by Christa Wick
The boy's frame shook with the tears he cried, just as Alina shook. Mikhael crawled onto the bed and tried to fasten her gown back in place, his deep voice attempting to soothe her but unable to do so as her dry heaves continued to shake her frame.
"Mama..."
The single word was no louder than a tearful whisper from Bogdan on the floor, but it froze Mikhael's hand.
"Mama," the boy repeated, a little louder, his voice sounding confused and grief-stricken.
Immediately, Mikhael got off the bed and crouched over the boy. Both mother and son were rocking themselves to find comfort, both inexperienced in finding comfort from others.
"Mama," the boy cried out in anguish as he watched—and truly saw for the first time—his mother’s pain.
At the start of his broken sobbing, Alina quickly rolled across the bed and reached with one shaking hand to brush her fingers lightly across the boy's nearly bald scalp.
With a hiccup, Bogdan looked up.
As soon as he did, she withdrew her hand, clearly unsure if the boy wanted her touching him at all.
Knowing that Bogdan wouldn’t know how to convince Alina otherwise, Mikhael gently helped the boy onto his feet then lifted him onto the bed.
Exhausted, the boy instantly curled his body against Alina’s and laid his head on her chest.
Mikhael’s strained, pummeled heart constricted behind his ribcage when Alina tentatively curled an arm around him before cupping the boy’s cheek tenderly.
With that, Mikhael returned to the chair, watching the two of them lay unmoving like that for several long minutes.
As Bogdan slowly fell asleep in his mother’s arms, it didn’t escape Mikhael’s attention that Alina’s eyes remained almost glassy, unfocused the entire time. And aside from the arm she kept around the boy’s shoulders and the hand stroking his cheek, the rest of her was stiff, seemingly…disconnected.
The revelation was a crushing blow.
Mikhael had succeeded in finally giving Alina what she’s always wanted—but the distant look on her face told him it came too late.
20
Mikhael
Mikhael woke with the expectation that the boy might return to being unmanageable. But neither Bogdan nor Alina changed from how they had fallen asleep—the boy finally accepting Alina as his mother and Alina slowly closing herself off from all emotion.
On the third day following Bogdan's meltdown, Alina approached Mikhael after she had washed the breakfast dishes. She told him that she was moving her things to the third, and smallest, bedroom and Mikhael should stop sleeping on the couch and take the room she had previously used.
He tried to argue it, said he would take the smaller bedroom and that, for the boy's sake, it was best not to make any big changes, like shuttling her off to a room barely bigger than a walk-in closet. But by noon, she had moved her few possessions into the room and hauled the suitcase Mikhael had been living from into the master bedroom.
She started pushing the food around her plate at each meal, apologizing absently that it was too hot or too cold, too spicy or too bland. When he or the boy assured her it was fine, marvelous even, she said nothing more and put her fork down, motionless until she saw that they were done eating and she could begin clearing the table.
Too late, too late.
The words twisted through Mikhael's chest.
A few days later, when Bogdan fell asleep earlier than usual, he carried the boy to bed then cornered Alina.
"We need to talk."
Wiping her palms against her skirt, she nodded. When Mikhael stalled over where to start, she began.
"You said we're safe for now? That we don't have to stick so close to the house or worry about being seen?"
"Yes." He answered slowly, uncertain where she was headed with her questions.
"You can go back to your friends in Arlington?"
Fresh panic building in his chest, Mikhael didn't answer. She wanted him to leave.
Before he could ask her if that was what she wanted, she drew a deep breath then rocked him back on his heels with what she said next.
"I don't know that I can support him. I only have a high school diploma and they never let me work. I was supposed to be someone's wife, then I couldn't even be that. It is best if you raise him."
"No," Mikhael said, reaching for her.
She tried to slip past him. He wrapped his hands around her elbows and she froze, her gaze locked off to the side.
"I will make sure you have all the money you need to take care of my son and..."
He wanted to say "my woman." That's what she would always be to him, even if he could never hold her again or kiss the lips that had grown flat and thin with her grief the past few weeks.
"You won't need to earn any money," he finished. "I know he said some cruel things—"
She shook her head violently, her chest shuddering with the need to unleash the tears building in her dark gaze. "He spoke the truth."
"No." Releasing her arms, Mikhael cupped her cheeks. "Where is my Alina."
A fat tear escaped each eye to run down her cheeks.
"I was never your Alina," she whispered. "I was just the girl you got pregnant."
His hands dropped away to clench at his sides. He wanted to smash a fist through the wall next to her. Instead he placed his palms flat against the paneling on either side of her.
"I shouldn't have sent you away like I did that night. I should have told you how much I loved you."
Every word coming out of his mouth seemed to make her shrink a little more. She was closing herself off, disappearing like some kind of magic folding box.
"We need to get out of this house," he said, pulling back. "There's a farm halfway between here and Arlington. It's a special place, part of a foundation that helps children coming from war zones to the U.S. for medical treatment. My boss's sister runs it…"
He trailed off when she said nothing.
