I shut the door and let out a groan when I walk into the kitchen and see that it’s already close to noon. I tell myself not to panic, that he must’ve just gotten hung up. It’s probably just taking him a bit longer to complete this job, and it’s not like he can just leave before he’s offed whoever the hell he’s supposed to off. I realize my inner voice is starting to sound like a lunatic, but I can’t stop it. I just want my husband back home and in my arms so I can feel him and taste him and know that he’s safe and okay.
Needing to do something, I go upstairs to shower, being careful to avoid the sight of our bed because it’s just too damn painful to look at while I’m stuck worrying and missing him. If only he could’ve kept his phone on him, but, of course, it makes sense that he’d leave it at the restaurant so it could tie him to that location if need be.
I tell myself that he’ll probably be back by the time I’m done. I take my time, hoping he’ll just walk in with a big smile on his face, his green eyes lit up with lust and mischief before he strips and joins me, pinning my hands to the tiled wall while he fucks me from behind just like he did the other morning, but the door stays shut until I finally turn off the water and step out.
Needing some serious comfort right now, I dress in my favorite old moose pajamas, the ones that are fuzzy from too many washings and threadbare at the knees and pull on my fluffy fox house shoes, feeling a lump form in the back of my throat at the sight of them. I swear I can hear Aleksandr’s deep voice calling me hislisichkain his sexy accent. When I’m confident I’m not going to start balling, I go back downstairs and make some coffee. The thought of food leaves me feeling nauseated, which is worrisome in and of itself. The last time I felt this way was after the car accident.
Grabbing my cup of coffee, I pace the living room, too antsy to sit still. I briefly think about calling the restaurant, but what can they possibly tell me? They’ll just say he’s still at the restaurant busy with work and hopefully will be home soon. My only comfort is that if something was seriously wrong, they would be knocking on the door to tell me in person, at least I think so. I’m not sure how the Bratva works. It’s possible they might just not say anything and let the police come by and explain that my husband’s body has been found somewhere so that the cops can get an honest, horrified reaction from a grieving wife.
I let out an angry, frustrated groan when I can’t get my mind to shut the hell up. Today is Christmas Eve, the day the car wreck happened, the day I lost my dad and stepmom. Surely the universe is not such a giant ass that it would take my husband as well. The harsh laugh I let out surprises even me. Horrific things happen to people all the time. Why on earth would I be immune to it?
“He’s going to be fine,” I say out loud, needing to hear the words. Nutmeg lifts his head and gives me a bored look before stretching one leg up and licking his ass. “You’re clearly not worried.”
Deciding I need to keep the positive vibes going, I turn on some Christmas music and grab the gifts I’d bought on my last day of work from where I’d hidden them in the closet. I’m pretty sure Aleksandr had seen me sneak out to buy them, but I’m hoping he didn’t actually see what I’d bought. I look down at the bags and wish I’d had time to get more. The tree is already stuffed with presents that are all wrapped and labeled for me. I’d woken up the other day and come down to find them stacked nicely under our beautiful tree while Aleksandr watched me with that sexy smile playing at his lips. I finger the red bow on top of one of the boxes and smile. I can’t believe my Christmas grump of a husband had actually taken the time to wrap my presents and put bows on them.
I grab some scissors and tape and sit on the living room floor, listening to Christmas music while I wrap up his presents. The deep green sweater I bought him is going to look so good on him and really bring out the beautiful green of his eyes. Plus, the man needs some color in his wardrobe. I shove the wrapped box aside and set to work on the ornament that I had personalized to celebrate our first Christmas together. The last gift is silly, but I couldn’t resist. It’s one of the hottest items this year in the toy department, and it just looked fun. I eye the laser gun set and know he’s going to kick my ass with a quickness, but it’ll still be fun to run around and play laser tag with him.
After I’ve written his name on them and carefully stacked them under the tree, I realize that I haven’t killed near as much time as I’d hoped. I feel a headache growing from a nonstop straining to hear the sound of the garage door. Closing my eyes, I rest my head in my hands and try not to fall apart. It’s two o’clock, and he told me he’d probably be back before the sun came up, so even if I push it back to around eight o’clock to account for some unexpected happenings, he’s still six hours late. What could possibly cause that big of a delay?
