Chapter 19
AURORA
Ilie awake for an hour after closing the bedroom door. The argument replays on a loop, and every time it cycles through, I hear myself saying “the logistics became the leash” and watch Adrian’s expression change from confusion to pain to careful blankness to disguise his hurt.
He’s not Eric. I know that. I knew it while I was saying the words, but knowing it didn’t stop me from saying them from lived experience.
Two years of Eric scheduling my life taught my nervous system to flinch at the sound of plans being made without my input, and Adrian’s operational tone triggered the same alarm, even though the man behind it is fundamentally different.
Knowing and feeling he’s different aren’t the same thing, especially since pregnancy has made every emotional wire in my body raw.
I feel everything more deeply right now.
I cried in the shower for ten minutes this morning over a commercial about dog food.
My emotional calibration is shot, and I can’t separate what’s hormones from genuine hurt from old trauma wearing a new face.
I press my hand against my stomach under the covers. These two are the reason I have to get this right. I need to tell Adrian the truth tomorrow morning, which is that I trust him, I overreacted to the delivery but not to the principle, and I need him to understand both halves of that sentence.
I fall asleep sometime after midnight. When I wake up, Adrian has already left for a day of meetings in Miami, and there’s a cup of decaf on my nightstand with a note in his handwriting. Your schedule. Your choices. We’ll talk when you’re ready.
I drink the coffee and decide to let the note do its work for a while before I respond. He’s trying. He heard me. The note proves it through action instead of argument, which is how Adrian functions.
Three days pass before I tell Adrian I want to have lunch with my mother.
We don’t fight again in that time, but we don’t fully repair either.
We talk, eat together, and sleep in the same bed while the argument lingers between us.
I’m waiting for the right moment to finish the conversation, he’s waiting for me to open the door, and we’re both too stubborn to break first. The waiting could outlast the pregnancy.
He sets down his espresso. “Where?”
“A restaurant on the waterfront in Coconut Grove. It’s quiet, with outdoor seating, and easy for your people to cover.
” I’ve already done the work of selecting a location that meets his security requirements, and I present it that way deliberately because it’s me applying his logic on my own terms instead of waiting for him to apply it for me.
He looks at me, registering what I’ve done, and his expression is approving. “Fedor will drive. It’ll be the same setup as the campus visit.”
“I know.” I pour myself more decaf. “Adrian, you didn’t forbid it.”
“I wouldn’t unless it was unavoidably unsafe.” He softens slightly. “I’m trying to make sure your safety is the only reason I ever override your wishes.”
“I know that too. It still matters that you didn’t.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, and the tension we’ve been carrying between us eases. We’re not finished with that conversation, but we’re past the worst of it.
The security convoy assembles in the garage thirty minutes before departure.
Fedor will drive my vehicle in the middle of the convoy.
A dark SUV will lead with two of Viktor’s men, and another will follow behind us with two more.
The four civilian-detail operatives are waiting at the garage entrance, and I stop walking when I see them.
They’ve been shopping.
Arseny, the stocky one who complained about hiding his gun in casual clothes last time, is wearing a Hawaiian shirt with palm trees, cargo shorts, and sandals. He looks like a tourist who bench-presses sedans in his free time.
The other three are in khakis, polos, and boat shoes, which is at least geographically appropriate for a waterfront restaurant in Coconut Grove. One of them is even wearing sunglasses on a cord around his neck, which is either dedicated method acting or borrowed from a lost-and-found bin.
“Much better.” I look at each of them. “You almost look like you’re here on vacation.”
Arseny adjusts his shirt over what I’m fairly certain is a waist holster wedged between his shorts and his stomach. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You look like a normal person, and that’s the point.” I smile at him. “The Hawaiian shirt is a nice touch. Did you pick that yourself?”
He scowls but the corners of his mouth twitch. “Fedor’s wife chose it.”
“Tell her she has good taste.” I get in the car and close the door before my amusement becomes too visible.
