“And these circumstances?” I gesture around the dining room with its warm wood paneling and family portraits.
“These feel like a good start.”
After dinner, we walk through the gardens while the sun sets behind the mountains in the distance. The grounds are extensive, with formal flower beds giving way to wilder sections that blend into the forest. Dmitri's hand finds mine as we walk, and as his thumb traces circles on my palm, sparks of want ignite and zip through my veins.
The simple touch shouldn’t affect me this much. I shouldn’t feel such a desperate need to be closer to him, to let him claim me so completely. But every rational thought melts away when he looks at me like I’m something precious.
“How much land?”
“Two hundred acres. Most of it is undeveloped forest, but there are walking trails and a lake about a mile through the woods.”
“Perfect for someone who wants privacy.”
“Perfect for making my wife scream my name without worrying about neighbors.”
"Is that what you're planning?" The question comes out breathier than I intended.
"Among other things." We follow one of the trails he mentioned, and I find myself checking for escape routes despite the tranquil setting. The behavior is so ingrained that I barely notice it anymore.
Sometimes, I think my body knows things my mind doesn’t remember. Like how to move quietly through terrain like this. Which trees would provide the best cover. How long it would take to reach the main road from different points on the property.
We continue walking in comfortable silence, and I realize that, despite still being on alert, this is the most relaxed I’ve felt since I woke up in the hospital. No guards watching from discrete distances. No business associates interrupting with urgent matters. No doctors probing for memories I might or might not possess.
Just two people walking through beautiful countryside, enjoying each other’s company.
“Dmitri?”
“Mmm?”
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“You always have choices. They might not be easy choices, but they exist.”
The comment makes me think about the decisions that led us to this moment. His decision to keep me close after the accident. My decision to trust him despite the gaps in my memory. The choice we’re both making to treat this as something real.
Back at the house, we settle in the main room with books and wine to enjoy the kind of quiet evening that married couples probably take for granted.
Dmitri reads a business report, except the way he keeps glancing at me over it, and the way his gaze lingers on my mouth as I sip wine makes it clear his mind is on anything but business.
“This is nice,” I tell him. “The house, the setting, and the fact that we can just exist together without constantly dealing with one crisis after another.”
“Not tonight,” he agrees. “No crises allowed.”
I set aside the photography book and move to sit beside him on the couch, resting my head on his shoulder. This feels too right, too perfect. Like I finally belong here, even though logic says that’s impossible.
I don’t even know who I am. How can I know where I belong?
“Read to me,” I prompt anyway.
“It’s a financial report.”
“I don’t care what it is.”
Dmitri closes the folder and pulls me against his side instead. “Better idea. Let me tell you about this place.”
