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“Did you grab something for dinner?” I ask, ignoring her uproar.
“What are you doing?” she asks, pointing at the flat scanner by her door. “And did you change my security cameras?” She looks so mad you’d think I broke into her house.
“Yes. These ones are equipped with high-resolution lenses.”
“I’ll, um, I’ll go ahead and empty the car,” Kina says while grabbing bags.
Ana’s nostrils flare slightly, though she swallows her annoyance. “Don’t just stand there,” she addresses me.
We all enter with some of the grocery haul.
“Let me put things away while you two, um, talk,” Kina offers with a barely hidden smirk.
“Thanks,” I say before Ana can object. “I need to walk you through the new security system.”
Ana stomps ahead of me. Every piece of furniture we pass in the foyer, living room, and dining room is expensive and color coordinated like a five-star resort. She puts some distance between us and the kitchen, a sure sign that I’m about to be read the riot act.
Past the formal areas is another room, different from all the rest. With its floor-to-ceiling windows through which the last of the sunlight filters in, it’s something between a library and a sunroom. The room favors warm comfort instead of color coordination, personal details over design concepts. Family pictures are scattered throughout: on a wooden desk, on the fireplace mantle, on the walls.
There are two high-backed armchairs with seats that look deep and soft enough to sink into. Blankets are strewn over both chairs and a pile of books sits on a side table. The room’s centerpiece is an enormous fireplace of intricately designed stone. Potted plants are in every corner, the scent of gardenias wafting in the air. Adjacent to the wall of windows is a built-in bookcase bursting with books.
This is Ana’s space. It smells like her, and it feels like a window into something she never shows the world.
Speaking of windows…
“Each pane needs an individual alarm sensor,” I say while closing the luxurious drapes. When it’s dark outside, this room is practically a lit stage.
“Enough,” she says with a shaky exhale. “Stop with the alarms and the surveillance and the worry,” she hisses. “I refuse to live with your paranoia, Bryce.”
“It’s only paranoid if the threat is unwarranted.”
She stands by the gas fireplace and flicks a switch. Flames dance and heat surges. The glow from the logs kisses her face and I’m compelled to sit down before I do something stupid. Like kiss her on every inch of skin made radiant by the flames.
Surprising me, she takes the other seat and leans her temple on a fist. “The house I grew up in has a room exactly like this one. It was my father’s private office.”
“The one in Connecticut.”
“Yeah, that one,” she confirms before looking at me. “It’s the only thing from that house I wanted to take with me.”
I offer one nod, hoping she’ll continue if I don’t disturb her train of thought.
“This is my first house, Bryce. As in mine.” She’s earnest with conviction, her scowl deepening. “I lived with my mother and then Sergei and Maeve before heading off to college,” she continues past a clenched jaw. “Even though I had my own apartment in Moscow, the building belonged to my father.”
A charged silence descends. It feels sacred to hear about something so meaningful to her. But her confession doesn’t lessen my determination to make a fortress of her home. I protect what matters to Ana because I’m made to protect her.
Unfortunately, being shit with speeches, all I come up with is, “It’s a beautiful house, Ana.”
“And it’s safe,” she states with resolve. “I’m not stupid. Top-of-the-line precautions are in place. Stop making me feel like I’m constantly under attack.”
“We don’t know that you’re not. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
“It’s not your job, Bryce!” she bursts out and hits her closed fists on her knees as she leans forward. “It was never your job!”
Ana slams her hand over her mouth, as if she could stem the flow of all the words unspoken between us. Or maybe she wants to shove down any reference to our past. Too late.
Spending the last two days with her has made a rubble of the defenses I had built around me. Defenses that have kept me from succumbing to brutal doubts and utter insanity.
It’s one thing for Ana to defy my protocols or mock my seriousness, a whole other thing to refer to the events and choices that defined the last thirteen years.
