Chapter 13 - Laurel
A good night’s sleep was something I didn’t know too much about.
When I was a kid, I was frequently awakened by my parents starting a new fight, unable to keep it in until morning.
It was scary being on my own for the first time when I moved to Napa Valley, although things were a lot quieter at first. That in itself made it oddly difficult to sleep through the night without waking up expecting the worst.
That all changed when I moved in with Rand, and soon enough, it was like reliving my parents’ relationship, except now I was one of the main characters in the crap show and not a cowering spectator.
So when I woke up, fully refreshed, for the first time in pretty much my whole life, I stretched luxuriously and smiled at the sliver of sunshine coming through the gap in the curtains.
That lasted all of ten seconds when I got the sinking feeling of not remembering how I got to bed in the first place.
I didn’t recall washing my makeup off or getting into my pajamas, and in fact, I was still in the same clothes I wore to work yesterday.
Yesterday.
Oh no. Oh my God.
Snippets of memory returned, running backward toward the beginning. Mik carrying me into my room, driving me home, picking me up at the restaurant because I was in a heap on the ground. I remembered flashes of fear, the feeling of a hand around my throat.
I forced myself to stop, sitting up abruptly and just as abruptly flopping back down again from a wave of dizziness. I rolled into a ball from mortification as I realized how I got to bed. Why there was a need for Mik to pick me up and take me home.
Rand found me. Someone must have spilled my secret, and he traced me to Los Angeles, took a chance that I’d be at the restaurant, and drove eight hours to get his hands on me. And his mouth. I gagged when I remembered his rough kiss. Not a kiss, an assault. It didn’t deserve the other word.
But then Mik had saved me, shouting some outlandish claim and… then what?
I sat up more slowly, fighting the terrible, deep shame and embarrassment. I hadn’t passed out since sixth grade, during an especially fearful fight between my parents. My mother stormed into the kitchen, and I heard her rip one of the drawers open, then the clang of a knife.
At least passing out had kept them from killing each other that time, and I’d been working on my coping skills ever since. Not that well, apparently. But seeing how determined Rand was, even after a month apart, brought back every bad memory I fought to keep down, including the ones he inflicted.
Especially those.
When I took my head out of my hands, I noticed there was a glass of water and a bottle of headache medicine on my bedside table, along with a folded piece of paper. Gulping down a couple of the pills, I unfolded the note and read the scrawling writing.
Take all the time you need.
How about forever? It was going to take at least that long to get over this.
I actually pulled up my bank statement, seriously considering never showing up at the restaurant again, but my balance said no.
My conscience wanted me to at least thank Mik for getting me home.
By now, I remembered he wanted to take me to the hospital, and that would have been a waste of time and money, considering it was only a panic attack.
The best and only thing to do would be to briskly thank him and then pretend it never happened. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy that he shouted I was his fiancée at Rand. He did do that, right? My memory was still fuzzy. If so, hopefully Rand would give up and move on, and I’d never have to see him again.
I dressed quickly, but made a point to look extra prim and proper, pulling my hair into a tight bun and buttoning my blouse all the way to the top.
I looked like I was in control, even if I didn’t feel like it.
I was only a few minutes late when I arrived and wanted to escape to my office and collect myself before thanking Mik, but he seemed to sense when I arrived.
“I’m surprised to see you so soon,” he said, with what might have passed for a smile. “Come into my office, please.”
Wow, a please. Bracing myself, I went in, determined to get it over with as fast as possible. Despite his somewhat prickly greeting, the relief I felt at seeing him after he tore Rand off of me came rushing back when I was in close proximity to him in his office.
What was this feeling? It was bizarre. Safety, that’s what it was. Mik had annihilated Rand. Until he said something that had me falling into the nearest chair.
“Excuse me?”
He smiled, amused, and repeated himself. “We’re getting married.”
I laughed, and it felt good. He wasn’t going to make this a big production; he was going to joke around instead. Except he didn’t join in as he sat down across from me, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. He looked at me calmly until I clamped my lips together.
“You’re not joking. But you have to be joking.”
“Why do I have to be?”
Now he leaned back, his eyes never leaving my face. The bruises under his eyes were mostly faded, and the swelling had gone down, only a small, healing scar left across the bridge of his nose. I couldn’t think of an answer to his question, because it should have been obvious.
“That attack wasn’t random, was it?” he asked next.
I dropped my gaze to my lap. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out. “That was my ex,” I said. “He, uh, had a hard time accepting I was done.”
“But you are done?” he asked.
“Very much so. So, so done.”
I looked up, and he nodded. “Then it’s settled.”
“What’s settled?”
“We’re getting married.”
I studied his face while mine slowly began to roast under his returned scrutiny. He was tenacious, but there was concern in his eyes, mingled with anger. It was kind of nice having someone be mad on my behalf instead of at me.
“I can’t let you do that,” I said. “I’m grateful you stopped him, but he has to get the point by now.”
“Does he?” Mik got up and moved around to my side of the desk, taking the chair next to me.
I shrugged. “I hope so.” In truth, I knew exactly how stubborn Rand was, and how much he hated losing. His ego had taken a huge blow yesterday, and he’d fight to even out the score and get back on top.
“I just so happen to have someone hounding me, too,” he told me.
“It’s not the same, but my father is… let’s say he’s traditional.
He’s been on my sister’s back trying to set up an arranged marriage for her, and now he’s started on me, the firstborn.
” He paused and took my hand. “I want to stay in America and make this restaurant work, not go back to Moscow and settle down. You’ve got a problem, I’ve got a problem. Let’s help each other out.”
I laughed again, but Mik still didn’t join in. He was deadly serious.
“He won’t disown you?”
Mik moved his head back and forth as if weighing the chances. “I’ll risk it if it buys me some time. And keeps you safe from the wine weirdo.”
Just the way he said that in his Russian accent chipped away at the cage around my heart. I had friends in the past who offered me shelter in the form of sleepovers, but no one had ever been able to truly save me. I thought I had saved myself, but the dragon found me.
Everything about yesterday stopped being fuzzy and rushed back at me all at once. The disgust and terror of Rand forcing himself on me, the desolate hopelessness that he’d somehow get me in that truck.
Then the valiant rescue and that sweeping, wonderful sense of relief. Rand didn’t seem so big when Mik was smashing the bottle near his head. What would it feel like to have someone like Mik—no, Mik himself, on my side, always there to protect me if Rand truly hadn’t given up.
I looked at Mik, and he was staring back at me, waiting for my answer like he already knew he’d get exactly what he wanted.
Was I really going to agree to this?