Chapter 39
39
Quinn
W e’re heading for the shore. Downtown grows taller by the second, but it no longer feels ominous; instead, the city seems to gaze down benignly upon me.
The evening sky rolls over us, and the galaxy of artificial stars that make up Manhattan reflects in the water, breaking apart in the yacht’s wake.
I’ve never seen New York this way before, and I’m staggered by its beauty. I came here to hide, but to Roman, it’s home.
I rest my head on Roman’s shoulder as he steers the boat toward the harbor. A dream stole into my heart tonight and planted a tiny seed of hope.
Maybe Roman and I will be happy, and I’ll have what I always wanted. A home of my own where I’m safe and, dare I say it, loved.
The yacht glides to a stop at the dock, and the harbor crew set to work tying it up. Roman leads me to a car, tossing my bag into the trunk.
“Cars seem to follow you around.” I slip into the passenger seat beside him. “How do you do it?”
“Money, rusalka .” He flashes me a winning smile, and my heart feels light. “I have loads, and I do stupid shit with it sometimes. My people make my life easier, and I pay them well for it; hence, I always have a vehicle handy at the drop of a text.”
He drives out of the harbor, and I realize I have no idea what’s happening. “So, it’s our wedding night,” I say. “Where are you taking me? Or shall I stay at my place while you go home and watch me on your camera, just for old time’s sake?”
“As it happens, I have something important that needs my attention this evening.” I throw him a questioning look, but his eyes are fixed on the road. “I’m taking you to Two Pines to spend the night there.”
“How did you—oh, forget it,” I say. “What’s the point of asking? So you already know about Carrie.”
“Only that you used to live with her, and now she’s dying,” Roman replies.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Don’t say that!” I say, a sob breaking through the words. “I know she’s dying, but I don’t have to face it, not until the time comes. Until then, I shove it down. When I have to live in a world without my dearest friend in it, then I’ll have no choice but to feel the pain, but you have no right to push it on me now.”
Roman is silent for a while, and I wonder whether he’s thinking of his mother. She was too far gone for him to reassure her at the end. If he has a conscience, it must prey on it.
“What’s going on with you?” I eventually ask. “All this talk of ransoms and danger. Dragging me down the aisle—or rather, a deck—and forcing me to marry you without prior discussion.”
I turn my whole body in the seat and stare at him. “Roman. There’s a real threat, isn’t there? Something tangible. Tell me.”
“I will, but later,” he replies. “It’s complicated. Do as I ask tonight, and we will start again tomorrow. No more secrets.”
When we arrive at Two Pines, Gloria leads us upstairs. “We moved her into a suite,” she says with a smile I’ve never seen before “Mr. Kazanov called me earlier and arranged it.”
The new room is beautiful, freshly decorated in shades of lemon and cream, with a comfortable-looking bed. Instead of the clinical accouterments of hospice care laid out for all to see, the space is more homely.
Roman must have made a generous ‘donation’ in return for the sanctuary of the remote care home.
Carrie sits in an easy chair near the window, a cup of tea on the sill beside her.
“Good evening, sweetheart,” she says, brushing imaginary crumbs off the blanket on her knees. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing this handsome gentleman. Does he know I’m spoken for?”
Gloria takes her leave, closing the door behind her. I glance at Roman, unsure what to do, and for a few seconds, an awkward silence descends on the room.
Carrie gives a hacking cough, and before I can say anything, the tension breaks. To my astonishment, my new husband drops to his knee at her side, his face etched with concern.
“I’m Roman,” he says, taking her hand. “That cough sounds dry. Do they give you anything for your throat? Lozenges, mouthwash?”
“The lozenges are eucalyptus,” Carrie replies, smiling at him. “I won’t eat them. I’m afraid my lungs are not what they once were, young man. Now,” she cocks her head and fixes her bright eyes on his, “what are your intentions toward my Quinn?”
“We’re married,” I say, sitting in the chair opposite her. “Today. It was…sudden.”
“I see.” Carrie narrows her eyes. “I recognize you from the papers, Mr. Kazanov. You better not be throwing money around just to impress her. She’s made of sterner stuff than that. It’ll take more than a few flashy displays of generosity to dazzle her.”
This sweet old lady’s body may be losing the fight, but her mind is as sharp as ever. She knows Roman is responsible for this comfortable room, and I guess she’s figured out why her food and recreation have improved recently.
Narrow self-interest has never been Carrie’s style. If Roman is making a fool of me, she will call him out, his money be damned.
I need her help because I’m falling for him, and if I’m honest with myself, it started the moment he flipped the bakery’s door sign to ‘closed.’
Roman’s shadow side is obsessiveness, the darkness born of fierce devotion and loyalty. Beneath his dominant nature is a bottomless well of tenderness.
He can break through the shell of his pain and choose to love me instead of merely possessing me. I feel that truth deep in my bones.
Right now, he kneels at the feet of a dying lady, her feeble hand cradled in his, and I’m seeing a side of him I never imagined.
“I’ll take good care of Quinn,” Roman says, holding Carrie’s gaze without flinching. “I promise. Will you do the same for me, just for tonight?”
She studies Roman’s features for a moment, then nods. “Of course. The couch folds out, and there are blankets in the closet. I appreciate the company; dying people are not usually anyone’s companion of choice, but you, Quinn,” she jabs a finger at me, “you have never shied away. Not inviting me to the wedding was rude, but I forgive you.”
Roman chuckles warmly and passes Carrie her teacup. “I’ll leave you to rest and say my goodbyes to my wife.”
He leads me out of the room and into the corridor. I search his face for reassurances I know he won’t give.
“Are you going to be alright?” I ask. “You told me you feared how strong your feelings are for me. What feelings, exactly? Because you seem content to bind me to you, only to abandon me here and run away to deal with something so bad that you won’t even tell me what it is?”
Roman looks momentarily furious, but then a flash of pure desperation crosses his face, and he grabs me, pulling me close.
“I love you,” he whispers, cradling my head. “God help me. I didn’t think it was possible, but I do. If I see another dawn, it will be the first day of the life I’ll share with you, and I swear, rusalka , I’ll let it all go, the rough and the smooth.”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me, a deep, soulful kiss that springs from something he’s never had before—hope. Hope for more, for better. Hope that I will let him into my heart.
Roman breaks away and tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “It was and always will be me who is bound to you , Quinn. I’m not in control. You had me on my knees from the moment I met you, and I’m not even fucking sorry. If it all ends tonight, it will have been worth it.”
He kisses my forehead, and the sweetness of the gesture makes me want to cry.
He turns on his heel and walks away. I take a step to follow, and he stops, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Stay here, moya zhena .” His silver eyes hold mine. “Promise me.”
It seems impossible to refuse; the fear in his face is too real.
“Okay. I promise.”