"Reed is supposed to be there this week and you can meet Vivian, that's Stark's sister. She's a good listener."
"Take the boy. He likes your friend Reed."
She was back to her flat, robotic monotone. He wasn't even sure if she merely meant take Bogdan to the farm for a day while leaving her behind or take him forever. His gut told him it was probably the latter—she hadn't even said Bogdan's name.
"We'll all go tomorrow, after breakfast."
Fighting not to choke on his words, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She was fading in front of his eyes, but she was still the most beautiful woman he could imagine. He wanted to tell her that, but her ears were still flooded with everything the boy had said.
Stupid, fat, ugly, whore, cheese grater skin...
"Alina," he started, his throat locking up. He sucked a ragged breath in and stroked his thumb across her collarbone. "I am so sorry I pushed him...that he said—"
She brushed his hand away and turned toward her bedroom door. "If we're visiting your friends, there's ironing to do. Hang your clothes on the knob. I'll take care of them after I finish the boy's."
Without another word or a glance back, she disappeared into her room.
21
Mikhael
After a month cooped up in the safe house, Bogdan spent the drive to the farm with his nose pressed against the window. He produced a running commentary: a log truck, another log truck, Florida plates, New York plates…
Mikhael worried the New York plates might remind the boy of what he had lost from his old life, but Alina had assured Mikhael in the early weeks of staying at the safe house that Bogdan had been home schooled, with guards and cleaning staff his only playmates. Hell, Alina figured that Mikhael had already spent as much time around Bogdan as Dima had during the boy's first five years. After another month, she had said with a frown, Mikhael would be more than caught up.
"What did I say about seatbelts?" Mikhael warned as Bogdan released the catch on his device.
The boy slid across the seat
to Mikhael's side, pulled the safety belt across his thin chest, and secured it before plastering his face against the window.
"Are there animals at the farm?"
"Milking goats, geese, chickens…" Mikhael confirmed. "There's a lake for fishing, too."
Straining forward, Bogdan put his hand on Mikhael's shoulder.
"I don't know how to fish," the boy said, a touch of entreaty in his tone.
"We'll learn together, then," Mikhael said, his gaze bouncing off Alina. "But maybe not today."
Alina was tucked against the door. Her eyes were open, but he doubted that she really saw anything. He couldn't even be sure she was following the conversation.
"This is it," he said, pulling the sedan up to a security gate.
A guard exited the building attached to the stone wall. With Stark International providing all the security, the man knew Mikhael by sight, but he still checked everyone in the vehicle and looked in the trunk before waving them through.
Having privately brainstormed the "Alina issue" with Reed and Vivian, he knew the two of them would be waiting in the resource center. He parked the sedan, gestured to Bogdan that he could get out, then went around to Alina's side and opened her door.
Her mouth danced with indecision.
"You can't stay in the car, my Alina."
When she still hesitated, he jutted his chin in Bogdan's direction and whispered. "He needs us to lead by example. You have to be open to leaving the cage you lived in for so long. It was his cage, too."
Gaze cast toward the ground, she unfolded herself from the car. Bogdan ran over and slid his hand against hers.
"It's just a few hours," Mikhael said, gesturing at the entrance. "You've endured far worse for far longer."
It was mean to say and he regretted it even as the words left his mouth, but it got her to move, the first step a rough jerk forward before she took up a smooth rhythm.
Entering the large, open workspace, Bogdan spotted Henley and launched himself at the man.
"Reed!"
Laughing, Reed caught the boy, spun him in a circle then placed him on his feet before turning to Mikhael and, beyond him, where she hung back near the door, Alina.
"Vivian is dealing with a travel visa issue that popped up," Reed said. "She'll be back any minute."
Mikhael glanced over his shoulder at Alina then returned his gaze to Reed. His brows lifted expectantly. He had texted Reed and Vivian the night before, after Alina had gone to bed. He needed Reed to keep Bogdan occupied and Vivian to hopefully work some kind of magic with Alina. The woman definitely had some hard won skills in that respect. She had suffered her own trauma and had dedicated the last five years to helping others move past theirs.
Hopefully, his idea would not blow up in his face—again.
"Hey, champ," Reed said, taking Mikhael's subtle hint. "I just installed a flight simulator on my computer, want to try it out?"
The boy started to launch himself at Reed a second time but he pulled up short, spun and looked up at Mikhael. "Can I?"
Mikhael answered with a lift of his chin, the simple response and Reed's offer making the boy break into a wide grin.
Alone with Alina, Mikhael gestured at the big table in the center of the room where Vivian liked to do her intake briefings with the families her foundation housed while the children received medical care.
"Come sit."
As Alina slowly complied, her gaze slid over the table's surface. There were brochures for schools, information packets on education grants, tips for writing resumes and interviewing.
"What is this?" Alina asked, her voice thin with suspicion.
"Work, I guess," he answered, relieved that there were multiple copies of everything so that it didn't look like the table was set with an agenda that revolved around Alina.
Circling the table, she took a seat opposite of where she had left him standing.
