chapter 34
Iselyn
I place my head on Nana’s knees, exhausted, staring at the living room of Nana’s cottage, the room where I spent countless afternoons making dresses for my dolls with her.
She pats my head in slow, gentle strokes. I close my eyes. I got no sleep last night, just bare shut-eye filled with dreams of him. More like nightmares. He was walking backward at the edge of a cliff, and I was shouting at him to stop, but he only smiled.
Nana hums in a low tune, I start drifting off to sleep. Another dream takes over.
This one is from the night he was chasing me in the woods.
I’m sitting on a tree branch, my heart pounding, watching him come closer.
But his footsteps stop. I look around, the forest has suddenly died.
There are no green leaves, no grass. Everything looks rotting, stripped of life. There is no moon.
I mutter his name. “Matleon.”
He doesn’t answer.
I jump down from the tree, but the fall doesn’t end. I keep falling and falling, until I land in a pit. I shout for help, screaming his name.
I’m crying, thrashing, trying to climb out, but dark water pulls me under, dragging me deeper. Panic burns my chest. Someone grabs me and hauls me out.
I see Zo’s face. He’s crying. Zo never cries.
I clutch his leg desperately. “Where is Matleon?”
He points toward a direction deeper in the woods. I get up and run that way. The howls of wild animals echo behind me. I was running to find Matleon, but now I’m running to save myself.
My foot strikes something, and I fall hard. But it isn’t a fallen tree trunk. It’s Matleon. He’s lying there in a pool of blood.
I cry out his name, crawling to him, holding his face in my shaking hands.
“Matleon.”
He doesn’t respond.
“No,” I cry, collapsing onto his chest, calling his name again and again. He can’t die.
It hurts too much.
My chest aches, a pain I’ve never felt before and never want to feel again.
“Please, Matleon.”
“Kroshka.”
“Kroshka.”
I jerk upright. Nana is watching me with worry etched across her face. She wipes my tears with her thumb.
“You were in a bad dream,” she says softly.
“Nana, I’m afraid to lose him.”
She smiles gently. “We always fear losing the ones we love.”
The doorbell rings in Nana’s cottage. I get up, my legs are unsteady. I walk to the door, and open it.
Matleon.
He’s standing in front of me with a look in his eyes I’ve only ever seen twice before: the first time when he saved me in that club, the second the day before our wedding. But today, it isn’t just a glimpse. There’s so much longing in it that it presses on my heart, heavy and unrelenting.
I grip the door tightly, anchoring myself so I don’t break and run into his arms. What’s holding me back? I don’t know. Maybe fear. The fear of losing myself again.
Dark circles sit beneath his eyes, exhaustion dulling every sharp edge of his face.
I’ve always known him as unbreakable. I was always biased in every fight and disagreement we had, because to me, it was impossible to defeat him.
And today, as he stands in front of me like this, I don’t feel victorious.
I want to see that man again—who believes he can have anything he wants. I don’t want my husband to lose.
Matleon
I take a small step toward her, silently pleading to whatever god is listening to let me touch her, to let me hold her. I lift my hand and brush the wet corner of her puffy eye. Was she crying? Was it because Avi or Wen told her that I was coming to see her? My heart clenches even tighter.
Her mother told me she was here and asked me to hurry before her father returned. Because right now, my father-in-law hates me. And he has every right to. For what I did to his precious daughter, whom he kept away from every kind of sorrow.
“Were you crying again because of me, Angel?” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s rough, unsure, stripped of the authority I usually command so easily.
When she doesn’t pull away and only stares at me with teary eyes, I cup her cheeks with both hands. “Is it because you think I’ll force you to come with me again?” I murmur, leaning closer.
She shakes her head. With a single blink, the tears spill over, sliding onto my hands.
“I’m not here to force you,” I say softly. “Can I stay here for a few days?”
She nods.
Zo forced me to come here, and I can’t thank him enough now that I’m finally seeing her. I was afraid she would push me away, demand that I leave because she wanted distance from me. But she does nothing of the sort.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Damir Mikhailov roars behind me.
Reluctantly, I lower my hands and turn to face his fury. His eyes flick past me, and his anger surges even higher.
“You made her cry again,” he grits out.
“No, Papa.” She rushes forward and steps in front of me. Her mass of red hair brushes against my chest. “I was just having a nightmare. You can ask Nana.”
A smile touches my lips. My wife is shielding me from her father.
I feel lighter, as if tonnes of weight have lifted off my chest. It isn’t impossible between us.
If she can protect me, then she can love me.
The possibility exists, fragile but real.
One day, she will willingly come back to me.
I don’t know how long it will take, but I’m ready to wait, even if it takes years.
Hope is a dangerous thing. A flicker of it can pull you back from death.
“Fine, Kroshka. I believe you,” he says, “but this man is not going near you before I allow it.”
I want to argue, to tell him he can’t keep me away from my wife. But I know it won’t lead to anything good, and the small hope I just felt will be snatched away as well.
She turns her head and looks at me. Does she think I’ll protest? There’s uncertainty in her eyes.
“Do you want me in your father’s good books?” I ask quietly.
She nods.
I look up. “I’ll listen to you, Mr. Mikhailov. I won’t go near your daughter. But could you allow me to stay on your property?”
He nods, still cold. “Stay in the guest house. From tomorrow, I’ll start your test. I should have done that before letting her marry you, but I thought the son of Alessio must have learned something from his father about how to treat his woman.” His jaw tightens. “I was never more wrong.”
This is the first time in my life someone has spoken to me like this while still standing on their own two feet. And I’m not even feeling anger.
He looks toward my Angel. “Come with me.”
She gives me one brief glance, then follows her father toward the back door of their small house.
A hand presses on my shoulder. I turn to see an old woman. I know her, she is her Nana.
“Damir gets angry very easily,” she says gently, “but he cools down just as quickly.”
I nod.
She smiles. “You are a good young man. I can see you keeping her happy.”
I return her warm smile.