21. Vanya
Vanya
Paige hovers in the entryway, lost in whatever thoughts haunt her silence.
The more time I spend with her, the more obvious it becomes that she’s particularly plagued by her own mind.
The smart thing to do is to leave her alone. Let her break free herself.
I clear my throat. “Go ahead and take a shower. I’ll order room service.”
She blinks a few times, like she’s waking up, then shakes her head and shuffles to the bathroom.
Weak, stupid man. If you keep reaching out, you’ll end up losing a hand.
She doesn’t really want me. Just the thrill she gets in my presence, from the drama.
Fixating too much on her—allowing myself to care—will only end in heartache for everyone involved.
Still berating myself, I pull up the room service app on the giant flat-screen.
In the last twenty-four hours, we’ve only consumed dry sandwiches and bottled sodas.
She needs a meal, and so do I, and food is my least complicated problem.
I order everything that looks good. Steaks, pasta, salads, a couple desserts.
Then, I dial Max.
He picks up on the second ring. “You got the book?” His tone indicates he expects a yes.
It’s reassuring that Max doesn’t know we didn’t head back to the library. “Not yet. Things went to hell again last night.” I glide over to the window, putting distance between me and the bathroom door.
Max grunts, a noise that suggests he’s about to rail at me. Get the job done…nothing else matters…blah blah blah.
Before he can, I explain about the car, the tag, and how we’ve been moving nonstop all day to sever any remaining trails. “And now, we’re at Millennium Towers. Paige is safe.”
“Hold on, let me get Alexei. He’ll need to hear this too.”
Quiet follows, then a couple clicks. Max calls to someone in the background.
Alexei’s voice grows louder over the speaker as he draws near. “Whatever you do, don’t let Gio Falcone get his hands on Paige.”
“No shit, Alexei. Are you going to tell me to always practice safe sex next? Or to look both ways before crossing the street?” I’m nearly snarling by the end of the sentence, irritation bleeding into my voice.
On the other end of the line, they keep quiet. Taking a deep breath, I drag a hand over my face. I rarely lose my cool in front of the others, so I need to rein myself in.
When Max speaks, he does so with a careful, neutral tone. “You good, man?” He doesn’t say much, but I’ve learned to translate over the years. What he means is, Can you finish the job? Are you compromised?
“I’m good.” Lucky for me, Max can’t read between my lines the way I can read between his.
I don’t often lie to my boys, but when I do, neither Max nor Alexei are particularly talented at noticing.
“But I want that bastard Gio dead. I had to leave all my bags behind because I couldn’t carry them without attracting attention.
Now I have to trust my suit’s dry cleaning to hotel staff.
One suit. That’s all I’ve got. Do you have any idea how bad that can get? ”
Alexei chuckles, and Max puffs out an annoyed sigh.
“We’re trying,” Max says, “but no one has seen him. We can keep killing his men, but he’s still tucked away somewhere.”
A muffled crackle pops over the phone as Alexei cracks his knuckles.
“There’s going to be so many fat fish in Lake Michigan this summer, I think I might take up fishing.
Or crabbing.” Trust Alexei to turn a grim task like disposing of bodies into a fun vacation.
He’s probably pondering a way to take his wife Aurora along.
“So what’s the plan?”
“I can use this hotel as a base. Take Paige back to the library, grab the book, and come here for a relaxing spa treatment before returning to the compound in the morning.”
Alexei slaughters that idea. “Spend another day lying low. Maybe more. Kill some time. But do it somewhere out of town and out of sight. Use the new safe house. It’s ready now, and we can send whatever you might need…
clothes, food, condoms.” I can practically hear the smug grin in his voice on that last word.
“Max has a lead on one of Gio’s lieutenants.
If we use our contacts to feed him false information, he’ll be chasing shadows.
When he’s distracted, you can get the book. ”
Kill time.
As if time with Paige isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve done all week. “Got it. While I’m slaving away, hiding my pretty face, try and find out how they managed to tag the Mazda you’d just left me, won’t you, boys?”
Max’s voice goes cold. “I will. Trust me.” He hangs up.
And I do trust him. Max always puts the Bratva first. Instead of blood, liquid loyalty courses through his veins. This whole situation must be eating at him.
It’s not until the shower turns off that I realize I’m hovering by the window, watching my own reflection with the phone still by my ear. “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.” I don’t want to give Paige the impression that I was spacing out.
Then I actually get a good look at myself.
My hair’s all mussed up, dirt lines my fingernails, and my shoes display water marks from the gutter. The barest of dark circles frame the underside of my eyes.
I look like shit.
The bathroom door opens, spewing steam, and Paige appears.
She’s like Venus emerging from the foam, ethereal and divine.
Too bad one of the hotel’s fluffy white robes obscures her perfect form. The sleeves hang past her hands. The hem drags the floor. Her wet hair, darkened to honey, tumbles down her back in thick, heavy waves.
So fucking gorgeous.
I must take an involuntary step forward, because her eyes dart to mine before she averts her gaze.
