by Olivia Gates
She shook her head in amazement. “How? How did you do all that?”
“I am in the business of monitoring, controlling and even creating records and information. No one will ever know the truth, and you’ll be forever safe from any fallout.” She swallowed, flabbergasted yet again at another demonstration of his power. He sat forward, enveloping her in the heat of his body and aura. “Apart from all that, I assure you of another thing. Alex will be honored, his research and results will all be published. His legacy, which is substantial, will be applied, will get the recognition and rewards it deserves. His family will be given their full benefit, morally and financially.”
The urge to launch herself at him, bury her face into his endless chest, cling and sob her heart out, almost overpowered her. Her every frailty reached out to absorb all she could of his strength. What he was so unreservedly offering.
Only her depletion and mounting dread of the impending reunion stopped her, made her unable to seek his refuge.
Which was just as well, since his offer of solace and protection didn’t seem to extend to anything physical.
And she had to abide by his rules—this man she’d once loved, who’d injured her in the past and healed her in the present, both with no explanation.
But she didn’t need to understand him to give him his due. It was what Alex would have wanted her to do. “Alex couldn’t have hoped to leave his legacy in the hands of anyone better or more capable than you.”
His eyes darkened again, whether at the mention of Alex’s name or at the implied gratitude in her statement.
Before he could respond, she asked, “How long before we land?”
His turbulent gaze flitted to his phone. “Two hours.”
She lowered her seat back to a flat position, pulled the blanket over her aching body. “I’ll sleep again, then.”
He surged forward, helping her adjust the seat and the covers. “Do that. Rest.”
You’ll need it went unspoken.
* * *
Ivan watched Anastasia sleeping, and knowing this would be the last time he did had bleakness expanding in his chest.
They’d landed an hour ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her sleep. As restless as it was, it was still better than what she’d go through when she woke up. This way, he had her beneath his eyes, where he could ward off the world, for as long as possible.
That had been one of the reasons he was escorting her home—to prolong his time with her. As Antonio had said, that was for himself as much as it was for her.
But the main reason he was doing this remained her, and Alex. Antonio had been right. He couldn’t keep her any longer from the people she loved, those who were her lifelong support system. She needed her family, needed to bury her brother, give them all the chance to grieve, to say goodbye.
And he couldn’t stomach letting her take the brunt of her family’s shock alone. He couldn’t bear that Alex would be buried without him being there. His abhorrence to being close to his family had been outweighed by his need to shield her, to honor Alex.
Now he had to rouse her. And they both had to plunge into their own version of a waking nightmare.
* * *
Two hours later, Ivan stood behind Anastasia on the threshold of the home Alex had shared with his wife, Ivan’s sister, and their two children, his niece and nephew.
As they waited for the door to open, he felt Anastasia swaying, as if she was coming apart under the weight of the dread of confronting her best friend. And though it hurt to touch her, his hand clamped her trembling arm, offering her his strength, letting her know he’d step in anytime she needed.
In the next moment, he wondered if it was he who needed support.
The woman who opened the door had an eager smile that, in spite of all the changes twenty-eight years had wrought, was still the same as that of the baby sister he’d known. Her smile immediately froze when she saw Anastasia without Alex, looking desolate, and with him, a stranger, towering over her.
To say the next hour was harrowing would be to say that his time with The Organization hadn’t been too bad.
At first, Anastasia had haltingly introduced him, so she wouldn’t break down on the spot, needing to be strong for her best friend and sister-in-law. Then Katerina’s—Cathy’s—questions had come, the dread mounting until each answer fleshed out the scenario he’d created, validating her worst possible fears.
Then the agony had come. He’d felt every stab of it in his own gut as he watched yet another person he cared about in the throes of absolute anguish. For just seeing his sister in the flesh had brought back the memories of how much he’d loved her, from the moment his mother had told him she was pregnant again. In spite of her maturation from his Russian baby sister into a thoroughly American woman, she was still somehow his little Katerina.
He’d thought nothing could be worse than being ambushed by those kindred feelings he hadn’t thought he could ever feel again, or than suffering shearing empathy for her loss. Until her—and his—parents arrived.
Seeing the man and woman he’d once loved completely, whom he’d idolized, rush to their bereaved daughter’s side, seemingly as overcome, rocked him to his core.
For almost three decades, since he’d discovered what they’d done to him, he’d imagined how he’d feel if he ever saw them again. He’d come up with a thousand scenarios. He’d known he’d hate it, had been determined never to expose himself to it. But he’d thought he’d braced for each possibility, that none could actually hit him too hard.
He’d been wrong.
After their desperate attempts to contain their daughter’s agony, their focus had converged on him. He’d thought he was being too sensitive to their merest glance, but none of those who’d flooded the house, including his other sisters and brother, had looked at him like that.
As if they recognized him.
But of course they couldn’t. Nothing remained of the twelve-year-old they’d bartered away for their freedom but his eye color. And then how would they even suspect a resemblance, when they must have believed him long dead?