"Teddy bear!" Vivian Lodge squealed as she entered at the opposite side of the room. Breezing over to him so fluidly she could have been wearing skates, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed for everything she was worth.
When she pulled back, there was a soft sheen of tears in her eyes.
"I just met your little guy, but he and Reed barely said so much as 'hello' because their noses were buried in a computer."
Laughing, she rolled her eyes and turned in Alina's direction.
"You must be…" Vivian started but then her voice caught.
Mikhael's balls shriveled up into his stomach, maybe even his throat because a lump had formed there just as quickly. It was a long shot, but he was counting on Vivian to put Alina at ease, to work her charms like she did with the refugees who came to the foundation, getting them to open up and, particularly the women, make the most of what was available during their stay.
So why the hell couldn't she say anything to Alina?
"This is Alina," Mikhael said, burying the growl in his voice beneath a cough. "Bogdan's mother."
Vivian nodded while Alina stared through both of them.
This was going to be a disaster.
All because he couldn't stop pushing.
"I hope I didn't just come off as rude," Vivian said, navigating her way around the table to where Alina sat. Perching on the edge of the table, she leaned down and captured Alina's hands. "But you seem so sad, it stunned me."
Alina's gaze darted to Mikhael. For days she had asked him for nothing, not for herself. Now her hollowed eyes were pleading for him to intervene, to let her leave and find someplace to hide until his visit was over.
Slowly, his heart knotting around itself, he shook his head. He would not intervene.
Releasing Alina's hands, Vivian reached for one of the brochures. "I'm used to working with foreigners, but you're American, yes? New York City?"
Alina's only answer was a hardened stare.
"My brother Collin says I'm a bit of a steamroller, and not as any kind of a compliment," Vivian confessed, looking down at the brochure with its picture of a happy college graduate. "But I have had to put my life back together. My husband died in front of me, a bullet through his head."
Alina's lips parted then bobbed for a second before her mouth snapped shut.
"This," Vivian said, her hand sweeping toward all the brochures and guidance packets, "is for another day, I think. Today…"
There was a long, uncomfortable pause as Vivian got ready to step off a very high cliff.
"Today, I'd like to do some fashion therapy."
Alina's gaze cut through the woman. Vivian Lodge was tall, thin but with a hidden strength. She wore a red silk shirt for the meeting and a long pencil skirt that reached halfway down her calves. Her nails were manicured, her hair professionally styled and colored to a light caramel.
Mikhael took a step forward to intervene. Vivian stepped in front of him. She wasn't capable of blocking out a man his size, but she had Alina's attention.
"Make-up, hair, clothes—"
"I need to stay in these clothes," Alina snapped.
Vivian softly pushed back at Alina's rejection. "There's still make-up and hair."
Before Alina could object again, Mikhael interrupted. "You need something to do while Bogdan visits with Reed. Go and make your host happy."
It was a low blow, making Alina feel like a bad guest. He had already done so many things to make her feel bad or to cause others to make her feel that way. But Alina needed the time with Vivian, to let the woman pamper her. Alina needed to be reminded of how beautiful she was, not just on the outside but even more so in her heart.
Politely waving Vivian away, Mikhael wrapped his hands around Alina's shoulders and leaned down. "We all need you to try, my Alina. If you want to go home in these clothes, with your hair in a bun and your face scrubbed clean, that's fine. But try."
Her lips mashed together in quiet refusal.
His grip on her shoulders tightened.
"It feels like just yesterday I watched you walk into the
bakery in Kapotnya and I couldn't breathe because of the smile on your face. Today, I can't breathe because I don't know if I'll ever see you smile like that again."
Several feet away and eavesdropping like crazy, Vivian sniffled.
Alina brushed angrily at his hands, her own eyes dry but clouded over with quiet suffering. "Go and spend time with Bogdan while he is enjoying himself."
When he didn't move, she nodded in Vivian's direction. "We will keep ourselves—occupied."
Sensing he could push no further, Mikhael bowed and left.
22
Alina
"Since so many of our families come with strong religious convictions," Vivian coaxed once she and Alina were alone, "the business attire is very modest. And most of it is donated."
Alina shook her head. "I don't want to take something that someone else could use. It sounds like these families come here with nothing."
"We only have one family in residence right now. A father and son. The mother didn't survive."
Fresh pain exploded in Alina's chest. She wondered if the boy who had lost his mother had loved the woman or if he was glad to be rid of her.
"You don't have to take anything with you if you don't want," Vivian continued as she took a few steps away from Alina. "But it doesn't hurt to try it on, see what styles you like before you do some shopping for yourself."
The pain as she imagined the boy and his dead mother turned to a defeat cemented in her chest. This woman was going to keep at her until she acquiesced.
"Fine," she mumbled and let Vivian lead her through a set of double doors and down a network of hallways until they reached a door marked "Wardrobe" in English followed by other languages in other alphabets.
Inside the room were racks of clothes. Vivian stopped at one filled with long sleeve blouses arranged by color. She pulled out a dark emerald top then disappeared into the next row. She re-emerged with a flouncy black skirt long enough to brush at Alina's ankles.