Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
The city was velvet-black beyond the glass.
The lights of Midtown shimmered faintly below, indifferent to the turmoil unfolding on the forty-second floor of the United Nations.
My office was silent, save for the low hum of the HVAC system and the distant drone of a garbage truck reversing somewhere in the night.
Everyone had gone home hours ago. Even my secretary had stopped hovering and insisted I get some sleep. I’d lied and said I would. That had been three hours ago.
Now, the only company I had was the pair of speeches on my desk. Two stacks of paper. Two futures.
One was the speech Secretary Whitaker expected me to give. The safer one. Vague condemnations. Calls for peace. A handful of diplomatic euphemisms arranged like flowers at a funeral. The kind of language designed to offend no one and change nothing.
The other was mine, and it wasn’t safe.
It named names, and it spoke of Belaruska in unflinching terms—of the prison camps, the tortured activists, the journalists who’d vanished, the teenage boy who’d been shot in the head during a peaceful protest three years ago.
Of course it condemned the election interference, but mostly it spoke of Katya and the millions of people living under horrible authoritarian governments.
I’d read both speeches a dozen times. My eyes were dry, my brain a blur.
I’d always been decisive, sometimes maddeningly so.
I made battlefield calls in seconds. Once I even texted the PM of the UK with a mouthful of toothpaste, telling her to bomb the hell out of Beirut. But tonight, I was paralyzed.
What would Katya do?
I asked myself the same question I’d asked a hundred times, maybe more. And as always, I knew the answer.
She’d speak. Loudly. Recklessly. Honestly.
She wouldn’t flinch.
And yet, here I was, flinching.
The sudden buzz in the top drawer of my desk startled me. I opened it and pulled out my phone, expecting another news alert or a nudge from my calendar reminding me to sleep. Instead, I saw a text from Katya.
I swiped it open—and blinked.
“What the—?”
There, on my screen, was a photo. A very large, very pink, very anatomically correct dildo.
A second message popped up almost instantly.
Found this majestic bastard on the steps outside my building.
Since I’ve never had the proper equipment to send anyone a real dick pic, I figured it was fate.
Obviously, I grabbed it. You should’ve seen John’s face when I picked it up like a goddamn baton of power and marched it inside.
Will tell you all about it… if you come over tonight.
I stared at the screen, the image still up, the absurdity of it settling in.
Then I laughed.
It started as a snort, then became a full-bodied, shoulder-shaking laugh that filled the empty office. A laugh that caught me off guard and reminded me I was still human.
She knew me too well, and in a very short period of time. Katya somehow knew I was spiraling. Knew I needed to be yanked out of my head and grounded in something—someone—real. And only Katya Romanova would use a stray dildo as a lifeline.
My laughter faded, but the ache in my chest didn’t. I looked again at the speeches. One safe, the other was brave. One was true, and the other was not.
I knew what I had to do.
But I also knew I needed her.
I texted back.
On my way, but I’m bringing you back to my place. Tell the dildo I said thanks.
She replied almost immediately.
I’ll have my overnight bag packed. Dildo says you’re welcome.
I grabbed my coat, tucked both speeches into my briefcase, and turned off the desk lamp.
The office went dark, the city lights now more visible through the window.
As I waited for the elevator, I thought about the decision ahead of me.
Tomorrow at 9 AM, I’d stand at that podium, and what came out of my mouth would change lives—and maybe end some.
Katya was laughing so hard I thought she might fall off the couch.
She had one leg tucked beneath her, the other twitching every time Jerry Lewis made another ridiculous face.
I’d forgotten how slapstick the film was—The Nutty Professor hadn’t aged particularly well in places—but watching Katya lose it over every pratfall and exaggerated expression made it feel like a comedy masterpiece.
I giggled along with her, tipsy and warm, curled up against the opposite armrest of the couch.
Her laugh was contagious, full, reckless, and unrestrained.
She threw her head back every time the camera cut to Lewis in his oversized teeth and glasses.
When the final credits rolled and that bizarrely earnest love song played over the black screen, she wiped tears from her eyes and muttered something about how “this man was clearly unhinged and also a genius.”
I reached for the wine bottle and poured myself another glass—maybe my third?
Fourth? I’d lost track. I knew I’d been drinking too much lately.
Too many glasses just to take the edge off.
And tonight I just wanted to silence the part of my brain that wouldn’t stop spinning around which speech I was giving in the morning.
I didn’t want to think about Belaruska. I didn’t want to think about Secretary Whitaker or the Secretary-General or the press pool that would dissect my every syllable. All I wanted was to be here, in my penthouse, with Katya. With her laughter still echoing in the corners of the room.
