39. Katya
Katya
Four months have passed, and I feel like I'm in some sort of dream I can't wake up from.
And by dream, I mean nightmare.
Which is ironic because I thought my marriage was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Turns out, the FBI breathing down my neck while I'm trying to rebuild my life is actually incredibly shitty.
Sure, Artem set me free, but our marriage highlighted just how far from free I was, and honestly, I'm lonely.
The penthouse feels too big without Artem's presence, and as much as I should hate him, and I do, I also miss him.
Not that I admit that to anyone.
After all, Artem gave me what I wanted: freedom. And yet I feel like I am drowning in it. I don't know what to do.
There's a knock on my door, and I sigh. It's Lacey, who has appointed herself my watcher.
Nico has a new boyfriend, and Luc has been missing in action since the raid.
I'm sure he's keeping his distance because he knew I wore a wire.
And while I appreciate her company, I know what it's going to bring.
Questions. So many questions, and I'm exhausted already.
"Lacey," I say, opening the door. Her arms are loaded with bags, takeout of all kinds, and despite my reticence, I smile. She's been a true friend through all of this, even if she is making me a little crazy.
"God, I'm starving," she says, rushing inside. "And it's pouring. My back is killing me."
I smile as she drops the bags on the counter. "Did you see that physio I suggested?"
She rolls her eyes. "I would, but Jonathan is being a fucking taskmaster. I mean, who does Giselle and Don Quixote in the same season?"
Her eyes cut to me, and I give her a tight smile.
"Shit." She bites her lip. "I'm sorry?—"
"Stop," I cut her off. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I needed a break, and Jonathan gave it to me. I've been enjoying just taking classes and choreographing."
Her brow raises, but she lets it go, thankfully. She's been pushing me to return to work, but I made it clear I can't. My head isn't in the game, and there's something about dance that doesn't clear my troubles the way it once did.
Lacey starts to unload the takeout boxes, and then she freezes. I curse myself.
Sitting on the kitchen island are divorce papers. The ones Pyotr dropped off last week. The fifth set that Artem has approved with all my stipulations.
The ones that are so thorough I honestly can't think of anything else to negotiate. He's consistently given me everything I asked for and then some. I'd never need to work again if I didn't want to, but I couldn't bring myself to sign them.
"I thought you got these weeks ago." She takes them, and I clench my fingers to keep from snatching them out of her hands.
"We've been negotiating," I explain. "These are the final version."
She makes a sound in the back of her throat and scans them. "Why haven't you signed them?" she asks, as she gets to the last page, the one where Pyotr added the little sticky note for my signature.
I look out at the city. It really is an amazing view. "I told you, we were negotiating."
"I'm not a lawyer, but Artem doesn't appear to be fighting with you."
"It's complicated."
"Not really. It's not like you are pregnant." She's flippant. I wince and look away.
Six weeks after the hospital, I started bleeding. Either because of my period or a loss, I'll never know. But for some reason, it hit me hard. I didn't want a baby, not yet, anyway, but the sight of that potential being gone made me feel more depressed than I already was.
Lacey looks at me with a bit of pity in her eyes. "What I mean is, there's nothing legally tying you to him anymore. Pyotr said the FBI are sniffing around, but they have nothing. You could sign those papers and be done with all of it." She pauses. "So why haven't you?"
"Since when do you talk to Pyotr?"
She rolls her eyes. "Since I run into him dropping off your millionth copy of divorce papers. And don't try to change the subject. Why haven't you ended this?"
"I don't know," I say, which is a lie, and from the way Lacey looks at me I think she knows it too, and I think she's decided to let me have it for now.
She doesn't push.
She stays for two hours, and we talk about the spring program and whether Jonathan has learned anything from the Sugar Plum debacle, which he hasn't, and whether Nico is going to take the offer from the Paris company, which he probably will.
Normal things. Theater things. The texture of the life I've been trying to reconstruct from what was left after everything else.
It almost works.
I go out that evening because the penthouse has started to feel like something I'm hiding inside rather than living in, and hiding was never something I was good at for long. Plus, I'm going stir crazy alone with my thoughts.
Even though we are entering spring, the nights are still cool, and the crisp air helps clear my mind. I walk without a destination, just moving through the city, letting my feet decide, staying out of my own head by staying in my body instead.
