Chapter 42 The Study
The house had gone quiet.
Anya sat in the study which was the room where she'd first discovered the ledger and where everything had begun. The fire had burned low, leaving only embers and shadows. She hadn't moved in hours, not since Lena's silent exit and Dima going after her.
Her mind was a battlefield.
Anger at what Dima had hidden from her even though she understood the reason why he did that and fear of what Lena would do.
The door opened with Dima standing at the doorway, the light from the hall spilling around him and stretching his shadow across the floor. His face stayed still, eyes fixed somewhere past her, but his shoulders sagged slightly, as if the weight of the day was still pressing down on them. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a slow breath.
"Lena, she refused to talk, I tried to explain everything but all she said was that she understood" he said quietly.
Anya nodded slowly. "And?"
"And she's leaving tomorrow as early as possible. She said this place brings back too many bad memories." Anya's eyes dropped to her hands, fingers knotting together in her lap. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension. He took a step closer, his voice low and husky. "She said I was lucky to have found someone who looked at me the way you do."
The words hit her like a wave, leaving her breathless. Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn't meet his gaze. She felt like she was melting into the chair, her heart pounding in her chest.
He paused, his eyes locked on hers, searching for something. "Anya?" he whispered, his voice a gentle caress.
Anya's throat tightened, her voice trapped behind a lump. She shook her head, trying to process the emotions swirling inside her. "I...I don't know," she whispered back, her eyes finally meeting his. The look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I know I messed up," his shoulders sagged slightly.
Anya's gaze never wavered, with a soft voice she said, "you did."
He nodded, his eyes still on the ground. "I was wrong to keep it from you."
Her fingers twisted together in her lap, a small, tired gesture. "You were."
He took a deep breath, his gaze lifting to hers. "I was trying to protect you, Anya. Not just from my father, but from the whole mess."
Anya's eyes narrowed slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "How's that protection?"
His face twisted, a mix of regret and frustration. "It's not, I see that now.”
He stood over her, his voice pouring out like a confession. "I'm laying it all out now, Anya. Every step, choice and angle I played." His eyes drilled into hers, vulnerable and exposed.
"The clause wasn't about locking you in, It was about keeping you out of his reach. Keeping you safe from him using you to get to me." His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I know I screwed it up making it look like control but it was protection, Anya. Twisted protection, but protection all the same."
Anya's chest rose and fell with each breath, her eyes searching his face. She didn't blink or look away, but studied him like she was trying to see inside his soul.
She searched his face, looking for the lie but finding only truth.
"Why didn't you just say that?"
"Because I'm an idiot." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Because I've spent thirteen years learning to hide, to maneuver and to keep my cards close. I forgot that with you, I don't need cards, I just need honesty."
The anger was still there, banked but not gone. But beneath it, something else stirred which was unerstanding and want.
"You hurt me," she whispered.
"I know." His voice cracked. "I'll spend the rest of my life making up for it, if you let me."
His eyes dropped while his shoulders tense with anticipation.
Anya's gaze drifted over him, taking in the lines etched on his face and the faint tremble of his lips. She saw the cracks in him and the weight he carried making her mind to spun with fragments of the past.
Her eyes lingered on his face, searching for answers. They'd weathered storms, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tired but she'd also seen the fight in him, the spark that refused to die.
"Come here."
He crossed the remaining distance in two steps.
She didn't wait, she reached for him first, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, dragging him down to her mouth. The kiss wasn't soft, It was everything she hadn't been able to say, the fury, ache and the months of wanting him even when she hated him for it. She kissed him the way you break something you can't stand to hold anymore.
He made a low sound against her lips and then his arms were around her, one hand fisting in her hair, the other pressing flat against the small of her back, crushing her against him like he was afraid she'd change her mind like she'd done it before.
The argument was still in her blood. She could feel it, the heat of it and the sharp unresolved edge but it had nowhere to go but this.
They moved without deciding to, her hip caught the corner of the side table, she hissed against his mouth but didn't stop. He turned her steering her backward through the room, she felt the bookshelf hit her shoulder blades before she registered they'd moved at all.
His hands moved from hair to her face then to he held the curve of her jaw like something precious and breakable then he moved down to her waist, gripping hard enough that she'd feel it tomorrow. She grabbed his shirt with both fists, pulling, needing less fabric between them just wanted to feel the actual heat of him.
"Anya." Just her name cost him something like it always had.
"Don't stop." She worked the hem over his head pressing her palms flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat which was fast, unsteady, matching hers. She tilted her face up to his. "Don't ever stop."
He lifted her without warning, hands finding the backs of her thighs making her wrap her legs around him automatically, the bookshelf solid and cold at her back. A spine dug into her shoulder but she didn't care. He was all heat and solid weight against her, she hooked her ankles together pulling him closer.
His mouth dropped to her throat, the soft skin below her ear then her collarbone. He was unhurried about it, deliberate even when his hands were shaking. She let her head fall back against the shelf, eyes closing, a book tilting sideways near her ear.
"Tell me what you need." His voice had gone rough, stripped of everything careful. "Tell me."
"You." She reached between them, fumbling with his belt, the small metal click of it too loud in the quiet room. "Just you that's all I want.”
He entered her in one slow, devastating motion and she gasped, the sound swallowed against his shoulder, her whole body going still and then immediately restless. He paused, forehead dropping to hers, breathing hard.
She shook her head against him. "Move please."
He moved.
The rhythm built fast, urgent, almost punishing, the way arguments end when words have run out and there's only this left. Every push of his hips was a sentence, every exhale against her neck was an admission neither of them could make standing upright and clothed while looking at each other across the room. The bookshelf knocked against the wall, a dull rhythmic thud, a book dropped to the floor. She heard it distantly, a soft thump but neither of them turned to look.
Her nails found his shoulders and dug in. She felt the muscle there, the tension, the slight flinch he didn't pull away from. His breath came hot and ragged against the side of her neck. She could feel his pulse in his throat when she pressed her lips there, frantic and quick, not so different from hers.
They moved together like they were settling something. Like this was the only language left between them that told the truth.
The pressure built low and deep, tightening with each movement, and she held onto him with everything she had, hands, legs, the press of her forehead to his temple until her breath went ragged and her thoughts dissolved into pure sensation.
Then his voice, wrecked and barely above a whisper, against her hair:
"I love you." A pause. Another thrust, slower, devastating. "I love you so much and it terrifies me."
The words hit her somewhere behind the sternum, broke something loose she hadn't known was clenched.
She couldn't answer but could only hold on as the tension crested and shattered through her, her release ripped through her, wave after wave, and she cried out his name. He followed moments later, his body tensing, his groan muffled against her shoulder.
They stayed like that, pressed together against the bookshelf, breathing hard, hearts pounding.
Slowly, gently, he lowered her to her feet. They were both disheveled, both changed, the anger was gone, burned away in the fire of their joining.
He cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers.
"I need you to trust me for seventy-two more hours."
Anya's eyes searched his. "What happens in seventy-two hours?"
"Enough." He kissed her softly, a promise. "Enough to end this, to free us and to start over." He pulled back, looking at her with eyes that held everything. "Can you do that? Can you trust me for three more days?"
She thought of everything they'd survived, built and the once ahead.
"Yes," she whispered. "Three more days."
He kissed her again, soft and reverent.
Outside, the house settled into silence, the embers died in the fireplace while the books stood witness.