Chapter 43 — Katerina

The hotel was beautiful. If we had come here at another time, I might have been able to relax, to sprawl across the plush bed with its blue coverlets, to gaze out of the suite's windows with their view of the lake, or perhaps to sink into the bubbly hot tub and have a drink, a laugh even, with the girls. But this was far from the time to act like I was on vacation. I was too terrified at what might come for us, too upset at the paparazzi picture that was splashed in Harper's Bazaar (the Italian version, of course) featuring the four of us in the Italian airport.

I had prayed. I had closeted myself in the bathroom and screamed into a towel out of sheer emotion, out of innate terror and sorrow at what might happen, overwhelmed by my fear of being out of control. Of the thought that someone was out there, intent on hurting Alexander and me, on hurting so many of the people that I cared for…After all my years of following after Christ, I thought I would have learned by now that God was the only one in control. But I was only human, only filling that insurmountable gap bridged between God and animal, between mortal and immortal—which yearned to think of itself as higher than base instinct, yearned to think of itself as the master of its fate.

Pride, the most insurmountable sin and force of human nature, made us think we were able to control our own lives and made it so very difficult to let God take control. Let, because despite everything He had given us free will, had allowed us to choose between following after him and following after our worldly desires. Every day that I woke up I did my best to choose the former and not the latter. But I had shattered that promise today when I had doubted.

When I had doubted that God had a plan for me, one that might diverge wildly from my hopes and dreams, or one that could fulfil them. I had to trust Him, even in this storm, and to trust that His plan for me was nothing short of the best. But I could not even touch on the possibility that Alexander's plane might crash between New York and Italy, that the shooter might find us, that the shooter might not even be in Italy and was somewhere in New York, hiding out and looking for ways to further hurt us…The potential endings were varied, some ludicrous and the product of a paranoid mind, others seeming very real and far too close.

The only ending was going to be a happy one. I had to remember that, even as I paced the tiled bathroom floor and ran a brush through my hair with severe yanks that made me think I was pulling out a tad too many strands. Even as I couldn't stop myself. Even as I needed the pain to keep my mind clear and away from the realms of horrifying thoughts, even as I needed it—Stop. The only thing, the only one you need is God. I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and set the brush down, wringing my hands in front of me as I stared into the mirror. I was a mess. But it was fine to be that way.

David had poured out his heart to God, had complained to Him and wailed to Him about all of his problems, his anguish, his desires, in the book of Psalms. The entire psalter was a long, extended prayer that encapsulated nearly the entire range of human emotion—so why couldn't I pray like that now? There was no need to present a perfect front to the God who could see everything anyway. I lowered myself slowly to my knees on the cold floor and whispered a hoarse prayer.

"God, please help me. Please give us all Your strength and Your peace to get through this ordeal. Please, protect Alexander and all the girls and me from our enemies. Guide the police in their search for the shooter as Abigail is calling them now. Thank You for keeping us safe so far and I pray if it is Your will, that you would continue to do so. And Lord…Father, help me to forgive the shooter, for he does not know what he is doing or who he is hurting. I pray this in Your Son's precious Name, Amen."

Someone rapped on the door. "Katerina? It's me. Are you okay? You've been in there a long time."

"I'm fine now." I collected myself, getting up from the floor. "Thanks for asking."

"No problem. Oh, and Alexander and my dad have just arrived, by the way." The effervescence returned to her previously dreary tone. "He's asking for you."

I didn't have to ask which he Abigail was referring to, and as I stepped out of the bathroom, I marvelled at how much had changed since our first meeting. How a few months ago I would have been surprised by the notion of my fiancé asking for me—how now it felt natural and easy, to be with him.

As I pushed open the door, I tripped on the uneven flooring as it switched from tile to carpeting, and nearly would have fallen if it wasn't for the pair of solid arms that caught me.

"You're far too clumsy, you know," came Alexander's voice. Not quite icy, not quite warm—but it sounded just right to me. "All these accidents. First, you run into the path of a speeding bullet, now this..."

I choked back a sudden sob, though these were tears of joy this time, and buried my face in his shoulder. "It's good to see you again."

He smiled against my cheek. "Likewise, love."

My heart twisted at the endearment, so unfamiliar yet sounding so right as it escaped his lips. "Love you, too."

It shocked me still, that he had turned from someone who caused the storms in my life to the one whom I could rely on as I faced life's battles. I didn't think it would ever stop surprising me. Ultimately, I knew only God was genuinely, utterly trustworthy—but Alexander was certainly more than welcome support.

Sylvia cleared her throat as she stepped into the entrance of the suite. "This is super cute and all, you two, but in case you've forgotten, we have an attempted murderer to catch."

We broke apart. I gazed down, flushing with embarrassment while Alexander simply walked calmly past her, taking my hand, and leading me into the main area where everyone else was already sitting.

+

"So, I have good news and bad news. The good news is, our PI has agreed to switch tactics and begin looking for the shooter using his connections in Italy," announced Aaron Steele. "The bad news, well, I think Abigail will be able to say that better."

"I talked to the police here," she said. "And…they have refused to help us look for the shooter."

"I don't understand, Abby. Why won't the police help us look for him?" With Alexander's arm firmly wrapped around my waist, the two of us situated on the couch across from where the rest of the girls were draped over various pieces of furniture: the two matching wicker chairs, the queen bed, and one spinning, office-type chair that Georgia was rolling on a tad too excitedly. I noticed that Alexander's father was standing stiffly by the bathroom door, listening in to our conversation.

"They said that since he's an American citizen, they need to summon the American police. Useless, the whole lot of them," she huffed with a rather dramatic tone that I might have expected from Georgia. "But frankly, I think there's something more…sinister at play."

The rest of them delved into a heated discussion, full of complaints and frank disgust as well as ridiculous suggestions about mafia interference.

I hardly recognized the words being thrown about as I scoured the room, a pang in my chest making me feel like I was missing something.

"Alex," I said slowly. "Where's my brother? Why didn't he come as well?"