One Month Later
Senna
“Where do we want this one? Living room or bedroom?” I said into the silence.
There was no answer, but I didn’t expect one. I had read in some book that babies responded to the sound of their mother’s voice, so I went out of my way to talk to him, wanted him to know I was there.
It helped me too. Talking to him, even without a response, helped me feel a little less lonely, sometimes gave me the strength to get through the day.
“Living room,” I said finally, walking toward the bare wall.
I didn’t have any pictures of my parents, but I’d found a beach painting that reminded me of them and decided to hang it on the wall. When it hung to my satisfaction, I nodded and then looked around the rest of the room. I had been careful with my funds, but had managed to make something that felt like home here, and I was proud of it.
For a while, I had considered leaving town, but that hadn’t felt right. Maxim was here, and knowing he was close by made me happy. A happiness that would disappear because Maxim would leave eventually. I couldn’t follow him and stay in the shadows just to maintain that slight promise of what would never be. This place was where I belonged.
My stomach growled, and I moved to the kitchen, trying to decide what to have to eat. It had taken some getting used to, but I was slowly getting comfortable with the idea of living on my own for the first time in my life.
There was a knock at the door and I stopped making dinner and went to answer it, expecting Adrian. It had been a couple of weeks since his last visit and he was due any day now.
But when I looked through the peephole, I didn’t see Adrian.
I paused, pressed my forehead against the front door, and debated whether or not to open it.
Missing him, longing for him, was something I had decided would be a part of my life forever, but I’d still managed to keep going, move on as best I could. I just didn’t know if that would continue if I let him back in.
My head told me to leave the door closed, but my heart, which had started to race when I had looked at him, wouldn’t let me send him away.
I opened the door.
He said nothing and walked in, his presence overwhelming, my reaction to him automatic.
I watched him as he surveyed the place, though I had no idea what he thought of it.
“This doesn’t meet with your approval,” I said, after several long moments of silence as Maxim appraised the room. The words were snide, but I decided I didn’t care.
He met my eyes, his icy, detached. “It’s lovely,” he said.
I believed him. Things had changed, but not so much that Maxim would resort to empty flattery.
“Um, thanks, I guess,” I said, feeling ever so slightly chastened by my earlier behavior.
He’d been looking at my face before, but he dropped his gaze to the still-small but growing protrusion of my stomach. When he looked back at my face, his expression was unreadable as always, but my heart continued to race in anticipation.
“I was making dinner,” I said, my voice wavering.
I didn’t wait for him to respond and instead turned and went back into my kitchen, and though I knew he followed, I ignored him.
His gaze stayed on me with every move I made, and as he watched, my emotions intensified, and I was filled by so many things, nervous, anxious, joyful at again being in his presence.
A tremble went through me at the feeling of his gaze on me, but I kept my back to him, continued making my dinner.
“I didn’t kill Santo,” he said.
I paused at that statement and then resumed. “So I heard. You have other plans for him?” I said.
“I do,” he said.
“Good for you,” I replied, still not looking at him, not trusting myself to stay strong in the face of my feelings for him.
“I love you,” he said.
I dropped the plate I held and turned to look at him.
“I love you,” he repeated.
I shrugged, the movement far more nonchalant than I actually felt, a complete counterpoint to the exhilaration that had run through me at his words. Still, his declaration, no matter how thrilling, couldn’t be enough to sway me. Because his love, much as I treasured it, didn’t mean he was ready to give me the life I deserved, the one where I knew this thing between us was more than an unfathomable connection, but real, true love, a relationship Maxim would openly acknowledge.
“When did you have this realization?” I asked.
“Ten years ago, but you know how stubborn I can be. I had to accept it in my own time,” he said.
I smiled despite myself but then quickly forced the expression away. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“I’d never said it before. You needed to know,” he said.