“Maybe you should’ve stayed home then,” he snapped.
“I’m only looking out for you, okay?”
He snickered, as if I’d just made the most ridiculous joke. “I’ve been doing this shit long before you came into my life, and I’ll keep doing it after you leave, so don’t feed me that bullshit.”
“Gleb!” I called, my heart aching. Why was he suddenly so angry?
“Why are you saying these hurtful things to me just because I want to come with you?” My voice wavered.
“I’m a different person when I’m handling business. You’re frustrating me by poking around in it. I don’t need you involved.” He kept his eyes on the road.
“You don’t need me?”
“Yes... yes, I don’t fucking need you in my business. Is that hard to understand?” He slammed his hand on the wheel, the sound sharp and tense.
I could feel the headache starting to form behind my eyes. “Fine, drop me off. I’ll just go back home. Pardon me for being an overly caring wife.”
He exhaled, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I only have five minutes left to meet with Misha,” his voice was quieter now, but still filled with frustration.
“So? It’ll take you less than ten seconds to drop me off. I’ll find a way back home.”
He smirked evilly. “Do you really think I’d drop my wife by the roadside? Even a madman wouldn’t do that.”
“People do and say a lot of things when they’re angry. Just drop me off,” I retorted.
“Can you just be quiet for a second?” He clenched the steering wheel tighter. “It’s too late now. Let me focus on the task at hand. I need to think about how to handle this situation.”
I went silent, staring out the window. He had every right to be angry. I shouldn’t have interfered in his business. He’d beendoing this long before we even got married. Why had I assumed he couldn’t handle himself?
“And when we get there,” he continued, “apart from greetings, I need you to not engage anyone in any conversation, okay?”
“I’ll stay by your side the whole time. You don’t have to worry about me,” I promised.
He nodded. A few minutes passed, and I continued staring out the window, lost in my thoughts. Then, suddenly, I felt his hand on my thigh. I turned, meeting his eyes. His hand was warm, resting there like it belonged.
“I was just frustrated, okay?” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just... this whole situation is too much, and I don’t want to pull you into it. I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” I said, even though a part of me still felt like he shouldn’t have lashed out so badly. But I understood, like I had just said.
His hand on my thigh kept sending a strange tingle through me, making me feel things I wasn’t ready for.
“What’s your favorite song?” he asked, changing the subject.
“‘Lovely’ by Billie Eilish.”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t know Billie Eilish?” I asked, surprised.
“I don’t,” he replied, pulling up the song on the dashboard. The melody began to fill the car.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. I started to sing along quietly, lost in the rhythm of the song as he drove.
He kept glancing at me, and though I pretended not to notice, I saw his gaze linger. Then I heard him mutter something.
“What did you say?” I asked, louder now, the music filling the space between us.
“Huh?”