I pass a coffee shop I used to like, and I smile as I remember my old routine. It's a sad smile. In just a few months, my life has changed drastically, and what's stranger is that I've kind of accepted it.
There's a click behind me, and I sigh. I've heard the sound of boots following me since I left the penthouse. I prayed I was just being paranoid, but now I know I'm not.
I probably should call for help, but instead I turn, ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind.
I'm surprised to see Nadia.
Especially because she looks like shit.
Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and she's wearing sweats. The dark circles under her eyes tell me she hasn't slept, and she looks thinner than when I last saw her.
That being what it is, my stomach clenches in fear, and I take a step back.
"I'm not here to make trouble." She lifts her hands so they are visible. "I was just hoping we could talk."
"You're following me."
She frowns slightly. "You barely leave your house."
"I go out every day."
She sighs. After all, last time I saw Nadia she was trying to kill me, and the FBI hasn't said a word, which has given me no confidence that they won't sweep her actions under the rug.
"I've been in and out of legal meetings."
I nod, not sure why she is telling me this.
"They fired me." She says it flatly. "Discharging a weapon at a civilian. Unauthorized operation. Take your pick." She pauses. "Years of service, gone."
"Another thing you and Artem have in common," I say.
Her eyes narrow. She can't see how similar she and Artem are.
"Maybe the two of you will finally realize how fucked up you are and get therapy instead of making it everyone else's problem."
She stares at me, mouth open slightly. "You aren't as angry as I expected."
"I'm too exhausted to scream in your face." It's the truth. "I don't have anything left, but if you need me to blame you for nearly killing my husband, I can."
Something moves across her face. "You should be thanking me."
"He's dangerous."
"Sure, but you tried to shoot me, so you'll excuse me if I don't give your moral quandaries too much time."
She grits her teeth. "He ruined my life?—"
"Your sister died," I say quietly. "That's real.
I'm not dismissing it. But Artem didn't kill her.
You know that." I pause. "And I think you've known it for a while, and that's the hardest part.
Because if he didn't do it then there's nothing to point at, and the grief is just grief, and grief without a target is much harder to carry. "
She stares at me, and for a moment I think I've broken through. But then there's something in her eyes, a hardness she hasn't completely given up. She advances toward me, and I take a step back.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I trust my gut, and right now my gut is screaming, especially when I see something glint in her hand.
"Nadia—" I hold up my hands. But I don't even have time. I blink, and he's there.
Artem.
He materializes out of nowhere and is on Nadia just as quickly.
There's a grunt as Nadia hits the wall. She doesn't have time to fight before Artem has her pinned, his forearm across her chest and a knife at her throat.
Nadia goes still.
So do I.
He's looking at her with those cold blue eyes, and I know he's seconds away from slitting her throat. This is the man people fear. The well-trained killer who isn't scared to get his hands dirty. And it's in this moment that I realize he's never posed a physical threat to me.
Because if he had, I would have been dead.
"Do it," Nadia says, and I watch the knife slip slightly against her skin. "If I can't bring you down in life, God knows I'll gladly do it in death."
The muscles of Artem's back, prominent through his black shirt, are tense.
"Artem." My voice comes out even. "Stop."
He doesn't move.
Nadia's eyes turn to me.
"Artem. Let her go."
"If you do, I'm going to keep coming. I'll kill her just to get to you."
It's the wrong thing to say, so I dig my nails into Artem's shoulder. "She's playing you. Don't give in."
A beat. Two. Then he releases her. Steps back. His breathing is controlled and his face is controlled and his hands — I look at his hands. Still.
He tucks the knife away as though he didn't just have it against someone's throat.
Nadia straightens. She looks at him. She looks at me. "You two deserve one another," she sneers.
"Here." She throws something at me. I catch a long gold necklace with a delicate flower pendant and a small pearl. "It was Irina's. I thought you might want it."
Artem doesn't move, and I don't know what to say.
Nadia leaves without another word, taking some of the tension with her.
"You've been following me." I turn to Artem, looking at him closely. He's thinner, not by much, but I know his body and I can see how he's leaned out. His hair is longer too, the only sign that his perfect control is just a little flawed.
"I came to talk about the divorce papers."
"At nine o'clock at night?"
"I figured you'd be home."