32. Luck of the Irish
LUCK OF THE IRISH
We land in Ireland just past four p.m. local time.
“It’s so green,” I marvel as I descend the plane stairs.
“You thought it would be desert?” Lev mocks.
“I didn’t know it would look like a rainforest,” I shoot back, glancing toward the building ahead instead of continuing to admire the lush grass past the tarmac. “Is that the whole airport?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t Dublin a major city?”
“This is Shannon, not Dublin. That car”—he points at a black SUV parked ahead—“is taking us to Dublin.”
I stopped asking logistical questions when we left Fontainebleau, relying on Lev to know what to do each step of the way. He hasn’t hesitated once.
From the age I understood what my father did for a living—how it had killed my mother and why it was important no one knew who I really was—I considered it horribly impressive.
An awful marvel that takes your breath away with its devastating power, like a natural disaster that wrecks entire cities in seconds.
This glimpse of Lev’s expertise has taught me what I never conceptualized before—my father isn’t an all-powerful entity. He’s a man who orders around other men. A king wielding an army.
Lev is part of a different army. A bigger army probably.
My father doesn’t have a private jet at his disposal.
If I removed the fact that it was Lev who fired that perfect shot in the woods yesterday or who seemed to have limitless resources, I’d be terrified of the man who fearless Lola had considered menacing.
I used to think my father’s work was a small shadow. An ink blot on the pristine paper of our larger world. A blip I could ignore because it was overshadowed by a reality that made so much more sense. One with ethics and decency and safety.
Incredibly naive, in retrospect. Like assuming there’s only one shark in the vast ocean.
“What about Reykjavík?” I ask as we walk toward the waiting car.
Lev is a few steps ahead, so I can’t see his expression. But I hear his teeth grit, so I imagine it’s an annoyed one.
“Enough, Carina,” he growls, confirming my suspicions.
To Lev’s increasing annoyance, I spent the flight here speculating about where I should relocate.
It’d be a major decision for anyone, but especially for someone who had only lived in Chicago until last week.
I want to ask Lev if there’s a way to safely share my new address with Isabella, but I know what he’ll say.
I’ll truly be on my own. I told Lev I wanted choices and freedom; I’m less confident about actually having them.
But if my options are being shipped back to my father or this, I’ll commit to isolation.
There will be a massive lie between me and true normalcy, but that’s been the case before. Before, I just thought I could count on my father’s protection if my real identity was revealed. Now, it’s a far more volatile secret.
There’s no driver in the car, like I expected. Lev takes the right side, behind the wheel, while I climb into what I’m accustomed to being the driver’s side. One more thing to adjust to.
“Somewhere in Canada?” I suggest, snapping my seat belt into place. “One of the cello players was from Toronto. He said it was really nice.”
Lev doesn’t reply. He turns on the car and starts driving like he knows exactly where he’s headed despite the overwhelming number of signs dictating different routes away from the airport.
I huff a sigh as the silence lingers once we’re on a highway. “I get you’re focused or whatever, but there is literally no one else I can talk to about this. And it’s kind of a big—”
“You cannot tell me where you are going.”
I clutch the handle on the door for some stability because it feels like we’re moving much faster than the other vehicles. I can’t see the speedometer from this angle, and I don’t know how the whole kilometers-to-miles conversion works. I’d confidently say this is above the legal limit though.
“Remember how I told you I don’t trust anyone?
Well, that was a lie because I trust you.
And don’t give me some bullshit about how I can’t after all that you’re doing.
I know it’s been a lot, and I don’t deserve to ask for anything else, but I—I lived in Chicago with Isabella overseeing everything, and I lived in Paris with a program planning everything, and then I spent some time in Sicily, stuck with an uncle or an aunt who pretended that I—”
“Stop talking.” Lev swears in Russian.
I fall silent. Glance in the rearview mirror, then out the side one, worried there’s something wrong with the car. Or is something else going on? Are we being followed?
More Russian is muttered under his breath before Lev switches to English. “You have to make this decision, Carina. And you have to make it alone, without telling anyone. Especially me.”
I frown. Especially him? What does that mean?
He glances over, catching my confusion, and sighs heavily. “If I know where you are, I’ll check on you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“We have to stop this, Carina. It was dangerous before, but now—”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t tell myself over and over again that I wouldn’t show up? I knew my real last name all along, and normal people go to a hospital after getting mugged.”
Lev says nothing, but it feels like the SUV’s speed increases even more. He’s eager to have this over and finished, for me to be dealt with.
I glance out the window. We’re driving fast enough that the scenery is basically a blur of green.
“How much longer to Dublin?”
“Two hours.”
I nod so he knows I heard him, then close my eyes and pretend to fall asleep.
At some point, I must actually doze off because my disorientation is real when Lev gently shakes my shoulder.
“We’re here,” he says as I blink sleepily at him.
“The meeting?” I ask, then yawn.
He shakes his head. “Not until later. This is the hotel, and then we’ll get dinner.”
I nod, climbing out of the car and stretching.
The street is busy, which takes some adjusting to.
I got used to the isolation at the cottage, to the open space and the bird calls.
The hustle and bustle are familiar yet unwelcome.
I’d rather be alone with Lev, even if he’s essentially breaking up with me.
I follow Lev into the hotel’s lobby. He appears relaxed, but I notice the way his eyes sweep our surroundings. On guard, always.
As impossible as it is, I wish I could spend a few days in Russia before starting my new life. I’d like to see him at home. Around his family. Does he drop his guard, or does he remain on alert? Does he go to concerts or out on dates or cook—
“Ready?”
I blink rapidly at Lev, who’s waiting expectantly. I zoned out while he checked us in, and I silently shake myself. Just because Lev is aware doesn’t mean I can afford not to be. He won’t be here soon.
I nod.
“Let us know if there’s anything we can do to improve your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln,” the clerk says, glancing between us.
I nearly smile at the familiar pseudonym, but it fades when I register he booked us as a married couple. For convenience, obviously, rather than having to come up with two separate names. Hearing it is a taunt at a permanent partnership.
Lev has never said he trusts me, but I hope he does.
I thank the clerk, then follow Lev over to the elevators. While we wait for it to arrive, he holds out one of the room keys to me.
I act scandalized, glancing around as I clap a hand to my chest. “Out in the open?”
Lev rolls his eyes as he forcibly shoves the plastic card into one of my hands. “In case we get separated.”
I immediately sober. “Is that likely to happen?”
He hasn’t told me any details about where or who we’re meeting. For all I know, this entire thing is a setup, and I’m walking into another trap.
I lower my voice when he doesn’t respond right away. “If I’m being careful who I trust … should I trust you, Lev?”
The silver doors part, and he gestures for me to enter first.
“Yes,” he says simply as they slide closed.