Chapter 43 Episode 43
1547 Words
“You can. You have to crawl to me. If I move forward, you’llget closer to the edge.”
And I’d lose the toehold I currently have, my boot wedgedinto a narrow space between two rocks.
“You can do it,” I say. “Come on, Belle.”
She takes a deep breath and then throws her arm up, grabbingonto my elbow. Bit by bit, she crawls her way up my body,using me as a human rope. And when she’s close enough that Ican wrap my arms around her waist, I hug her and roll herover my body.
She lands on my legs, scraping my knees even harder againstthe jagged lava rock.
But I don’t give a f**k. She isn’t dead. That’s what matters.
Now that she’s safe, I inch my way away from the ledge andthen rise to my knees once I’m on solid earth. Belle is lyingflat on her back nearby, her eyes staring up at the blue sky. Herchest is rising and falling rapidly.
“I should have believed you when you said you were clumsy,”I mutter.
She snorts, a mixture of amusement and sheer relief. “And Ishould have believed you when you said you weren’t going tokill me.”
In any other case, I’d make sure to remind someone that Icould kill them at any moment. That I’m unpredictable,undependable. I feed off the fear that inspires.
But something about the way Belle is looking at me right nowis better than that.
It looks an awful lot like trust.
Nikolai coaxes me onto the couch. “You need to warm up.You’re still shivering.”
I look down at my hands. He’s right—my fingers aretrembling. I barely noticed, but I’m not surprised he did.
“It’s just adrenaline,” I mumble. “Near-death experiences dothat to a girl.”
Another shiver moves through me as the reality of what couldhave happened plays out. I was half-dangling over the edge ofa fall that I absolutely would not have come back from. Atleast it would’ve been a pretty place to die, right?
Then I think of Elise left all alone in the world and I shiveragain.
“You need a drink,” he says definitively. He grabs a bottle ofscotch and a glass from the nearby liquor cabinet.
“Do you know how to make hot chocolate?” I ask.
Nikolai looks back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Huh?”
“Please tell me you know what hot chocolate is.” Given howdifferent our lives are, I can’t assume anything. I wonder idlyif Nikolai knows how to operate a toaster oven or a washingmachine.
“Of course I do. I just haven’t had it since the age of six.”
Nikolai chuckles and pours me an alarmingly large glass ofscotch before he moves back to the pantry. “All that’s here isthe powdered s**t. If you want proper hot chocolate, I canorder room service.”
“Powdered is fine,” I tell him. “It’s all I’ve ever had, actually.”
More like it’s all I’ve ever known. We never had anythingextra in the house. No soda, no candy, no nothing other thanchips and Top Ramen. Whatever leftover money we had wentto Mom’s drugs.
Pilfering money out of her purse was the only reason Elise andI had money for groceries some weeks. But once, I went to aslumber party when I was eleven and had a hot chocolate withan actual cinnamon stick to swirl in. It tasted like magic to me.I drank four mugs and felt sick all night.
Worth it, both at the time and in retrospect.
Nikolai shuts the cabinet and picks up his phone. “Then thatsettles it. I’m calling room service.”
He’s being so sweet to me that I hate to ask for anything more,but I clear my throat. “Maybe some sandwiches, too? Elisehasn’t eaten, and—”
“She ordered room service right after we left,” he says,holding the phone to his ear.
“How do you know that?”
He taps his phone, and I’m not sure what he means until hestarts talking. “Send up a couple sandwiches—chef’s choice—and a hot chocolate.” He hangs up and drops his phone on thecounter. “I got a text from the front desk letting me knowsomeone made a charge to my account. She ordered a ribeyeand mac and cheese.”
“She sure isn’t shy about taking charity, is she?” I shake myhead. “Sorry about that. I’ll talk to her.”
“She shouldn’t be shy. This isn’t charity,” Nikolai snaps.
I shrug. “You don’t have to lie to me. You feel bad about allthe crap that’s been going on, so you brought me here and—”
Nikolai stalks across the room and stops behind the couchwhere I’m sitting. His fingers dig into the plush white cushionuntil the knuckles go white. “I don’t act out of guilt. You aren’there because I feel I owe you something.”
He seems genuine enough, but I can’t quite buy it. “I just…”
“Do I look like a f*****g saint?”
I press my lips together. I know a trap when I see one. I’m notanswering that.
There’s also the inconvenient fact that, standing over me, thelight from the kitchen silhouetting him, Nikolai could pass forany saint, god, or angel I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and broadwith perfect golden skin and a jawline that makes marble looka little JellO-y.
I’ve seen enough of his dark side to know he isn’t heavenly,not by a long shot. But he’s something not of this worldnonetheless.
“You’re here because I want you here,” he continues, his voicea low growl. “That’s all you need to worry about. That’s theonly truth that counts.”
It sounds nice. I wish I could take it at face value. But hiswords bounce off of me, unable to penetrate the walls I’vebeen constructing for years and years.
“I don’t think you do anything simply because you want to,” Itell him. “You could… but you don’t. You have too manyresponsibilities. Everything serves a purpose.”
“And how would you know?”
“Takes one to know one,” I tell him with a shrug.
“Hm. I suppose you’re not wrong.”
“You are here because I want you here,” he says, turning tolean against the sofa. “But you’re also here because someoneelse doesn’t want you here. And I don’t take orders fromanyone.”
I blink. Now, that is surprising. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Who doesn’t want me here?”
Before Nikolai can answer, there’s a knock on the door. Heturns and answers it, accepting our food from one of his staff.And even though he pays their salaries, he slips the man a cashtip large enough that the man actually bows in gratitude.
Nikolai comes back in and arranges the food on the coffeetable in front of us. He hands me a toasted bacon and arugulasandwich with burrata cheese and honey, all of which I knowonly because there’s a handwritten note pinned to the servingtray.
Then he pours me a mug of hot chocolate from a stainless steelthermos. The liquid comes out a thick, milk chocolate brown.It looks nothing like the watery crap I’m used to.
I take a sip and bite back a groan. “Holy shit.”
“Beyond,” I say, taking another sip. “I feel like I’m drinkingfrom Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.”
He blinks as my words fail to land.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that movie.”
Nikolai shrugs. “Then I won’t tell you that.”
“You’re an alien,” I mutter. “Absolute freaking alien.”
He shrugs again. “I didn’t have much time for stuff like that.”
“Too busy surviving,” he bites back.
“Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”
Nikolai takes a bite of his sandwich and then pushes minetowards me with his pinky, silently encouraging me to eat. Ilisten, grabbing the sandwich with both hands and taking abite. As expected, it’s insanely delicious.
“Elise made it sound like the two of you didn’t exactly have afamily from a Norman Rockwell painting,” he remarks.
I’m impressed. Pretty diplomatic phrasing for a man whodoesn’t usually mince words.
“To say the least,” I agree bitterly. “The very least.” I sigh andlean back on the couch. “I tried to make things better for her.I’m so much older. And I at least had some idea of what agood parent could be. I mean, I had…”
My voice fades away, the words lost to the emotionconstricting my throat.
“My dad,” I finally manage, blinking back tears. “I had mydad. For a little while, anyway.”
When most people realize my dad is dead, they fall all overthemselves apologizing. For bringing him up, for my sadness,for the awkward situation they’ve caused or I’ve caused orboth. But Nikolai doesn’t do any of that. He opens the floorfor me to talk about him, free of judgment and pity alike.Talking about him… that’s something I haven’t done in years.
- Writer
