Chapter 3-1
666 Words
3
Peter
As we eat lunch, I barely taste my food, all my attention on Sara as she tells me about the wedding gifts and Yan’s strange email. Her hazel eyes look almost green as she animatedly gestures with her fork, her skin like pale cream in the bright sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. In a casual blue sundress, with her chestnut hair in loose waves around her slender shoulders, she’s every dream of mine come to life, and my chest tightens at the recollection of what it was like to be without her all those months.
I’m never letting her go again.
She’s mine, until death do us part.
“Why do you think he decided to give me his contact info? Do you think he just wants to keep in touch?” she asks, spearing a piece of cucumber in her Russian-style salad, and I force myself to focus on the conversation instead of how much I’d like to spread her out on the table and feast on her rather than the food I’ve prepared.
“I have no idea,” I answer, and it’s true. Yan Ivanov took over our assassination business after I left, so I can’t imagine he’d want me back. For months before that, there was tension between us, and I suspect if I hadn’t voluntarily stepped down as team leader, he would’ve done his best to take my place.
Then again, he doesn’t think civilian life is for me; he stated as much at our wedding. So maybe he expects me to return and is keeping an eye on the situation just in case.
With Yan, one never knows.
“Well, I hope they come visit us,” Sara says. “The guys, I mean. I didn’t get a chance to talk to them at the wedding, and I feel bad about that.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really? That is what you feel bad about?”
She drops her gaze to her salad bowl. “And nearly standing you up, obviously.”
The metal edges of the fork handle cut into my palm, and I realize I’m squeezing the utensil too hard. I’m no longer mad at my ptichka, though some of the hurt still lingers. I understand how difficult it was for her to admit she loves me, to embrace me fully after everything I’ve done. She needed me to leave her no choice, and I obliged, threatening her friends to make her show up at our wedding.
No, the source of my anger is not Sara, but the man who tried to manipulate her into bailing on our wedding.
Agent Ryson.
The fact that he dared to show up like that fills me with blistering fury. I leave Henderson alone, they leave me and Sara alone—that was the deal. No more FBI surveillance, no harassment, just a clean slate so we can lead peaceful lives.
He threatened Sara, too. Accused her of conspiring with me to kill her husband. I have no idea what he said to her, exactly, but it must’ve been bad to make her react so strongly.
Under any other circumstances, he would’ve already been rotting with the worms, but I’m supposed to be a law-abiding citizen now. I can’t go around killing FBI agents—not without giving up the life I’ve fought for, the civilian life that Sara needs. So as tempting as it is, Ryson lives—for now, at least. Later on, when enough time has passed, he might meet with an unfortunate accident or an overly aggressive mugger, à la Sara’s patient’s stepfather… but that’s a thought for another day.
Today I have Sara all to myself, and I intend to enjoy it.
“Don’t worry, my love,” I say when my new wife continues to eat quietly, avoiding my gaze. “It’s over. It’s in the past—as are whatever other mistakes we’ve made. Let’s just focus on the present and the future… live our lives without always looking back.”
She looks up, her eyes uncertain. “Do you really think we can?”
“Yes,” I tell her firmly, and reaching over, I bring her hand to my lips for a tender kiss.
- Writer
