Chapter 28 Tonight, We Stay
Chapter – POV Catherine
Liam’s been sitting next to me on the rug for almost half an hour, back against the couch, arms crossed tight. He hasn’t said a word, but he hasn’t moved either. The bed’s empty. We both know neither of us is sleeping in it tonight.
“What if we put something on?” I say quietly. “A movie? Anything.”
“Okay,” Liam mutters, glancing at the dark TV screen. “But I’m still not tired.”
“Liam, the guy’s gone.”
He scrapes a fingernail against the rug, the other hand fisted on his knee. “Yeah, but now I feel like we’re gonna hear something every five minutes.”
“Mmm.”
I sigh and put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing slow circles through his hoodie. He doesn’t shrug me off. That’s something.
I hate that damn reporter for scaring him like this.
And I hate that I can’t make it better.
If Mom were here, she’d know what to say. She always did.
The door opens and Anastasia walks in with a sleeping bag slung over her shoulder.
“Ana… is that a sleeping bag?”
She nods. “I’m staying here with you tonight. To keep watch.”
My chest goes tight. She’s done this before. Too many times.
Liam sits up a little straighter. “You’re really gonna sleep here?”
“All night,” she says.
Liam and I exchange a look. He likes Anastasia. We both do. We look at her like she’s got answers for everything.
But even as she unrolls the sleeping bag, her eyes keep flicking to the windows. Maybe sleeping in here helps her as much as it helps us.
“You know what?” I say.
“What?” they answer together.
“What if, just for tonight, we all sleep in my room?”
Liam’s eyes light up a fraction. “Like when we were kids?”
“Exactly like that.”
I turn to Anastasia. “Honestly, I’d like to be protected too. You okay with that?”
She smiles faintly and nods.
Ten minutes later, Liam and I are crammed onto my narrow bed, and Anastasia’s stretched out on her sleeping bag on the floor.
“Can you tell me something, Cat?” Liam murmurs. His voice is already heavy.
I start talking about Dad. About the summers we spent camping in the backyard, pretending the garden was the woods.
Before I finish the second story, he’s out cold.
Anastasia isn’t. She’s staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open.
I slide out of bed carefully and sit beside her on the rug. The carpet’s rough under my fingers. The apartment’s cold at night since the heating gave up.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She just nods.
I don’t ask permission. I take her hand. Her fingers are cold.
“You know, Mom would’ve been proud of you tonight. You handled it. For Liam especially.”
She turns her head toward me. Her big brown eyes are shiny, not full yet, but close.
“Really?”
“Absolutely. You’re just like her.”
A sad little smile pulls at her mouth. “How?”
“Like this. She used to crawl into my bed when I had nightmares. She’d hold me tight and make up stupid stories until I passed out. She protected me all the time. Just like you protect Liam.”
Her smile wavers.
“Sometimes I can’t remember her.”
Her voice is rough, like she’s embarrassed to admit it out loud.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Time’s a jerk, Ana. It blurs everything. But trust me—when you least expect it, a memory will hit you. A smell, a sentence, something stupid.”
An ambulance siren wails outside. For a second the room flashes blue-red.
I see the tears sitting on her cheeks. She doesn’t wipe them.
“Do you remember her?”
“I do,” I say without hesitating. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember her for both of us.”
I lean closer and start talking. Low, like Liam might still hear us even asleep.
I tell her about Mom’s three-week breakdancing phase. Three weeks of failed moonwalks in the living room, falling onto the rug, cursing when she landed on her tailbone.
“She wore a red headband and fingerless gloves. Thought it made her authentic.”
Ana lets out a muffled laugh. “She was serious?”
“Dead serious. She made me film it. I’ve still got the video somewhere. If I ever show you, you’ll understand why I quit dancing for life.”
I keep going. I tell her about the glitter ballet flats Mom saved for six months to buy. Dad and Mom refused, said it was a waste. So she saved every two-euro coin in a shoebox under her bed. The day she got them, she wore them for a week straight. Even to sleep.
“She clacked down the hallway at 7 a.m. Dad lost his mind.”
Ana smiles for real this time. “That sounds like her.”
I tell her about the cake.
“For my 13th birthday, Mom and Dad went skiing in Geneva. They sent me a postcard: Best wishes from Mom and Dad. Nothing else.”
The old anger rises, warm and familiar.
