Epilogue
Aurora
Six months later
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” I tell the girls at the front desk before pushing through the doors of the school.
The first day of my internship was exciting and already so rewarding.
Part of me thought the acceptance email they sent a couple of months ago—and the follow-up background check information I submitted, and the orientation packages I received—were all sent to the wrong person.
I feared I’d show up today and they’d look at me like I’ve lost it, like they don’t even know who I am.
The relief I felt when they handed me my school badge and showed me to my office was indescribable.
The August afternoon heat smothers my body the instant I step outside.
Scorching concrete seeps through the thin soles of my sandals as my eyes scan the parking lot for my car.
I scratch my chin in confusion until I spot Sergei and Misha in front of my Mercedes-Benz—the car my overly protective boyfriend insisted on getting me.
Misha is on Sergei’s shoulders, holding a sign that reads “Happy First Day!”
Grinning, I rush toward them, my heart skipping a beat. “What are you doing here?” I get on my toes and plant a kiss on Sergei’s cheek, then squeeze Misha’s dangling foot.
“We took an Uber.” Sergei shrugs, in the process jostling Misha, drawing out that belly giggle I adore.
“Happy First Day!” Misha exclaims, lowering the sign right into Sergei’s face.
“Oh, Mish.” I laugh and take the poster from him. “You didn’t need to come.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
” Sergei maneuvers Misha off his shoulders, bringing him to his side.
“Speaking of… Ya skuchal po tebe,” he switches to Russian as his hand slips to the small of my back, and he draws me into him.
Though I’m mostly confident in my understanding, I lose myself in the sound of his voice and accent.
“Ya tozhe,” I murmur in Russian, my heart swelling with pride at my progress. I’ve been learning more every day, thanks to the wonderful tutor Sergei got me.
After getting Misha buckled up in the back, Sergei opens the passenger door for me, reaching to take my backpack from me.
“What do you have there? Bricks?” he jokes, placing it beside Misha.
“Yes, part of my school psychologist duties is to build literal bricks with the children. It speaks on the fundamentals of the trust and mutual respect we foster between—”
He bends over for a quick peck. “Rora…” His tone drops to that delicious level, one that usually means I might get into the best kind of trouble.
“What?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes up at him.
He places his hand over my eyes, having noticed my squinting. “Get in the car,” he says, pretending to have gotten tired of my silliness. But I know him. I know he loves me. That I’m important to him. And that he likes it when I’m bratty. Most of the time.
He waits until I climb inside before he shuts the door and walks to the driver’s side.
“How was your day, little guy?” I turn in my seat toward Misha.
He gives me a thumbs up, a recently learned gesture, with a big grin. That is when I notice the green coloring around his mouth.
“Stopped by to get ice cream?” I ask Sergei when he slides inside the car.
“Misha.” Sergei adjusts the rearview mirror. “I thought we had a deal. We shook on it. Like man to man.” He tries to keep his face serious, but a hint of a smile breaks through anyway.
Misha places a finger to his lips and makes a shushing noise. “Don’t tell Rora about ice cream.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “And you claim I spoil him!” I’m about to slap Sergei’s shoulder, but he catches my hand and brings it to his lips.
“You do spoil him,” he murmurs against my skin, and I can’t fight the corner of my mouth tugging up.
He rubs my thumb over his bottom lip, looking at me from under his eyelashes.
“All I’m saying…”—he gently pinches the pad of my thumb between his teeth, sending shivers down my body—“if you can spoil the people you love… I can too.”
He’s referring to me asking him to stop with all the gifts and the gestures he’s been showering me with in the last six months.
Everything I ever wanted and things I didn’t even know I wanted had the tendency to magically appear.
I need barely mention it in passing, and viola, the special edition of a recently released true crime novel is in my hands, or a new swimsuit perfect for my size finds its way into my dresser—the same dresser that is now carefully organized and color coded.
When I was anxiously waiting to hear back about the internship placement, he researched everything there is to know about building and starting a new school just for me to work there.
I didn’t doubt his confidence in my ability to land a position this cycle, but the fact that he was going through such measures made me feel… loved.
Sergei’s phone rings, and he blows out his cheeks before picking it up. “Hello. What?” He glances at his watch, his frown deepening. “I’m not at work today.”
I stretch my arms high above my head, relishing the release. My shoulder twinges at the movement—a quiet reminder of the gunshot wound.
Sergei’s brow furrows and he mouths “Are you okay?” before asking whoever is on the phone, “Did you speak with Nadia?”
I nod, taking his hand into mine and squeezing once. Sergei’s been so present when he’s home with Misha and me. But I know how hectic his work gets, that no matter how much he delegates, there are always things that require his attention.
“Mr. Hanson will be able to help. And if he’s unavailable, discuss the matter with Ms. Lavin…” Sergei glances back at Misha before returning his gaze to me. “You need me to come in?”
I can sense the anxiety of my past self trying to resurface, its ugly face peeking through.
Those moments still happen occasionally, fragments of old insecurities clouding my logical thoughts.
But I’ve gotten better at recognizing them.
Sergei has, too. He calls them my “shading eyes,” like curtains drawn over my vision, blocking out reality and letting my imagination run wild with insecurities.
“No. No. I’ll be there first thing in the morning if you can’t resolve the issue on your own. Yes. All right.” He hangs up and leans closer, cradling my face. “Hey… Have I told you today how much I love you?” He kisses my lower lip, and I instinctively melt into him.
When I pull away and glance up at his face, I find his gray eyes soft and tender, filled with all the love and adoration he holds for me. “I think you’re going to get lucky tonight, Mr. Chernov,” I whisper.
“I think I already am.”