Chapter 78 Marlena
The farmhouse appeared at the end of a dirt road that wound through fields of lavender and wheat, a small stone building that looked like it had been standing there for centuries, weathered and solid and completely isolated.
Nikolai pulled the car up close to the front door and cut the engine, and we sat there for a moment in silence looking at the place that would be our home for however long we needed to hide this time.
It was old and grey with a tile roof that sagged slightly in the middle and shutters that hung crooked on their hinges, and I could see weeds growing tall around the foundation and ivy climbing the walls in thick tangles.
"It's not much," Nikolai said, and I could hear apology in his voice.
"It's fine," I said, because it was fine, I'd learned that safety mattered more than comfort and isolation mattered more than beauty.
I got out and carefully lifted Elena from her car seat, and she stirred but didn't wake, her face peaceful against my shoulder as I carried her toward the door while Nikolai unlocked it and pushed it open.
The inside was dim and smelled like wood and dust and something else that might have been mice or just old fabric, and when Nikolai found the light switch and flipped it nothing happened.
"Generator needs to be started," he said, moving through the darkness toward the back of the house with the kind of confidence that said he'd been here before and knew the layout.
I stood in the doorway with Elena and let my eyes adjust, making out shapes in the gloom, a kitchen table with chairs, a sofa covered in a sheet, stairs going up to what I assumed were bedrooms.
Light appeared in the back of the house and then spread as Nikolai worked his way through turning on lamps, and the farmhouse revealed itself in warm yellow light that made it look less abandoned and more just neglected.
I walked through the rooms slowly, Elena still asleep on my shoulder, and opened windows to let fresh air chase out the staleness, pushing the shutters wide and letting afternoon sunlight pour in across old wooden floors.
The kitchen had a wood stove and a sink with a pump handle instead of a faucet, and the cabinets when I opened them held canned goods and dried pasta and supplies that someone had stocked years ago and never used.
Upstairs were three bedrooms, all small with low ceilings and narrow windows, and I chose the one in the back that looked out over fields instead of the road, somewhere Elena and I could sleep without headlights waking us if someone drove past.
I made a nest of blankets on the floor in the corner away from the window, piling them soft and thick, and I laid Elena down carefully and watched her settle deeper into sleep with her tiny fists curled near her face.
She looked so peaceful lying there, so completely unaware of why we were here or what we were running from, and I felt the familiar ache of knowing that this wasn't what I wanted for her, this life of hiding and moving and never staying anywhere long enough to call it home.
But it was the life we had and I would keep her safe in it no matter what that required.
I went back downstairs and found Nikolai in the kitchen checking the locks on the windows and the back door, testing them methodically the way he always did in a new place, and then he went outside and I could see him through the window walking the perimeter of the property, looking at sight lines and access points and escape routes.
I stood in the doorway and watched him work, this ritual he performed every time we arrived somewhere new, this compulsive need to understand the space and identify the threats before he could relax even slightly.
When he came back inside I was still standing there.
"How long has Dorian been watching us?" I asked.
Nikolai stopped in the doorway and looked at me, and I could see him deciding whether to lie or deflect or tell me the truth, and I waited without saying anything else.
"I don't know exactly," he said finally, coming into the kitchen and closing the door behind him, "but I found a listening device in the Tuscany house two weeks ago, hidden in the lamp in the living room."
My stomach dropped. "Two weeks ago."
"Yes," he said.
"And you didn't tell me," I said, keeping my voice level.
"I wanted to be sure before I worried you," he said, "I sent it to a contact who confirmed it was professional grade, the kind intelligence services use, and then I started looking into who might have planted it."
"And you found Dorian," I said.
"I found a connection to Vienna," Nikolai said, leaning against the counter, "an arms dealer I used to work with who goes by several names, Dorian is one of them, and he's been collecting files on me for years, information about my contacts and operations and apparently now about my family."
I felt cold despite the warm air coming through the open windows.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"I don't know yet," Nikolai admitted, "leverage maybe, or he's working for someone who wants to find me, or he's just gathering intelligence to sell to the highest bidder."
"Are we in danger?" I asked, and I kept my voice calm even though my heart was beating faster.
"Probably not immediately," he said, "if he wanted us dead we'd already be dead, this feels more like surveillance than an active threat, but I can't be certain and I can't risk being wrong."
I nodded and turned away from him to look out the window at the fields stretching away toward distant trees.
"You should have told me sooner," I said.
Behind me I heard him take a breath and then let it out slowly.
"I know," he said, and his voice was quiet and steady and completely without excuses.
It was the first time he'd admitted something like that to me cleanly, without trying to explain it away or justify why he'd kept secrets, and I turned back to look at him.
He was watching me with those grey eyes and I could see guilt there, real guilt and not just the performance of it, and something in my chest loosened slightly.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?" he repeated, like he'd expected more of a fight.
"I don't like that you kept it from me," I said, "but I understand why you did, and I appreciate that you're being honest now instead of making up reasons why it was the right call."
He nodded and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.
I turned back to the cupboards and started pulling out cans, reading labels in the fading light, tomatoes and beans and tuna that was probably years old but still sealed.
"We should eat something," I said, setting cans on the counter, "it's been hours and Elena will wake up hungry soon."
I heard Nikolai move behind me and then he was there beside me at the counter, reaching for the can opener in the drawer I'd just opened, his shoulder brushing mine.
"I'll get the stove going," he said.
"The pump needs priming," I said, "there's probably a well out back."
"I'll check," he said, and he went out the back door while I opened cans and dumped them into a pot I found hanging from a hook.
The kitchen filled with the smell of tomatoes and garlic as the stove heated up, and Nikolai came back with water sloshing in a bucket and poured it into the reservoir on the side of the stove.
We moved around each other in the small kitchen with the easy coordination of people who'd learned each other's rhythms, him stirring while I cut bread, me setting the table while he checked on Elena upstairs, both of us working toward the same goal without needing to discuss it.
The sun was setting through the western window when we sat down to eat, painting the walls orange and gold, and I looked across the table at Nikolai and thought about how many times we'd done this now, arrived at a new place and made it livable, turned a house into something that could hold us for however long we had.
"Thank you for telling me," I said, "about Dorian."
"You deserved to know," he said, "I should have told you immediately."
"You should have," I agreed, "but you told me now and that's something."
He reached across the table and took my hand and held it while we ate with our free hands, and outside the window the French countryside settled into evening and somewhere upstairs our daughter slept safe in her nest of blankets.