Chapter 32
Cecilia
When I come down for breakfast, only Mikhail and Victoria are seated at the table, both silent. My sister-in-law flips through a book while idly picking apart a muffin, and my husband sips on a double espresso, like usual, scrolling his phone.
He was gone when I woke up, so we haven’t said a word to each other since our fight.
Now, even if he hasn’t spotted me yet, there is tension in the air—thick and cruel.
Just seeing him here, so cool and detached, makes me want to scream.
I halt somewhere outside the dining area, suddenly losing my appetite.
“Oh, hey!” Victoria chirps, looking up. “Good morning. Come sit with us.”
I suck in a breath, avoiding meeting Mikhail’s gaze as I hesitantly approach the table, even if I catch him in the corner of my eye, watching me.
“Good morning,” I say. My chair drags back with a groan, and I plop next to Victoria on the farthest chair from my husband. “What are you reading?”
Victoria closes her book, blushing a little. “Oh, this? Just a romance book I ordered online.”
“Just say it’s filthy,” Mikhail adds impassively.
Her mouth opens in shock, the words that follow clipped and somewhat defensive. “It is…not.”
“Right,” he drawls, pocketing his phone, looking at me with an expression that says, ‘everything’s fine’. “And how is my lovely wife this morning?”
I square off my shoulders, pretending to be more interested in the stack of muffins nearby. “Fine.”
“Mmm. See, I knew you’d say that, which is why…” He reaches for a plate of food, drags back his chair, and rounds the table to where I’m sitting, placing it in front of me. “I thought this might make it feel better.”
Scowling, I peer down at the dish and then back at him. “Chef Nakamura’s nigiri? Really? You think this is going to make everything go away?” I sneer.
“As a matter of fact, I thought it will. Why? Is it not working?”
Frustration brings tension to my face, and I instinctively look at Victoria, whose wide eyes make me reconsider lashing out. I’d hate to make her feel uncomfortable, so I take a calming breath instead.
He cannot be serious.
“I thought the chef had retired,” I say, offering my husband a cold smile.
“Not for you, he hasn’t. I woke him up at gunpoint to make you breakfast.”
I quirk a brow. If his gesture wasn’t aimed at placating me, I would’ve maybe felt a little joy at the prospect of eating that nigiri again. But now...
“Thanks,” I say dryly, pushing the plate away, “but I’m not hungry. And if you’d thought harder about what I eat for breakfast, you’d have known to buy cinnamon rolls from Maya’s bakery in Alemont, not raw fish.”
Mikhail’s face lights up with amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he shoves his hands in his pockets casually. “Of course. My bad, sweetheart. Can I take you there instead? Or would you like me to bring Maya herself to bake you some?”
I’d like you to step into a wet puddle in nothing but your fancy socks.
“Neither. I’d rather watch you stew in your own discomfort. Much more satisfying,” I say.
He hums in false understanding, our gazes boring into each other.
For a second, the thought that maybe I’m being too hard on him crosses my mind, but I dismiss it almost instantly.
This is his life we’re talking about. If he won’t listen to reason, I’ll have to express my disapproval of his plans in whatever way I can.
Otherwise, one day soon, someone will barge into my bedroom upstairs and give me the news that my husband is gone.
They’ll tell me to be strong, that time will heal me, but really, no one will understand.
The pain would be mine alone, all because I couldn’t convince the man I fell in love with to stay.
He plants his palms on the table, leaning in toward me. His jaw clenches, but his gaze lowers to my lips. What would he do if Victoria weren’t here?
“Are you going to be sulking forever?” he asks.
“It depends. Are you still going on your suicide mission?”
Victoria coughs as she swallows the last bite of her muffin. “What?”
“Oh, you haven’t told your family yet? Interesting.” I cock my head at him.
“Tell us what? What mission?” Victoria presses.
“This is between you and me, sweetheart,” Mikhail says to me. “No need to bring others into this, especially when I plan to solve it upstairs, in our bed.”
I laugh, and it’s genuine. Only he could assume I’d jump into bed with him after what he told me last night. “You’re delusional. None of that is going to happen until you reconsider your stupid plans.”