Katya picked up her phone from the coffee table, tapped the screen, and a few seconds later, the opening notes of The Blue Danube floated from the speakers.
“Dance with me,” she said, holding out her hand.
I blinked at her, surprised. “Here?”
She grinned and pointed at the balcony. “No, out there. Let’s be dramatic.”
I let her pull me up and followed her through the glass doors to the balcony.
The night was cool—too cool, really—but Katya didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe she just didn’t care. She turned to face me and slipped one hand around my waist, her other hand finding mine.
I rested my free hand on her shoulder, fingers brushing the edge of her collarbone where her sweater didn’t quite meet her throat.
And just like that, we began to waltz.
It wasn’t polished. We stepped on each other’s toes, turned in uneven circles, and bumped into the railing more than once.
But it didn’t matter. The city sparkled behind her—New York’s chaotic beauty rendered soft and distant under the haze of wine and moonlight.
Her smile steadied me in a way nothing else could lately.
I tilted my head, trying to catch a glimpse of the street below. “Do you think John’s still down there?”
Katya chuckled, pulling me in a little closer. “God, I hope not. I told him to go home.”
“I told him the same,” I murmured. “Assured him I’d get you home in the morning.”
Her brows lifted in amused understanding. “So you’re saying… you confirmed it.”
“I confirmed it,” I said with a dry laugh. “Congratulations. Your security detail now officially knows you’re sleeping with the Ambassador to the United Nations.”
She twirled me—not gracefully—and I nearly stumbled into the balcony door.
“Worth it,” she said, breath warm against my cheek. “He won’t say anything. John is annoying, but he can keep his mouth shut.”
For a few long, quiet seconds, we just swayed. Then her voice dropped, soft, almost hesitant. “You okay?”
I looked up at her.
“You seem a little off tonight.”
I hesitated. It was on the tip of my tongue—the speech, the pressure, the impossible choice. But I swallowed it. It wasn’t the right time. Not with her looking at me like that, like I was a precious piece of glass she wanted to hold and protect.
“It’s a work thing,” I said finally, exhaling. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“But what if I want to worry about you?” she said, her voice gentle, teasing.
I smiled, a little sad, a little tired, and yawned mid-response. “Then I guess you’re out of luck. I’m not a very interesting crisis.”
The last notes of the waltz drifted off into the night, and Katya didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, she tugged gently, guiding me back inside. Toward my bedroom.
“Come on,” she said. “Time for the ambassador to get some sleep.”
I let her lead me, half-dragged, half-floating. As we passed through the doorway, I squeezed her hand and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you brought the dildo.”
Katya smirked. “Charlotte. Please. I don’t travel without the essentials.”
I burst out laughing. “You did not just say that.”
“I absolutely did. It’s in my bag. Right next to my passport and emergency eyeliner.”
I woke to darkness.
The sky outside the window was still ink-black, the faintest brush of gray just beginning to tease the horizon. The city was quiet—at least by New York standards. No sirens, no horns. Just the low hum of the building’s HVAC systems and the distant buzz of the world getting ready to wake.
Katya lay beside me, one bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. Her breathing was slow and steady, her face soft in sleep.
God, she was beautiful.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the way she had danced with me in the cold last night, fearless and free.
The way she laughed like she had nothing to lose, even when the world was trying to take everything from her.
The way she’d touched me like I wasn’t made of glass, like I didn’t need to be handled delicately.
Like she knew exactly how much strength lived under my skin—and wasn’t afraid of it.
What on earth was she doing here with me?
I wasn’t fearless or free. I was a servant of a thousand masters, a public figure in a system built on silence and compromise. And today—this morning—I was supposed to deliver a speech to the General Assembly, a speech that could either make my career or end it.
And she was here. Sleeping in my bed.
I leaned over, careful not to wake her, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. She murmured something unintelligible and turned toward me slightly, her brow relaxing even more.
I wanted to stay. God, how I wanted to stay.
I wanted to crawl back into the warmth of that bed and tangle myself around her. I wanted to spend the whole day pretending the world didn’t exist. Watch another absurd old comedy. Let her make fun of my wine choices. Dance on the balcony until our toes went numb.
But I couldn’t. I had a decision to make. One I’d been avoiding for far too long.
I slid quietly out of bed, wincing as the cool air kissed my skin. My robe was slung over the back of a chair, and I pulled it on, tying it loosely around my waist as I padded into the bathroom.
I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. The woman staring back at me looked tired, yes, but something else too. Something I couldn’t quite name. As if I were already grieving the version of myself I knew I had to leave behind, no matter what I chose.
I had two speeches.
One of them protected everything I’d worked for.
The other one was the truth.
And standing there in the dim light, I realized I already knew which one I would give.