Chapter 21 #2
“Don’t you dare,” she whisper-hisses at me in Russian before pasting on a big smile and turning to Birgit while demonstratively grabbing my arm in a possessive, wifely hold.
“Sorry, I’m being so rude,” she exclaims in a practiced, social-butterfly tone.
“Birgit, this is my husband, Alexei Leonov. Alexei, this is my friend, Birgit. She was very kind to me in those terrible days right after my diagnosis.”
The smile that stretches my lips holds zero warmth. “A pleasure.”
I don’t know what the fuck my wife is playing at, but now this woman knows my full name—and by default, Alina’s.
Birgit gives me a wary nod. “Likewise.” Her eyes flit back to Alina’s head and the scars decorating it before she bites her lip and asks tentatively, “How are you… you know?”
“All good,” Alina says, a shade too brightly. “Had surgery to remove the tumor, followed by some radiation and immunotherapy, and just got an all-clear. Didn’t even need to do a full shave, as it turns out, but I kind of like it.” She rubs her head with a self-deprecating smile.
I’m considering what kind of accident could take Birgit out in the near future without Alina finding out and getting upset when Birgit says, “Yeah, looks great on you.” Her gaze flicks to me again. “Though I’m sure your husband misses your long hair.”
My jaw tightens. “And why’s that?”
She shrugs with a cynical half-smile. “All men seem obsessed with that shit.” She touches her own short blond locks.
Alina speaks up before I can eviscerate her friend—verbally for now, given that we’re in public. “Not this one,” she says, squeezing my arm, and when I glance at her, she’s gazing up at me with a smile. An adoring smile.
It’s the first time I’ve seen such an expression on her face, and it sucks all the breath out of my lungs.
I forget all about Birgit and the herds of tourists milling around us, my heart thudding violently against my ribs as I soak in that gorgeous, radiant smile. It’s like tasting sunlight. Like stepping into a warm bath after a Siberian winter night.
I’m fucking destroyed, utterly dazzled, and it’s only when my wife turns her face away from me and says in a too-sweet, utterly un-Alina-like voice, “You have no idea how amazing Alexei has been to me,” that it dawns on me that it’s an act.
The same act she puts on around her family to convince them she doesn’t need rescuing—or, more likely, to make me think she’s convincing them.
The realization is like downing a shot of acid.
I don’t know why Alina cares what this woman thinks of me and our relationship, but she’s putting on that act for her as well, only dialed up tenfold…
to a level that no one who truly knows her and our history would believe.
But presumably, Birgit doesn’t know the latter, and thus Alina is trying to convince her that we’re something other than what we are.
That we’re what I’ve always wanted us to be.
Suddenly, I see the day through an entirely new lens.
Is Alina putting on an act with me? Like she did the day she slipped out of that bathroom window after willingly embracing me?
Motherfucker… The progress I’ve been making with her, our newfound comradery—is it all in my head?
Her reluctant admission that she wants to stay—was that real or an attempt to manipulate me, to get me to lower my guard so she can…
what? Run away again when I’m not looking?
She has to know I won’t be that careless again.
No. The more likely possibility is that her brothers are getting ready to do something, and she knows it.
Despite my careful monitoring of all her communications, they’ve somehow managed to convey their plan to her, and she’s doing her best to facilitate it…
say, by getting us outside into crowded tourist areas, where we’re less protected than at my heavily guarded penthouse.
Fuck.
Blocking out Birgit’s response to Alina’s gushing praise of me, I sweep my gaze over our surroundings.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Only my men, holding their positions at strategic distances from us.
They appear alert, undistracted—exactly as they should be.
Back at the penthouse, the rest of the security team is watching us via street cameras and satellites.
No one should be able to get a jump on us, no matter how well-trained and well-armed they are… as the Molotovs’ strike team would be.
Still, even once I turn my attention back to the conversation between the two women, the paranoia gnaws hard at me.
Because if the Molotovs were going to attempt something, it would be here and now, after Alina got the all-clear but before we went back to Moscow, where my security measures are even stronger.
“—leaving for Thailand soon,” Birgit is saying when I tune back in. “A friend of mine moved to Chiang Mai last year, and she loves the climate, the people, everything. You guys should come visit once I settle in. Lots of Russians there, I hear.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been several times,” Alina says animatedly. “I love Chiang Mai, and Krabi is straight-up paradise.” She looks up at me. “Alexei, you’ve been there too, right?”
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. The spot between my shoulder blades is itching as if a sniper’s laser is dancing over it, and I’m not about to ignore the sensation that’s saved my life more than once.
I force a reasonably polite smile in Birgit’s direction and loop my arm around Alina’s back.
“Nice meeting you, Birgit. We should get going now.”
Before my wife can protest, I guide her away from the crowds.
Paranoia or not, we’re going back to the penthouse, where I can keep her safe.