“Excuse me! Sorry! What plans?” Victoria’s voice sounds behind me.
Mikhail nods slowly, as if he comes to some sort of understanding in his mind. “You know, for someone who was ‘dragged’ into this marriage, it seems to me you care about what I do and where I go quite a lot. Care to explain yourself, wife?”
“Easy. I don’t want to be a widow,” I lie.
“But you’d rather be with a man you despise?”
His gaze flickers with something dark, something alluring. My breath hitches, and it’s an effort not to break eye contact. But I stand my ground. “Considering your form of payment so far, I have no problem tolerating you until further notice.”
His brows rise. “My form of payment? And what would that be, pray tell? Are you talking about the food…or the orgasms?”
It’s my time to choke—on my own saliva.
“Let’s not,” I say, looking back at Victoria with flushed cheeks, only to realize that she’s gone.
“No, let’s see. How would you have me pay for making you upset last night, hmm? Clearly, the food was a bust. That leaves us with—”
A door opens somewhere behind me, and before I know it, Svetlana puts down a plate and cutlery in front of me and then cuts some more bread.
The clink of metal against porcelain clinks too loud in my ears, and when the corner of my eye catches a mixture of brown and silver, something snaps in my head. My pulse spikes instantly.
I jolt upright, pushing the chair back as if it’s made of lava. My limbs feel laden, my breath tight in my lungs. I bring my hands to my chest, clutching my clothes.
“Cecilia,” Mikhail’s voice booms beside me. “What’s the matter, Lastochka?”
How do I tell him? How do I tell him the knife on the table looks exactly like the one in my nightmares? Like the one that’s always stabbing my mother’s heart?
I can’t. I don’t. I settle for the easy answer instead.
“S-sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
My husband’s arm carefully coils around me. He pulls me into his chest, grounding me with his familiar scent as his other hand brushes my hair in slow, endearing circles. I close my eyes, realizing my hands are shaking only when I bring them in front of me, planting them against his strong body.
“Take that away,” Mikhail orders someone. “Make her a plate with everything, and I’ll take it upstairs. No knives.”
“Konechno,” Svetlana answers. Then, the sound of her heels fades away behind me.
Slowly, Mikhail’s warm fingers lift my chin. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I think so.”
How did he know to ask Svetlana to take away the knives? The question sits on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t voice it. I don’t even want to remember the visual of that wooden handle. The answer, however, comes to me anyway, because I remember how much he must know about me.
I swallow. “You know. About what I see in my nightmares.”
“Of course I do,” he confirms. “Tell me, what do you need?”
I wrap my hand around his. “Just…don’t leave—stay. Stay with me.”
He releases a slow, controlled breath, as if he was afraid I was going to ask that.
“Is it me? Am I being too needy?” I ask. “Because if I am, I can sleep somewhere else—I can stop bothering you. You don’t need to leave your home and do God knows what just for some peace and quiet.”
Part of me wants him to say it’s not my fault while the other prays for the opposite. It would break me either way, but if he says I’m suffocating him, at least I can do something about it. And he won’t have to leave.
“It is you,” he says quietly. “Part of the reason is to settle that old debt, yes. But the rest…it’s you.
If I don’t leave, someone else will, and if they mess up, you’re in danger.
If I mess up, I’m in danger. I’ll always choose the latter.
I’ll always keep you safe, Cecilia, even if it costs me my life.
That’s a promise, and you can be mad about it all you want, but it’s how things will work between us. ”
Tears form in my eyes, but I blink them away.
“That’s not something I want or can afford,” I say, reminiscent of the little game we play involving debt and restitution.
“Believe me, you have given enough. More than I deserved or could’ve asked for.”
He smiles, and there’s something deeply sad about this smile, as if he’s saying goodbye.
It hurts and angers me simultaneously, so I pull away from his hold, a sob lodged in my throat.
As I walk out of the room, I can feel him behind me, the sound of his steps mimicking my pace.
Entering my study upstairs, he follows me in, taking a seat on my piano chair.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
“Why? What’s left to talk about?” I ask, but I’m dying to be in his arms again.
