“Did you set up a time and place?”
“Yeah, the subway.”
I step back and turn around, noticing how the only light in the den is a strip from the kitchen that slices through the darkness. I frown and whisper, “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Headache.”
I nod with understanding and gesture to the spot next to her. She regards the cushion for a moment, appearing to debate whether or not she wants to be near me.
And that hesitation alone is enough to wound me.
A minute passes. Then, two. The extent of her silence sends me to the couch across from her. Dim light illuminates her softness, showing me the side of her that I love most.
Or the side that used to exist.
“Liya, I…” Sandpaper grates my throat, making it difficult to speak. Even breathing is a chore. But I finally manage. “I think we should talk about our marriage.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
The jab cuts through my heart. The wound festers, and I try to ignore it. “We should talk about what’s going to happen after our marriage.”
“You mean what I’m going to do after I leave?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
Her eyes gloss over as she gazes toward the cabinet on my right. She’s expressionless for a long time, stuck in her head with whatever thoughts are swirling up there. Is she thinking about the good times?
Or the bad ones?
She sighs. “I wrote to Weill Cornell and requested a delay for a year.”
I frown. “Why?”
“I need to focus on what’s happening right now—defeating Cardona and making sure I take care of myself so I can give birth to a healthy baby.”
Part of me is warmed by her admission. Her dedication to our child has always been clear. Her commitment to making sure our child’s safety is prioritized is what draws me to her.
But another part of me is angry.
Not at her. But on her behalf. “But this was everything you wanted. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
The look she gives me is bitter and nearly sends me recoiling. “Don’t you think I know that? But what other choice do I have?”
“Liya, you always have more than one choice.”
She slams her fists on her knees. “Ineverhave more than one choice at a time, Pavel. Don’t tell me otherwise.”
Her voice quivers, and I feel the heat of her fury radiating in every direction. I don’t blame her. Nothing she says is false.
Yet I can’t control anything other than how I respond.
I’m learning quickly with Liya to let her feel whatever she needs to feel.
Even if it isn’t favorable.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry that I interrupted your life. I’m sorry for forcing you to make a decision that you otherwise didn’t need to make. For bringing you into this criminal world that you’ve spent your entire life trying to escape from.”
“You know what the worst part is?” She shivers and then digs her nails into her knees. “The worst part is how easily you could avoid this. If you would just stop going down this path…” She shakes her head.