Chapter 30 #2
I practice the phrase, stumbling over the words but getting closer each time. Molly’s patient corrections and enthusiastic encouragement make it feel more like a game than a lesson.
“And this one,” he continues, clearly enjoying himself. “Sei bellissimo. You’re beautiful. Simple but effective.”
“Nicky calls me beautiful sometimes.”
“In English or Italian?”
“English.”
“Then definitely surprise him with the Italian version. He’ll melt.” Molly tastes the sauce and nods with satisfaction. “Perfect. Pasta’s almost done. Set the table?”
We eat our lunch in the living room, curled up on the sofa with plates balanced on our laps and a documentary about ocean life playing in the background. It’s comfortable, domestic, the kind of ordinary happiness that feels extraordinary after everything we’ve both been through.
My phone buzzes. Nicky again. How’s your day going? Everything still okay?
Great! Molly made amazing pasta and taught me some Italian. We’re watching documentaries and being very lazy. Don’t worry so much.
Can’t help it. But I’m glad you’re having fun. I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you.
“He really can’t help himself, can he?” Molly observes, reading over my shoulder.
“No. But it comes from a good place.”
“It always does. Doesn’t make it less exhausting sometimes, though.”
We spend the afternoon in easy companionship, moving between the sofa and the kitchen as the mood strikes us.
Molly teaches me more Italian phrases. Some useful, some ridiculous, all delivered with his characteristic enthusiasm and dramatic flair.
We practice conversations, laughing when we inevitably mix up words or massacre the pronunciation.
“Say it again,” Molly instructs. “Ti voglio bene. I care about you. It’s less intense than ti amo but still meaningful.”
“Ti voglio bene,” I repeat, and this time the pronunciation actually rolls properly.
“Perfect! See, you’re getting it. Nicolo is going to be so impressed.”
As the afternoon wears on, I find myself feeling more relaxed than I have in months.
There’s something freeing about spending time with someone who understands my situation but isn’t constantly monitoring me for signs of breakdown.
Molly treats me like a normal person, like someone capable of having opinions and making jokes and being more than just my trauma.
“Can I tell you something?” I say during a lull in conversation.
“Always.”
“I was worried about you coming to stay. Not because of you specifically, but because it meant the outside world intruding on the safe space Nicky and I have built. But now I’m really glad you’re here. You make me feel normal in a way I haven’t felt in years.”
Molly’s eyes go suspiciously shiny. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And same. I was dreading being stuck in hiding, but spending time with you has been lovely. You make me feel less alone in this weird life we’re living.”
We’re saved from getting too emotional by another text from Nicky. On my way home. Need anything?
Just you, I send back, then immediately feel embarrassed by how soppy that sounds.
“Smooth,” Molly teases, reading over my shoulder yet again. “You two are going to give me cavities with all that sweetness.”
“Says the man who has ‘Duckling’ as his contact name for Dario.”
“Touché.”
By the time Nicky arrives home, we’re back on the sofa, this time with Molly quizzing me on Italian vocabulary while I try not to butcher the pronunciation too badly.
The sound of keys in the lock makes my heart do that stupid fluttery thing it always does, and I look up to see Nicky in the doorway, his face softening with relief when he sees us safe and happy.
“Ciao, amore mio,” I greet him, trying out one of the phrases Molly taught me.
Nicky’s eyebrows rise, pleasure and surprise mixing on his face. “Your pronunciation is getting better.”
“Molly’s been teaching me. I can now ask where the bathroom is and insult someone’s mother, so I’m basically fluent.”
“Exactly the essentials,” Nicky agrees, crossing to press a kiss to my forehead before settling into the armchair. “You two have had a good day?”
“The best,” Molly confirms. “Liam’s excellent company. We’ve been cooking, working out, practicing Italian. Generally having a lovely time.”
“I’m glad.” Nicky’s relief is palpable, and I realize how much he’d been worrying about leaving us alone. “Everything’s been quiet? No problems?”
“Not even a suspicious glance from the neighbors,” I assure him. “We’re perfectly safe.”
And at this moment, I believe it completely.
Sitting in our living room with Molly chattering away and Nicky looking at me with such love and pride, it feels impossible that anything bad could happen.
We’re secure here, protected by locks and cameras and the simple fact that the Russians have no reason to know about this place.
The danger feels abstract, theoretical, like something that’s happening to other people in other places, not something that could touch us in our safe haven.
It’s a beautiful feeling, that sense of security.
It lasts exactly twelve more hours.