Chapter 24
LIESL
The first thing I notice is the softness beneath me. Not the cold, hard ground of the cabin floor, but something plush and expensive.
I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel weighted down. My mouth is dry, tongue thick and clumsy. There's a dull, persistent ache in my shoulder that sharpens when I try to move.
I'm alive. The realization hits me with enough force to make my breath catch. I'm alive. I survived.
But did he?
Panic floods through me, cold and sharp, cutting through the fog of whatever drugs they've given me. I force my eyes open, blinking against the soft golden light filtering through familiar curtains.
I know this room—the high ceilings with their ornate molding, the massive windows overlooking manicured grounds, the antique furniture. I'm back at the estate. Andrei's estate. The main house, not the safe house.
I try to sit up and immediately regret it. Pain lances through my shoulder, white-hot and vicious. I gasp, falling back against the pillows, my hand instinctively going to the wound.
There's a bandage there. Someone took care of me. Someone brought me here and patched me up and put me in this bed.
But where is Andrei?
The question consumes me, drowning out the pain, the confusion, everything else. I need to know if he's alive. I need to see him, touch him, confirm that he survived the cabin.
That we both survived.
I need to know what happened to my father, too.
I push myself up more carefully this time, gritting my teeth against the pain. My shoulder screams in protest, but I ignore it.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand on shaking legs.
I'm wearing a pajama shorts set made out of soft cotton.
Someone dressed me. Someone took care of me while I was unconscious.
The thought should make me uncomfortable, but I can't bring myself to care. All I care about is finding Andrei.
I make it to the door and pull it open, stepping into the hallway.
The house is quiet, but not empty. I can hear voices somewhere below—low, masculine, speaking in Russian.
Guards, probably. Or Andrei's men discussing strategy, planning their next move.
I have no idea what happened… how it all ended, if it even ended. For all I know, nothing has changed.
The thought makes my chest feel tight, and the next is even worse.
Or Andrei has died, and everything has changed. I have no idea who would be in charge, then.
Maybe one of the men who want me dead.
The smart thing to do would be to try to get out before they can get ahold of me, if that's the case.
But I can't leave without knowing if Andrei is alright.
And surely, if someone new was in charge and they wanted me dead, I already would be.
I was unconscious… anything could have happened to me during that time.
The fact that I'm alive must be proof of…
I have to know.
I turn toward the stairs, my bare feet silent on the polished hardwood floor. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my shoulder, but I push through it. I have to find him.
I'm halfway down the hallway when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I freeze, my heart suddenly pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
And then he appears at the top of the stairs.
Andrei. He's alive. He's here. He's—
He stops when he sees me, his eyes going wide with a mixture of shock and relief.
We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us moving.
He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled like he's been running his hands through it.
He's wearing clean clothes, but I can see the edge of a bandage peeking out from under his shirt.
He was hurt. He was shot, but he's alive. And now he's standing here, looking at me like I'm something miraculous.
"Liesl." My name comes out rough. "You shouldn't be out of bed."
"I had to find you." My voice is barely a whisper. "I had to know if you—"
I don't finish the sentence. He crosses the distance between us in three long strides, and then his hands are on my face, tilting my head up so he can look at me.
"You're awake." He says it like he can't quite believe it.
Like he's been waiting for this moment and now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do with it. "You're okay."
I reach up and cover his hands with mine. "Are you?"
"I'm fine. The bullet went through. Clean exit wound. Viktor got me patched up."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"Three days." His thumb strokes across my cheekbone, the gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "You lost a lot of blood. The doctor said you needed rest. Your body needed time to heal."
Three days. I've been unconscious for three days while he's been awake for at least some of that, dealing with the aftermath of the cabin, probably worrying about whether I'd wake up at all. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
His brow furrows. "For what?"
"For suggesting the meeting. For convincing you to bring my father to talk to us. For—" My voice breaks.
"Liesl. Stop."
"But—"
"It's not your fault." He leans down, resting his forehead against mine.
"None of this is your fault. Your father made his choices.
He allied with Volkov. He used you as a pawn in his business strategy.
He pulled a gun and was willing to kill you to get to me.
None of that has anything to do with you. "
"I should have known." Tears are burning behind my eyes. "I should have realized he wasn't…"
"You wanted to believe the best of him. Of your parent.
That's not a weakness, ptitsa." His hands tighten on my face.
"Don't apologize for having hope. Don't apologize for trying to see the best in people.
That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I—" He stops, jaw clenching, like he's fighting with himself over what to say next.
"One of the reasons you what?" I prompt softly.
He pulls back slightly, his pale blue eyes searching mine. "At the cabin, before we both passed out. Do you remember what I said?"
My heart stutters. "I—I think so. But I thought maybe I imagined it. Or that I was dying and my brain was making things up."
"You didn't imagine it." His voice is low, rough with emotion. "I meant it. Every word."
"Say it again." I press my lips together, staring up at him. "Please. I need to hear it when I'm not bleeding out on a forest floor."
He takes a breath, and for a moment I see vulnerability flash across his face. Raw and unguarded—terrifying for a man like him.
"I love you, Liesl." The words are quiet, but I can hear the sincerity in them. "I love you more than power, more than the organization, more than my own life. I love you, and it terrifies me, because I don't know how to protect something I care about this much."
I feel my eyes fill with tears. "Andrei—"
"But I don't know if you can love me." He continues like he needs to get it all out before he loses his nerve.
"Not after everything. Not after what you've seen, what you know about me.
I'm not a good man, Liesl. I've done terrible things.
I'll probably do more terrible things. And you—you're sunshine and hope and everything good in this world. You deserve better than—"
"I love you too." I cut him off, my hands moving to grip his shirt. "I love you. I've loved you for longer than I wanted to admit. Longer than makes sense. I love you even though I know exactly who you are and what you've done."
His eyes widen, and I see his expression go soft and open, relief and joy and disbelief all tangled together.
"But," I continue, and his face immediately shutters, bracing for rejection.
"I can't be a possession. I can't be something you own, something you lock away and control.
I need you to trust me. To let me be my own person, to make my own choices, to have a say in my own life.
I can't just be yours, Andrei. I need to be—"
"My wife."
The words stop me mid-sentence. I blink at him, certain I misheard. "What?"
"I want you to be my wife." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not my captive. Not my possession. My wife. My partner. My equal."
I stare at him for a long moment. And then, despite everything—despite the pain in my shoulder and the trauma of the past weeks—I laugh. It bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me and it feels good. Like some part of me is swimming back to the surface, finally.
"You're proposing to me?" I manage between laughs. "Right now? In the hallway? When I'm wearing pajamas and can barely stand?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Bad timing?"
"It's terrible timing." I'm still laughing, and it feels good, like the first moment of lightness after weeks of darkness. "But also very you."
"Is that a yes?" He's trying to sound casual, but I can hear the tension underneath. The fear that I'll say no.
"It's a maybe." I reach up and cup his face, feeling the rough stubble under my palms. "If you can learn to stop being so possessive and learn to trust me. If you can let me be a whole person instead of something you need to protect and control every second of every day."
"I can try." His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, careful of my injured shoulder. "I can't promise I'll be good at it. I can't promise I won't want to lock you away every time there's danger. But I can promise I'll try. For you, I'll try."
I lean into him, resting my good shoulder against his chest. "Just try. Just give me space to be myself. To make my own choices. To be your partner, not your prisoner."
"You were never my prisoner." He says it quietly, his lips against my hair. "Not really. Not after the first few days. You've had more power over me than I've ever had over you."
"That's not true."