“Please,” he says, extending his arm in invitation. He has never begged me for anything.
I take two steps in his direction and offer him my hand. He gently pulls me into his lap, taking one leg and hooking it on the other side of his body so I’m straddling him. My pussy sits directly on top of his hard length, and I try my best to ignore the delicious feeling.
“I meant to tell you this morning,” he says, fixing a piece of hair behind my ear, “that people reached out to me, asking for my wife to perform at their events.”
“They did?” I blink, surprised.
He nods. “One christening in spring. A restaurant opening on the Upper East Side in a few weeks. And a wedding this summer.”
“And…what did you tell them?”
“That my wife will let them know what she decides. That the queue is long, and they should consider themselves lucky if she says yes.”
I don’t hide my surprise when I ask, “You don’t have a problem with me working? Won’t it make you look bad?”
But unlike the criminal my father introduced me to at the stupid gala he organized for me to meet my match, Mikhail doesn’t seem bothered by the idea in the slightest.
“You’ll never have to work a day in your life if you don’t want to.
But I can tell this isn’t just work for you—it’s your passion.
And who am I to deny you that? Play your music, Cecilia.
Make this dreadful world a better place for all of us,” Mikhail says, his hands brushing my thighs.
“Besides, why bother to maintain a certain image when people already know who we are?”
He places a soft kiss on my lips—warm and a little desperate—then pulls back, watching me with a question in his eyes.
I’m getting the thing I always wanted. The music, the stage. I should be happy. No, ecstatic. My life is infinitely better than it used to be. And yet…
“What are you thinking?” he asks gently, cocking his head.
I sniff. “I can’t let you go, Mikhail. I just can’t.”
“Lastochka…”
“What does it mean? That word. You always call me that.”
He smiles. “It’s a little bird. When I first saw you, you were like a swallow trapped in a cage. I wanted to get you out and put you in mine.”
“You ended up freeing me instead...”
“Is that how you see it now?” he asks. “Because you were right. I did drag you into this marriage. It was cruel of me, but even so, I’d do it again. A million times over.”
My eyes rim with tears I swallow back. “You’re giving me everything I’ve ever wanted. Except for one thing,” I look up at him.
“I never said I wouldn’t be careful when I leave. Or that I wouldn’t be back.”
“Promise me then. Promise me you’ll be here in time for those performances. You said you’d never lie to me.”
His thumbs swipe under my eyes. “I promise you. There is no world in which I don’t come back to this. But I have to go, and you’ll have to let me, because otherwise, Cecilia, I don’t know who the hell I am.”
I bring my hands to his face, holding him for the first time.
“I do. I know you’re my husband, and you go to extraordinary lengths for the people you love.
You take care of others when they can’t offer you anything in return.
And although you are a major pain to deal with sometimes,” I smile, “you make life an adventure. Everything you touch becomes fun, and I am grateful you bring me along for the ride.”
“Now who’s being delusional?” he says, chuckling. “You forgot the parts where I kill, torture, and trick people into doing what I want. I’m a man with no scruples, sweetheart. You can’t gloss over that.”
“I’m not going to sit here and pretend your darkness scares me anymore. It doesn’t; you are much more than what was embedded into you when you were a child.”
He dips his head, nuzzling his face against my neck, groaning. “You shouldn’t let me in. I’m not…” He sighs. “I don’t know how to…”
“It’s a little late for that.” I smile, fluttering my wet lashes. “I’ve already let you in. You’re coursing through my veins as we speak. And I like that you’re there because…I think…I think I love you, Mikhail.”
For a second, his entire body goes still, and so does mine. My heart pounds against my ribcage and into my ears, and I know only his voice can turn down the sound. I need him to say something—anything.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back, encompassing me in his gaze before his lips collide with mine.
It melts me instantly, making me reach for the object in my pocket I’ve been holding on to since I asked Victoria if she could give me one.
I pull it in my palm, the round metal hard and warm, before placing it in his.
Our kiss breaks, and we both look down at the object—a coin.
“Your debt with me isn’t settled yet,” I say. “Take this so you remember to come back.”