Felicity
When I wake up, groggy and rising out of a nightmare in which Barinov’s slug-like hands were literally slugs, their slime trails crawling all over me, I reach across the bed for Roma. I want to feel the solidness of him. The solidness which tells of safety and security. The solidness which tells me that he’s here and nobody can hurt me. The solidness of a man protecting his woman. It’s something I’ve never sought before. Something I’ve never needed. I didn’t need a hero to protect me. A Knight in Shining Armor, Mr. Right, etc., etc. I never needed any of that. But circumstances have changed and I’m more adaptable than I thought.
I reach across, longing for his solid arm, the firm muscle of it . . .
But he’s not there.
I listen, trying to hear if he’s walking down the hallway, returning from the bathroom. But there’s nothing. Except for a light breeze whistling whistles against the cottage, the night is silent.
I sit bolt upright. Roma!
I jump to my feet and creep as quickly as I can through the house, down the stairs. I stop at the door to the living room. Bear sits in one of the armchairs, smoking a pipe, the crackling embers a low orange glow in the darkness. His eye looks small and strange above the dim light.
“Where is he?” I breathe.
Just looking into Bear’s face tells me something is wrong. I don’t know the man well, but even a complete stranger could tell he looks pained, like he’s just lost something very important.
“Where is he?” I repeat.
Bear sighs. “Up the hill,” he says.
“Sneakers!” I demand.
“The cupboard under the stairs,” he says. “The previous owner was a woman. Think she left some boots.”
I spring to the cupboard, throw it open, and root through the darkness. My hands fumble over an old mop head and other random bits and pieces, seemingly designed to obstruct me at this very moment. I’m painfully aware that every moment I search here, Roma is getting farther and farther away. But why? my mind demands. Why would he do this? He was sent to save me! I try to pretend that it’s just business. I’ll have him fired for this! I roar as my hands finally find the boots, mud-crusted and beat-up, but serviceable.
I run to the stairs, sit down, and pull the boots on. But it’s nothing to do with his employment. It’s me. He’s running from me. It’s been less than a week and already my feelings for this man dwarf any of my past encounters. If you piled my affection for Roma and my affection for the men before him, one pile would reach the stars and the other could be mistaken for a gopher mound.
When the boots are on, I don’t waste any time. I jog to the door and throw it open.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Bear calls from the living room. “Roma’s an inscrutable man, aye, like a sheet of rock.”
“He’s not as inscrutable as you think,” I reply, thinking of the tender moments between us, the kiss, sleeping close together, the way he charged to protect me from Barinov without a second thought.
I run into the night, through the grass and toward the hill.
When I reach the bottom of the hill, I look up. There, silhouetted against stars and moonlight, stands Roma. He’s a shadow and I can’t possibly be sure, but I think he’s watching me.
“Stay where you are!” I shout.
He turns away.
I growl under my breath. What were all those hours in the gym for, if not for this? Ignoring the way the boots weight my feet down, I sprint up the hill, pumping my legs beneath me. They still ache from the swim, but I ignore it.
You’re not getting away from me, I think. There’s no way in hell. You saved me, now stick by me!
I sprint so fast I reach the top of the hill in less than five minutes. I stand at the top, stretching my legs and searching the landscape below. About ten miles away, a small village sits within the grasslands, lights shining from the windows. I walk to a tall tree and lean against it, getting my breath back.
Maybe he’s gone to the village—
He steps out from behind the tree.
“Felicity,” he says, shrouded in darkness.
I turn to him. “Roma.”