A big percentage of the boys culled by The Organization couldn’t endure their brutal training. Of those who did, more than half didn’t last in the field. It was why they were always harvesting more, with their mortality rate so high. And the boy his parents knew, the slight nerd he’d been, wouldn’t have been able to survive the inferno he’d been tossed in. If it hadn’t been for his brothers, he wouldn’t have.
He’d waited for anger to overtake him, but all he felt was desolation. Even now, he couldn’t hate them. The only thing he felt when he looked at them—older, frailer and in their grief, even fragile—was pity.
There was no doubt in his mind they’d loved Alex as a son. Instead of that making him more bitter, it was like a knife of sympathy tearing through his guts.
The ordeal continued into the next day. Everyone, as if responding to his superior powers, let him steer everything. He’d fast-forwarded the process and arranged for the burial, laying Alex’s body to rest, along with the true circumstances of his death.
Now they were back at Alex’s house, and the true grieving had just begun. Alex’s parents and Katerina seemed to be sinking deeper into despair. The only one who’d already gone through the stages of loss was Anastasia, and he felt her pour out her support to everyone who needed her. As he’d feared she would. But there was nothing he could do to stop that, to make her preserve herself, not give too much.
He now stood at the periphery of the jarringly sunny living room watching those who’d loved Alex flocking around his family in an effort to absorb a measure of their distress.
Then the agitation that had been rising and falling in jagged waves since they’d arrived crested again. The three people whose very presence tossed him from one lev
el of turmoil to a higher one were approaching him.
Anastasia, and his parents.
The one who addressed him, puffy-eyed and broken, was his mother. “Mr. Konstantinov, Ana told us everything you’ve done for her and Alex. We—we wanted to thank you, even if there’s nothing we could possibly say to express our gratitude.”
“But we are grateful, beyond expression, on behalf of everyone.” That was his father, looking nothing like the imposing figure he remembered, smaller, weaker, even helpless in his anguish. “Thank you, son.”
He’d once had a bomb shower him with shrapnel, almost tearing his leg right off. The word son from the father who’d given him away tore through him with far more force and pain.
His reaction must have shown, for Anastasia came between them, no doubt mistaking it for his dislike of thank-yous. “Ivan has a big problem with accepting thanks, so if you really want to express your gratitude, don’t.”
“But of course we have to express it,” his mother exclaimed, her eyes, glittering with tears as they fixed on his face, with something that was feverish in its intensity in their depths. A...question? “And if there’s ever anything at all we can do for you, we’d only be too happy and grateful to do it, my dear.”
The sheer kindness and eagerness in her expression, what was reflected in his father’s face as they awaited his response, felt like more stabs to his heart.
He could barely hold back from shouting, All I ever wanted was for you not to abandon me to a life of servitude.
As if feeling his critical condition, Anastasia intervened again. “I bet there’s nothing we mere mortals can ever do for Ivan.” His parents insisted that even the most powerful people had to need something, but she cut across their protests. “I’m sure if this is true, he won’t hesitate to ask. You can count on him to make his wishes known, right, Ivan?”
He found himself nodding, his gaze riveted on her face, mesmerized by what he saw. A glimpse of his old Anastasia, the woman who’d glowed with life and candor, who’d captured him from the first glance.
“But as you know,” she continued, “Ivan has already gone above and beyond and now he needs to go back to the life he’s put on hold for so long to be there for us.”
Clearly torn between disappointment that he’d leave and not wanting to impose on him, both his parents deluged him again with thanks and persistent hopes that he’d return whenever possible. It was all he could do to answer them coherently, then walk, not run, away from them.
His whole being in chaos, he felt Anastasia fall into step with him as he headed to the door. From her wary sidelong glances, it was clear she felt something was not right here, but was at a loss as to what it was and what had provoked it.
Not that he was about to explain. All he wanted now was to bolt as far away as possible from this place. Preferably to the ends of the earth, where he’d never lay eyes on his parents or the rest of his family ever again.
It would also serve Anastasia’s purpose, too. It hadn’t only been to save him from an uncomfortable situation that Anastasia had suggested he go. Clearly she, too, wanted him to leave. After all the time she’d been limited to only his company, she must have had way more than enough of it. Not to mention that he remained the odd man out here, and in this, of all times, she must be eager to be alone with her family.
But how could he just walk away this time, when he never wanted to leave her side again?
There was more to this than being unable to bear the thought of not seeing her again. Though she was out of danger, it was still a long road to complete recovery, physically and, more importantly, emotionally. She was outwardly holding together, being there for her parents, for Katerina, for the rest of the family, but he knew she was crumbling inside. And it wasn’t only the brutal loss of Alex, but her own ordeal. Most probably she’d suffer one degree or another of post-traumatic stress.
But he couldn’t help her himself now. If he stayed around to do so, he’d be too disturbed being in the vicinity of his family to offer her the stability she now needed. The best thing he could do was to make sure she had the best specialists to help her deal with the psychological repercussions. But he could not stay.