When I hear my phone buzz, I nearly have a heart attack. I jump up and lunge to where my phone is sitting on the edge of the couch. When I see that it’s just a text from Shelly, I let out a pained groan and sit down. My heart feels dangerously fast, and my hands are shaking when I look at the text. I’d so wanted it to be from Aleksandr.
Hey, just wondered how you were doing.
It’s so unlike her to reach out that it makes me pause. We haven’t spoken since I moved out, and I’m not sure what to say to her. I’ve missed my stepsister, but I’m done with her treating me like her own personal punching bag. I can’t go back to that kind of a relationship with her.
I settle on aI’m good. How about you?
After a few minutes I get aJust thinking about what day it is.
I miss them too, I say, knowing that underneath everything, she’s hurting and missing her mom.
I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I know it wasn’t your dad’s fault. You’re the only family I have, Holly, and I don’t want to lose you.
I’m so stunned that I just sit there holding the phone and reading the text over and over again. Finally, I type,I miss you too.
Maybe after the holidays, we can hang out or something.
I think about inviting her over now, but I’m too upset and I don’t want her to ask me a bunch of questions about my new husband when I don’t even know where in the hell he is or when he’ll be back, orifhe’ll be back.
Instead I type,I’d love that.
She gives me a smiling emoji and a thumbs up, and I set the phone aside, hopeful that maybe we can patch things up and I can have my stepsister in my life again. We used to have so much fun together, and I’ve really missed having her to talk to. I know I won’t be able to ever tell her the truth about my marriage, but it would still be great to have someone from my past in my life, someone who remembers the same things I do.
Forcing myself to get up and eat something, I make a quick sandwich and manage to eat about half of it while leaning against the counter and eyeing the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick by in a frustratingly slow rhythm. Taking up my post on the couch and turning the TV back on, I mindlessly watch Christmas movies, my worries growing bigger and bigger with each passing hour until I get up and grab the photo album I’d put on the bookshelf in the corner when I’d unpacked my stuff. I’m already feeling about as low as I can get. It’s not like seeing photos of my family is going to suddenly depress me. I’m already waist deep in that mire.
Sitting back down, I open the well-worn album, running my finger over the smiling face of my mom as she holds me in the hospital bed right after I was born. Her blue eyes, the same ones she passed down to me, are lit up with so much happiness and vitality. It’s hard to believe that in five years this same vibrant woman would be lying in another hospital bed riddled with the cancer her body couldn’t fight off and taking her last breath.
I flip through the pages, watching myself grow a little bigger with each new photo. There are several pages of photos of just me and my dad. I’m so glad he insisted on making me this photo album instead of being content to just have everything stored in a cloud somewhere. There’s something so precious about being able to actually hold these memories, to have a book that I can open and feel them beneath my fingers. It makes it seem more real somehow.
Tears drip down my cheeks, but I make no move to brush them away. Instead I watch as my stepmom and Shelly suddenly start appearing in photos. It so easily goes from two smiling faces to four, and I’m so damn grateful that my dad was able to find happiness again before he died. I look at his face and miss him so much it’s a physical ache. Knowing how badly he would want me to be happy and enjoy life is the only thing that kept me going after their deaths, but I don’t know if I can keep it up if Aleksandr is taken from me as well.
I sit there until the sun sets, looking at the family I lost and wondering about the one I may or may not have in the future before finally grabbing the blanket off the couch. I curl up on the floor by the Christmas tree, clutching my photo album and crying until there are no tears left. This may not have been the future I imagined, but I wouldn’t change anything about meeting Aleksandr. I might be married to a Bratva hitman, but he’smyBratva hitman, and I love him, and I want him back. It might be fucked up, but I don’t care. I love him, and when I think about meeting him and marrying him, all I feel is grateful and happy. I finally cry myself to sleep under the tree. My last thought is of him and how I hope like hell he’ll be here when I wake, because I’m not sure I can endure another day like this.
Chapter14
Aleksandr
Ibite back a groan when my target still hasn’t shown himself. Everything was going right on schedule. I’d arrived last night, watched his wife drive off to her sisters where she’s supposed to stay until Christmas morning, and then watched his mistress show up less than an hour later. The bastard hasn’t shown his face since. I’ve been freezing my fucking ass off in the woods behind his house, and I’m more than ready to put a bullet in this fucker’s head so I can go home.