Chapter 54: Nail in the coffin
"I can’t do that," Aaron said quietly. "Isabella needs us, Freya. She’s lost everything. She has no family, no home, and she can’t see. She needs people who can make her feel safe."
"Why does that person have to be you?!" Freya demanded, pulling her face back just enough to glare up at him with tear-filled eyes.
"Give her a chance," Aaron coaxed gently, sweeping a loose strand of hair off her forehead. "Just try. For me."
"No!" Freya snapped, shaking her head violently.
Aaron let out a long, dramatic sigh, leaning his head back against the bedpost. "Ah... what am I going to do with you? What do I have to do to get you to eat your dinner?"
"Tell me you’re not getting married," Freya demanded, her voice dropping into a desperate plea.
Aaron paused. The question hung heavily in the dim light of the fairy lights.
He didn’t hesitate because he was unsure of his plans, but because he knew how much the truth was going to sting her.
"I am getting married, Freya," Aaron said quietly, his tone steady and final.
Freya felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. Jealousy, fear, and anger twisted inside her all at once. She stared up at his hard jaw, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Do you love her, Mishka?" she asked softly.
The question hit Aaron like a physical blow.
He went completely still. His hand stopped mid-stroke in her hair. His dark blue eyes locked onto hers, entirely caught off guard.
’Do I love her?’
The words echoed in his head, cold and loud. He had never used that word in his life.
Love was a foolish, dangerous concept in his world, a liability that got men killed and empires torn down.
He had brought Isabella here because he felt a deep, overwhelming need to shield her.
He liked the sound of her voice. He liked the smell of her skin. He liked watching her flush bright red when he teased her, and he felt a dark, lethal rage whenever anyone tried to hurt her.
He saw her as a small but incredibly fierce animal he wanted to take for himself.
He was protective of her. He wanted her near him. He wanted to give her everything she had lost.
But was that love?
He didn’t know. He had never stopped to put a name to the strange, heavy feeling in his chest.
That brief, quiet hesitation... the two long seconds where Aaron stared into space without an answer... was all Freya needed to see.
It was the final nail in the coffin. He didn’t say no. He didn’t laugh it off. He actually had to ’think’ about it.
A fresh wave of hurt washed over Freya’s face. She pulled back from his waist, sitting up and drawing her knees tightly back toward her chest.
Aaron snapped out of his thoughts, realizing instantly that the conversation had gone too far into territory he wasn’t ready to navigate.
He cleared his throat, setting his hands flat on his knees as he prepared to stand up.
"That’s enough questions about Isabella for one night," Aaron said, his tone shifting back into a firm, parental authority. "Eat your food before it gets cold."
"Stay," Freya commanded quietly, not looking at him.
Aaron paused, hovering half-raised over the mattress. "I thought you didn’t want me in your room."
"I changed my mind," she grumbled, pulling her blanket up to her chin. "Stay."
A tiny, amused twitch touched the corner of Aaron’s mouth. "You change your mind quite often."
"I don’t care. Sit down."
Aaron stayed for another three minutes, waiting until she finally picked up a piece of the grilled bread from the plate and took a slow, reluctant bite.
Satisfied that she wasn’t going to starve herself out of spite, he reached over, caught her chin in his broad hand, and squished her cheeks together until her lips popped out like a fish.
"Hey!" she squeaked, trying to swat his hand away.
"Finish the plate," Aaron ordered, leaning down to plant a brief, firm bump of his forehead against hers. "Finn and Pyotr are waiting downstairs. I’ll see you in the morning."
Freya watched him walk toward the door.
She knew exactly why he was leaving. He was going back to the terrace, back to the pale, blind girl sitting in the warm evening air.
A sour knot remained in her chest, but she didn’t call out to stop him again.
Aaron stepped out into the dark hallway, pulling the door closed until it clicked softly into place.
He stood alone in the corridor for a moment, the silence of the house settling around him. He raised a heavy hand, running it slowly over his jaw, his dark eyebrows pulling low.
"Love, huh?" he murmured to the empty hall.
A low, quiet breath slipped past his lips... halfway between an amused chuckle and a dark sigh.
"That’s inconvenient," he muttered to himself.
He straightened his sweatshirt, rolled his sleeves back up past his wrists, and turned to walk down the grand staircase toward the bright, noisy lights of the terrace.
Out on the covered terrace, the quiet evening had devolved into absolute chaos.
"No! No! I demand a rematch!" Finn’s frantic voice carried over the sound of the stone fountain. "Pyotr, you cheated! There is no way that word starts with a ’K’!"
"It’s English, kid," Pyotr’s gravelly voice drawled lazily from the sofa. "Learn the language or drink the juice."
"It’s not a real word!" Finn yelled, sitting across from Isabella at a low wooden table.
In the middle of the table sat a tall glass filled with a murky, terrifying purple liquid, a horrifying concoction Finn and Pyotr had mixed together using grape soda, pickle juice, cold tea, and a heavy dash of hot sauce.
Isabella was leaning back in her soft armchair, her head tilted back as she laughed freely, her cheeks flushed bright pink from the cool night air and the absolute absurdity of the game. Her hand was resting on Boyar’s head, the giant dog snoring softly at her feet.
"He’s right, Finn," Isabella said through her giggles, her voice light and musical. "You lost the round. Rules are rules."
"You’re siding with him?!" Finn gasped in mock betrayal. "I thought you like me, I thought we were best friends already."
Aaron stepped out through the glass doors, moving so silently across the stone tiles that no one noticed him until his broad shadow fell across the table.
He stood there, stopping a few feet away, his dark eyes fixing entirely on Isabella.
She was smiling... a real, wide, brilliant smile that showed her straight teeth, her blind green eyes crinkling at the corners. It was nothing like the terrified expression she had back in that tunnel.
The quiet, terrified tension that had hung over her since they left America seemed to have melted away under the silly, noisy warmth of his family.
A strange, quiet satisfaction settled deep inside Aaron’s chest. But right beneath it, Freya’s quiet question echoed in his mind again, heavier and harder to ignore than before.
’Do you love her?’
"MISHKA!"
Finn’s terrified shout shattered the moment. The boy spotted Aaron standing there and practically launched himself out of his chair, scrambling around the table to grab Aaron’s forearm like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.
"Save me!" Finn pleaded, pointing a dramatic finger at the glass of purple sludge. "They’re trying to poison me!"
Aaron looked down at the boy clinging to his sleeve, then glanced at the glass, and finally at Pyotr, who was leaning back on the cushions, laughing so hard he was silently shaking.
"What did you do?" Aaron asked, his tone flat.
"Your boy has lost six rounds of the word game," Pyotr wheezed out, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "He thinks ’Character’ is spelled with a ’K’."
"It sounds like a K!" Finn protested loudly. "It’s a scam! The whole game is rigged!"
"He says that every time he loses," Isabella added, her voice rich with amusement as she smoothed her skirt.
Aaron looked over at her. Hearing her speak, hearing the quiet confidence in her voice, made his mouth curve into a small, fond line.
"Aaron?" Isabella tilted her head, her sharp ears picking up the quiet shift in the air. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Aaron murmured, his voice warm and deep as he stepped past Finn and walked over to her chair.
Finn immediately grabbed the glass of purple juice and shoved it forward. "Your turn! If you’re so smart, you drink it!"
Aaron looked down at the terrifying purple concoction, then at Pyotr’s grinning face, and finally at Isabella, who was also waiting with an expectant, laughing smile.
Aaron let out a slow, amused breath, taking a seat on the wide arm of Isabella’s chair. "What exactly did I walk into?"