As she led him outside, he caught her arm in a gentle grip, stopping her.
The eyes that turned up to his were reddened, the lids swollen, her gaze hesitant and fragile. Yet those eyes were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, the most powerful weapon. They tore through his being with more force than bullets had torn through his flesh. For they made him want everything he couldn’t have. They made him weak. They overpowered him when nothing else ever had.
Fighting the overpowering compulsion to crush her to him, feeling as if shards of glass filled his throat, he said, “I know you have your family now, and that you never ask for help, but...I am here for you. Don’t let your independence or any other consideration stop you from letting me know what you need, now or at any time in the future. Promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, you’ll ask me for it.”
Her gaze clung to his, brightening with tears again, her still pale lips quivering in a semblance of a smile. “If I think it’s something you can do, sure.”
“I can and will do anything.”
Her eyes darkened and a faint flush spread over her now sharper cheekbones, seeping into her dainty lips as they opened on a tiny, sharp inhalation. He had no idea how he stopped himself from snatching her into his arms and devouring her.
Then with a nod that encompassed reluctance and acquiescence at once, she accepted his carte blanche.
Though he doubted she’d ever use it. He’d just have to keep watching her, even closer this time, and do a far better job at anticipating her needs and protecting her from the dangers of the world.
Then it was the moment. His role had ended, and his one-time pass back into her life had expired. He had to let go. Until she needed him again. Knowing her, barring another catastrophe, that would be never.
Knowing her loss would be a worse injury than what he’d suffered in the past, knowing he’d never recover from it, he said what he hadn’t the first time he’d walked away.
“Goodbye, Anastasia.”
Four
But I can’t say goodbye. Not again.
The words kept reverberating in Anastasia’s mind. Long after Ivan had brushed past her and walked to the limo that awaited him in the driveway. Long after it disappeared down the street.
And though the protest had exploded in her head when he’d said goodbye, out loud she’d said nothing. As if not saying goodbye herself wouldn’t make his real.
Instead, she’d just watched him go, willing him to turn, to say something else that wouldn’t make this final. Some promise he’d be back later, to at least check up on her. That this time he wouldn’t disappear from her life completely. That he’d leave the door ajar. Leaving it up to her to approach him, and only with a need, slammed it shut, this time forever.
Because she’d never ask anything of him.
But he hadn’t turned, not to qualify his goodbye, not even to give her one last look. She’d watched his limo until it turned the corner, still feverishly hoping that the man who hadn’t let her out of his sight for five weeks wouldn’t go like that. She had no idea how long she’d stood there before her hammering heart had slowed to the rhythm of resignation, the knowledge of the centerpiece fact she’d now have to build her new shattered life around.
He was never coming back.
It felt like her world had ended, for a third time. Two out of the three times it had happened, it had been on Ivan’s account.
But it wasn’t her world that mattered now. Her family needed her. It was what had finally made her walk back into the house full of all who’d loved Alex, where she’d plunged again in the surreal realm of being in his house knowing he’d nev
er be there again. Being among the people she’d been closest to since birth, contemplating all the ways their lives would be diminished and distorted in his absence had agonized her more with each passing second. But it had at least made it impossible to think of Ivan.
After a while, the presence of the mourners had turned from solace to suffocation for her parents and Cathy. As the one who’d dealt with the most brutal stages of Alex’s loss, it was up to her to take charge. Using up her last traces of stamina and diplomacy, she’d made everyone leave, put the shattered Cathy and kids to bed and taken her broken parents home.
Once she’d settled them down as best she could, and sought the sanctuary of her own room, she’d finally taken off the mask of strength. Closing the door behind her, she’d collapsed where she’d stood, letting misery drown her again.
Gone. Alex was gone.
And Ivan, too.
She’d lost him all over again.
Not that she’d ever had him. He’d only reentered her life on a mission. Once it was accomplished, there was no more reason for him to stick around. Now she knew why this demolished her.
When he’d been by her side day and night, she hadn’t been able to think ahead to the point in time when he’d leave again. She’d gotten so used to him being there it had felt as if the day would never come. That was why it had been such a shock when he’d not only walked away, but had also seemed as if he couldn’t bear being around her anymore, couldn’t wait to leave her behind.
That was what hurt until she couldn’t breathe. What made her feel as if the ground had been swept out from under her, making her feel she was plummeting into an abyss. Not only had he removed his support, but also his fervor to be around her.
But no matter how vulnerable and lost she felt without him, she knew it would have been worse if he hadn’t ended it now. Any longer with him, any more dependence on him, and his ultimate departure might have killed her. At least this way, she had a chance of survival.
Not that survival seemed like such a good thing now. For the few days since he’d left, she’d been going through the motions of living. Staying in both Alex’s home and her parents’, helping them with everyday chores, pretending things like food and homework and bath time and laundry mattered. Trying to ameliorate the unbearable. For herself and for them.