They’ve clearly put effort into blending in this time, and I don’t want to undermine that by laughing at the image of Fedor’s wife dressing a two-hundred-forty-pound Russian operative in tropical print.
Denise is already at the restaurant when we arrive.
She’s sitting at an outdoor table near the railing overlooking the marina, and she stands when she sees me.
She’s wearing a sundress and sandals, her hair is freshly done, and the effort tells me she’s nervous about this meeting in a way she wouldn’t be for a routine mother-daughter lunch.
“You look good, baby.” She hugs me and holds on longer than usual. “You look rested…different.”
Marisol said something similar, making me wonder just how tightly wound I was for the last six years and couldn’t see it. “Different good or different concerning?”
“Different like someone who’s sleeping well and eating regularly, which means you’re either in love or you joined a cult.” She sits and picks up her menu. “Tell me which one.”
I sit across from her and set my purse on the chair beside me. Fedor positions himself at a table twelve feet away and orders a coffee he won’t drink. “I have a few things to tell you, and some of them are big.”
Denise sets down her menu and gives me her full attention, which isn’t something at which she’s always been good. “I’m listening.”
“I’m pregnant.” I start with the biggest piece because Denise processes better when the shock comes first and the details follow.
“Twins. I’m about twelve weeks along.” I don’t bother with explaining the LMP to her, or that the babies are only ten weeks into development. She probably remembers all that.
Her mouth opens as she presses both hands flat on the table. She looks at my stomach, then at my face, then at my stomach again. “Twins?”
I nod with a smile. “Two babies, and both are healthy so far.”
She takes a few breaths to compose herself. Still looking at my stomach, she asks, “Who’s the father?”
“His name is Adrian. He’s the reason I’ve been traveling.
” She takes it in and doesn’t rush to fill the silence with advice or assumptions.
When she nods, I continue. “He’s in the hospitality business.
He owns hotels, clubs, and real estate in Miami and the Caribbean.
He’s protective, and he asks me what I want instead of telling me what I need. ”
“That doesn’t sound like Eric.” She says it almost to herself, and the comparison surprises me because Denise spent two years defending Eric’s concern as genuine.
“He’s nothing like Eric.”
“I know.” She looks down at her hands. “I owe you an apology for pushing Eric on you. I’ve seen lately just how pushy he can be.
I had to ask him to stop calling me because he was so…
insistent.” She shudders for a second. “I wanted to believe he was good for you because believing that was easier than admitting I couldn’t tell the difference between care and control.
I’ve spent my whole life confusing them. ”
The admission is clearly painful. She presses her lips together after saying it, holding in whatever else wants to follow.
My mother has never apologized to me about a man before.
She’s never admitted the pattern. Her openness softens the tangled ball of complicated emotions that flood me whenever I think about her. “Thank you for saying that.”
She nods once and picks up her water glass. “Tell me about Adrian. What does he do when you disagree with him?”
The question is better than any Denise has ever asked about a man in my life, and I tell her so before answering.
“He listens. Sometimes he argues or he gets it wrong and tries to plan my life for me because that’s how he’s wired.
I told him last week that his logistics sounded like a leash, and he heard me.
The next morning there was a note on my nightstand that said ‘your schedule, your choices.’ He’s learning. ”
Instead of looking relieved, she frowns. “Is he learning because he wants to or because you’re making him?”
I have to think about that for a minute, because the distinction never occurred to me until now. “Both, but I think that’s the only way it works. He has to want to make changes, and I have to insist on boundaries that force him to change.”
She sighs. “Never try to change a man, baby.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. My eyes are open, and so are his. We’re putting in the work for each other, not because we have to but because we want to.”
That seems to satisfy her, and she moves on. “What about his family? Does he have people?”
“His mother, Irina. She raised him mostly on her own. His father was…cold and distant from what I’ve gathered.” I remember some of what he’s shared with me and say with a smile, “She doesn’t tolerate nonsense from him. I think I’d like her.”
“If she raised a man who leaves notes instead of locking doors, I’d like her too.” Denise reaches for her water. “What about the babies? He wants them?”