While trying to seek positives from my predicament, I hang my towel on a hook near the changing room before returning to the principal residence of Zelenolsk Manor. I feel more grounded and focused after my swim. Not even the beady watch of the man who once shadowed Andrik Sr.’s every move tapers the length of my strides.
Kolya watches me enter the marital room, mindful that not even I have a clue about what may come next.
After entering the room that’s bigger than the apartment Mikhail and I intended to share, I tiptoe toward the bathroom, careful not to make a sound.
With his eyes closed, Mikhail is sprawled across the bed, pretending to be asleep.
Gratitude washes over me for his unspoken gesture of peace.
It’s been a long day. The recommencement of World War III can wait until tomorrow.
Quietly, I gather my belongings before entering the bathroom, hopeful that a long, hot shower will wash away the remnants of the day’s tension my swim missed.
I take my time showering, easing my body into relaxation mode. Despite the late hour, I’ll need more than a Xanax to doze off. Mikhail is shirtless, and his sleeping pants leavenothingto the imagination. He is the equivalent of a wet dream and a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in one dangerously attractive package.
Once I’ve washed my hair and shaved my underarms, I dry off before slipping into pajamas I packed from home. This pair is a little more risqué than the ones I donned earlier, consisting of booty shorts and a spaghetti strap shirt with an inbuilt bra.
When I return, the room is dimly lit, even with Mikhail not appearing to have budged an inch. I slide into the bed oppositehim, sensitive to his feigned slumber. The sheets are warm and soft against my skin as I pull them to my chin, trying to find comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings.
I am zonked, but sleep eludes me.
My head is a whirlwind of thoughts. It replays the events of the past two days, the conversations held, and the emotions displayed on repeat for almost an hour.
I can’t quieten my thoughts, and the nearly soundless snores of the man next to me amplify them to an ear-piercing level.
I roll onto my side and hug my pillow, willing myself to relax.
Nothing works.
As the night stretches on, I remain wide awake, caught in the grip of my regret.
I’m not surprised. I’ve been acting like a twit all day, so it is no surprise my gurgles of remorse could awaken the dead.
When I deeply exhale, endeavoring to loosen the unease sitting heavy on my chest, the mattress dips under the weight of a man whose body has more muscles than flab.
I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me, floating over my cheeks and brows, before they settle on my lips. He doesn’t say anything for several painful minutes, but when he finally breaks the ice, our conversation starts at the last place I expect.
“Was that your mother you were speaking with earlier?”
Air escapes my nose as I grapple to survive his unexpected sucker punch.
He’s meant to hand me a life vest, not force my feet into concrete boots.
Does his question mean what I think it does?
Was he watching me the entire time I… fondled myself?
I should be furious at the thought alone.
I’m not. Don’t ask me why. I am too tired to make sense of anything.
While licking my lips, desperate for some moisture, I sheepishly nod.
Mikhail smiles in gratitude for my honesty while scooting closer, boosting the goose bumps prickling my skin with a scent that is uniquely him.
“Is everything okay?”
The genuine concern in his tone announces that I could ask him to borrow the money to pay for Wynne’s tests, but that isn’t something I can do. He’s already given so much, and I’m at a loss as to why, so asking him would only gray things between us more than necessary.
