Nikolai
I extend a hand towards her, waiting for her to hand over the gun like I requested. She doesn't but I notice the way her grip falters around the handle.
A long second passes between us and I wait for her to lower the gun. She does not.
My stubborn wife remains rooted in the same position, her gaze frantic, confused as she searches my expression.
"Why do you have a gun?" She asks, and I arch a brow in her direction, considering her question for a moment.
"Is that what you Americans call a trick question?"
She frowns at me, clearly not finding my humour as faltering as I hoped she would. "I'm serious Nikolai." she says, her voice stern, "Tell me why you have a gun in your room?"
"You are aware of my profession, or do you want to add that to the list of things you don't know a