“Sienna said, No way. That was the second time I’d ever heard her say that. The first was when she was nine and refused to eat spinach.”
I pause and laugh.
“She stayed up all night making a cake. The next morning she blindfolded me and led me to the kitchen. It was beautiful. Pink and white, with sugar hearts.
I still remember her smile when she took the blindfold off. She was so proud.
I took a bite.”
Ana frowns. “And?”
“And it was disgusting. She’d used salt instead of sugar.
I think I’ll never forget that taste. But we didn’t want to waste it, so we crumbled it in a bowl, added ice cream and chocolate syrup, and ate it while watching Titanic.”
My voice catches a little.
“She told me, See, Cat? Even when it’s messed up, you fix it. You don’t throw it away.”
Ana doesn’t answer right away. She squeezes my hand.
“Your mother was wonderful, Liam. Even if you forget everything else, don’t ever forget that.”
I correct her automatically. “Liam.”
“Liam, right. Sorry.”
Silence.
I glance sideways. Ana’s eyes are closed now. Her breathing’s slow, even. She’s finally let go.
I kiss her forehead lightly, the way I used to do for Liam when he was little.
“Sleep, Ana. I’ve got watch.”
I stay sitting beside her for another minute, just to make sure she’s really out. Her face looks softer asleep. She’s 26, but she looks 19. She only looks older when she’s awake and carrying everything.
I stand up slowly. My knees crack. Old.
Liam’s sprawled across the bed, half on my pillow, half on my duvet. He’s stolen most of it. I pull it back over him and brush his hair out of his face. It’s soft. Too soft for a kid who acts like he’s tough.
The living room’s a controlled mess. I cleaned in a panic when Eric stopped by this afternoon.
I see Liam’s old soccer ball sticking out from under the armchair. Eric saw it, I’m sure. He pretended not to, but his eyes caught it.
I pull it out. It smells like mothballs and dust.
“Ugh,” I mutter, dropping it on the floor.
I could wash it. I won’t. It’s the ball Dad used to kick around with him in the park, before.
I collapse onto the couch. The fabric creaks.
I close my eyes for one second. Just one.
And there’s Liam’s face when Eric talked to him.
Not suspicious. Not in full “protect my sister” mode.
The face of a kid who’s being spoken to like an equal.
Eric got down on his level. He didn’t baby him. He answered straight.
And when Liam said, What about my dad? Did you check?, Eric didn’t dodge it.
Yeah. He’s not connected to this.
It was blunt, but it was true. And Liam felt that.
I rub a hand over my face.
Shit.
The rule was simple: no feelings. Contract, sex, end of story.
But when a guy like Eric kneels down to talk to your 14-year-old brother without talking down to him, the rule takes a hit.
Ana shifts in her sleep and mumbles something.
I lean toward her.
“You sleeping okay?”
“Mmm,” she answers without opening her eyes.
“Good. Sleep.”
I stay there in the dark, listening to Liam’s breathing and hers.
The apartment’s quiet. Not the empty quiet of the afternoon. The full kind. The kind where, for now, everyone’s here. Safe.
I think about what Ana said earlier: You need more than sex. You need support.
She’s right.
For two years I’ve pretended I can hold it all alone. That Liam only needs me. That I don’t need anyone.
It’s not true.
I need Ana. I need to sleep without one eye on the door.
And, damn it, I need Eric. Even if I don’t want to admit it.
The guy’s an asshole. Arrogant, controlling, he gives orders like I’m entry-level staff.
But he was patient with Liam.
He said I’ll handle it and he did.
He could’ve sent someone. He came himself.
I grit my teeth.
It doesn’t change anything.
It doesn’t change the fact that if I let myself slip, I lose everything. My job. My pride. The little control I have left.
I look at Ana. She’s asleep, cheek pressed against the rug.
I look at Liam. He’s asleep, a half-smile on his face. He’s probably dreaming about scoring a goal.
I close my eyes.
For tonight, that’s enough.
For tonight, I let go of the contract, Eric, and the fear.
For tonight, we’re just three people sleeping under the same roof without being followed.
Tomorrow, we’ll see.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to being Catherine Hale, Eric Oryolov’s assistant, professional, detached, untouchable.
Tomorrow I’ll pretend nothing happened.
But tonight…
Tonight I let Ana keep holding my hand.
Tonight I let Liam steal my duvet.
Tonight I breathe.
And for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep before they do.