She truly blossomed tonight. The way her eyes lit up when I told her we were stealing a car, how her face split with a true smile…
But once again, she’s shutting down.
I need to get away from her before I say things I shouldn’t. “I’m going to shower.”
Just like that time at the sauna, thick steam floods the space.
Oh, how she bloomed in that heat. Came alive. Opened herself so beautifully…
I crank on the cold water and step in. The icy spray shuts my body down before it can do something stupid.
Only then do I roll in the hot water to take a quick and perfunctory shower.
Once I switch the faucet off, the overhead exhaust starts to suck up steam and reveal the white walls, chrome fixtures, and the shower’s spotless glass. Farther back sits a soaking tub, as well as a door that probably leads to the toilet.
Pulling a folding knife from the seam of my jacket, I clean my fingernails and do a speedy shave. The aftershave provided by the hotel isn’t my usual brand, but it’s good enough for the short-term. Though I really wish they’d provide some rose water.
Maybe the concierge has some.
When I step out, donning the other hotel robe, I discover a room service cart in the sitting room.
“I had him leave it in the hall and didn’t open the door until it was clear.”
By the minibar, Paige pretends to read the labels on the tiny bottles of liquor. Her eyes keep drifting, though.
To me.
They fix on the gap in my robe and the exposed triangle of flesh at my throat.
Then she returns to pretending to search for a drink.
Tension fills the room, compounding until I’m bracing for the crack of thunder.
And just like that, every thought of avoiding her—of not permitting myself to fall prey to my own target—flies out the window and slams onto the Chicago street below.
Because Paige trying to cram her exquisitely flowered truth back into the tiny package of her archivist mask won’t work anymore.
She no longer fits in the mold she crafted for herself.
“Paige.”
She freezes.
“Sit down. Eat while it’s fresh.” I drop into one of the accent chairs and cross my legs. The robe slides up my thighs.
Her eyes track the movement before flicking back to my face. “I’m not hungry.”
A slow smile crawls across my lips as I point to the bottle in her hands. “So you’re just going to drink your dinner? I’m dying to see what you’re like when you’ve let go of all your inhibitions.”
She stares at the mini bottle of spiced rum in her hands before shoving them behind her back. “No. I wasn’t going to… I was…” Her robe gapes at the neckline, showing off the hollow of her throat, along with the flush that’s creeping up from her collarbone.
“Going to lie to me again. Act like you’re not starving and desperate to partake in the feast right in front of your eyes.
” I lounge back in the chair and spread my arms, gesturing to the food and taking the opportunity to loosen the sash around my waist. When my arms fall, the fabric gaps even more, showcasing just a bit of what I’m offering.
What was that about keeping my distance?
She sucks in a breath, then licks her lips. “I don’t—”
“Don’t.” I sigh, fatigue sweeping over me. “Don’t lie to me, Paige. I’ve had enough for one night. It’s so tiring, watching you bounce back and forth all the time.”
She sets the rum back down on the bar. “You don’t know me.”
“Which version of you?” I raise an eyebrow as she creeps closer. “You came alive, Paige. And now, you’re trying to bury yourself again because you’re scared of what it means. You’re fucking exhausting.”
Her hands fist in her robe’s belt, her knuckles white. “I’m not. I’m boring, okay? I need to be, or bad things happen. I—”
“Bad things happen no matter what. Hiding behind a ten-foot wall of rules won’t save you or anyone else from the world.
You’re not boring, Paige.” My gaze drops to her mouth, and I track the way her tongue wets her lips before I meet those ocean eyes again.
“You’re so many things, but boring isn’t one of them.
I’ve never felt more alive, or scared, or filled with joy than I have since I met you. ”
I regret the words—however truthful—as soon as they’re out.
This intoxicating, breathtaking woman infuriates me. I have to admit that, despite the wishy-washy reality of her personas, I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I’ve enjoyed the last several years of my life.
Paige’s breath quickens, becoming shallow and staccato. Her pupils are so wide, they swallow the blue-green of her irises.
But I’m tired of this all. Confused. Frustrated.
There are too many people in this room.
The goody-two-shoes version of herself. The criminal-loving Paige. The criminal-hating Paige. And let’s not forget about the self-loathing Paige. She pops her head up every now and then too.
All the masks she wears, which she swaps as needed to survive.
The real her. The real me.
We’re all packed into this giant room, and no one has space to breathe.
Not that breathing would satisfy our desire. At least we can agree on that.
We want what the other has to offer.
I lean forward and curl my fingers in her wet hair—when did she get this close?—and slowly, deliberately pull her down.
I hold her gaze. Her mouth hovers just above mine. The scent of her clean skin entices my senses. Her heated flesh and damp hair brush my hands, hot and cold and tingling against my flesh.
“Whatever you want, Paige. You just have to take it.”
Take me. Choose me. Not because I charmed you, but because you want me.
Her lips part, then clamp shut.
A shudder rolls through me. Brick by brick, she starts to rebuild the walls that somehow tumbled down over these past few days.
With her decision made, I let her go.