Sold to the Hitman(25)

My first night as a wife and I was already drenched in failure!

I cover my face with my hands and cry, letting the pent-up emotions finally bubble out of me, the tears streaking down my knuckles and into the bath water. I sit that way for quite some time, my shoulders shaking, my knees pulled to my chest, my long blonde hair floating like a massive halo around me in the water.

“What’s the matter?” asks a deep, throaty voice from the doorway.

Startled, I let out a gasp and wrap my arms around my knees, trying unsuccessfully to cover my exposed body in the bath. Andrei is standing near the door, even taller and broader than I remember. His black hair is slightly ruffled from sleep and his eyes have the faintest of dark half-moons below them. There’s stubble shadowing his jaw and his muscles ripple as he moves toward me slowly, with some trepidation.

“I — I hope I didn’t wake you,” I reply weakly, my voice thin and warbling from tears.

He stops suddenly and cocks his head ever so slightly, surveying me with an expression bordering almost on pity. I can see a flash of something like regret flicker in his eyes. Then he averts his gaze and keeps walking closer.

“You didn’t,” he answers simply, refusing to look at me even as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. He passes a large hand back over his hair and lets out a heavy sigh. Then he asks, with genuine concern, “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” I assure him, hastily wiping my face. “I’m alright. Just washing off.”

He starts to turn his eyes toward me again, then stops and shuts them. “May I — may I look at you?” he asks gruffly.

My heart swells a little at how gentlemanly he is. The rush of sudden affection I feel causes my lips to form the word, “Yes.”

With that, Andrei turns to fix his eyes on mine, his nearly-black gaze locking on me. To my surprise, I don’t feel ashamed to have him look at my naked body curled up like this. There is no cruelty, no disgust, no admonishment in his expression. He simply looks at me like I am fully-clothed, like I’m a regular person deserving of respect.

“I guess I’m a little homesick,” I admit finally.

Andrei nods slowly.

“I understand that,” he replies after a long pause.

I tilt my head to the side and, without thinking about it much, I reach for his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind that my hand is wet and pruny as he takes it in his.

“Where is your home?” I press, truly interested. I wonder what kind of land must produce a man like Andrei, all rugged lines and dark countenance.

“Siberia,” he answers.

I can feel my eyes growing large at this answer. I remember seeing the wide expanse of Siberia on world maps in my geography textbooks. It’s always been a total mystery to me, and in fact, I didn’t know that anyone really lived there. I’ve generally assumed it to be inhabited only by the occasional bear or reindeer.

“Really?” I ask breathlessly, staring up at him expectantly.

“I come from the coldest region inhabited by mankind,” he says.

“How cold?” I sit up straighter and move closer.

Andrei looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before stroking the hair back out of my face and caressing my cheek. Instinctively, I first wince at his touch before leaning into it. I am not used to such tender, intimate gestures. But I think I will probably love getting used to it.

“In my homeland, it is so cold in the winter that the air will freeze solid in your lungs if you dare draw a breath outside,” he explains, a twinkle of nostalgia in his eyes.

“How did you survive?”

He chuckles, a pleasant sound, surprising to hear from him. “Well, I held my breath and wore a lot of layers. Besides, it was all I ever knew back then.”

“Do you miss it? Do you miss your parents?” I ask, leaning forward to rest my chin on his boxers-clad thigh. He stiffens a little and I worry that it’s because of me.

But then he explains, “My mother and father died when I was very young.”

I sit back and hang my head in apology. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

Andrei takes my chin to tilt my head up and face him.

“You are my wife. You don’t have to apologize for asking about my past.”

At those words — ‘my wife’ — I feel my heartbeat quicken.

After a couple moments I add, “How do you deal with it? The homesickness, I mean.”

He gives me a sympathetic look. “I can take you to a place I go to forget my pain.”

“Where is it?” I ask.

Andrei gets up and hands me the black towel from the counter. “Dry off and get dressed and I will show you around the city. New York may not be the home I remember, nor is it the one you know, but it is the home we share together now. And it isn’t as bad as it may seem. I promise you that.”