tiny frown is his reply. “Should I have?”
“You’ll love it,” I say, queuing it up and hitting play.
As the movie starts, Ivan’s focus sharpens, his gaze locked on the screen. When Bruce Willis is hanging off the edge of the Nakatomi building, Ivan mutters something under his breath in Russian.
“What was that?” I ask, glancing over at him.
He huffs, leaning back with a faint grin. “I said he could’ve neutralized Hans by now if he wasn’t so American about it.”
“Oh, so if it were you?” I can’t help but laugh, a little surprised at how easily he’s bantering. “What would you have done?”
“If it were me, I’d have broken the cunt’s neck,” Ivan replies, deadpan.
I find myself snuggling in next to him despite his words, feeling on the edge of his boundaries. The right movements and he might open up to me, I feel bolder when Die Hard finishes. I scroll through the list, hovering over The Princess Bride.
“What’s that?” he asks, squinting at the screen.
“Only one of the greatest movies ever made,” I reply, my finger hovering over the button.
His brow lifts. “And you expect me to watch this? A love story?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I say, clicking play before he can protest.
I can practically feel his skepticism filling the room. But as the movie unfolds and the swashbuckling duel scene begins, Ivan leans forward, surprisingly engrossed. When Inigo finally confronts his nemesis, Ivan’s grip tightens around his glass.
I shoot him a sidelong glance. “You seem a bit invested.”
“Hmm,” he says, as though brushing it off. “This I understand. It is not a love story. It is about revenge.”
He’s quiet as Inigo finally confronts Count Rugen, and when Inigo says, “I want my father back, you son of a—” I notice Ivan’s jaw flexes. It’s the faintest sign of something unguarded, something personal, and it’s gone as soon as the movie ends.
“Not bad,” he says, leaning back, though his face is unreadable. “Now I choose.”
With that, he takes the remote and scrolls to a foreign film, some gritty crime thriller I’ve never even heard of.
“Russian gangster movie?” I raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.
“It’s one of the best,” he says, pressing play. “I’ll load the subtitles.”
As we watch, I’m struck by how he leans forward during the intense scenes, his face lighting up in a way I haven’t seen before. There’s a cold brilliance to the protagonist, a man out for revenge and justice on his own terms, and it feels like I’m catching a glimpse of Ivan’s own psyche.
“So this is what you relax to?” I joke, watching a fight scene unfold. “You must be fun at parties.”
He gives me a long, considering look. “Let’s just say I find it satisfying.” But then he leans in closer, voice dropping. “And at least it’s not as ridiculous as your man in a vest. You have strange taste.”
“Says the man who relaxes with Russian gangsters,” I retort, nudging him lightly. We both laugh, the sound of it echoing softly in the dim, cozy room.