Page 26 of Power's Fall

She was one of those rare people capable of living in the minute, appreciating where she was and what she was seeing. Listening to her describe the sights, smells, and sounds no doubt made her viewers feel like they were truly there with her. Hell, he actually WAS with her and she was drawing his attention to things he’d overlooked.

Montana was clearly enjoying his role as cameraman, moving as Dahlia spoke, making sure to fully capture everything she mentioned. She had spent nearly an hour before breakfast teaching Montana how to use the small but powerful camera, giving him some tips on when to zoom and when not to.

“And cut,” Montana said dramatically when Dahlia signaled that she was finished. As they’d done after every snippet was filmed, she and Montana put their heads together, checking the footage in the small viewfinder in case they needed to shoot the scene again.

Vadisk expected the sadness he’d experienced last night to return, but it didn’t. All that lingered now was the arousal as he acknowledged how good the two of them looked together, and he felt a growing sense of pride in knowing they were his.

Of course, the arousal and pride were foolish emotions, considering he’d acted like a bear with a thorn in his paw since the moment he’d met them. If he continued acting like such an asshole, they were likely to pitch him over the mountainside and into the sea.

However, as they continued on and with each step they took, with each awe-inspiring spot they’d stopped to capture on film, Vadisk felt his grumpiness fade away. It was nearly impossible to be in a bad mood around these two people.

“Should we continue on?” Vadisk suggested, gesturing down toward the beach. Most of the other people on the trail were farther behind them, so it was easy to pretend they were the only ones on the path and that they’d found their own personal paradise. The views of the sea truly were breathtaking.

For the briefest of moments, Vadisk was tempted to take Dahlia’s hand, to hold it as they walked, but he resisted, aware such a thing would be too dangerous, even in private.

“Are you actually planning to post episodes about Crimea?” Vadisk asked, initiating a conversation in hopes of making a better impression. “Or is all this filming just for show?”

“Why wouldn’t I post episodes? Crimea is beautiful, the history here fascinating and tragic in many ways,” Dahlia said, spinning around to take in the stunning view of the sea. “But I know once we start actually investigating, filming becomes the last priority. I suppose I’ll have to see how much footage I capture.”

“You might want to get the camera out again,” Vadisk said, pointing to a small alcove in the rocky cliff. “We’re approaching Grotto Golitsyn.”

“Grotto?” Montana stopped walking, looking alarmed.

“It’s one of the highlights of this walk,” Vadisk explained.

Dahlia blinked in surprise, then shot Vadisk a dazzling smile that almost knocked him on his ass. Sad that the bar was so damned low, knowing one fact about Crimean points of interest was enough to impress her.

Montana remained where he was, even as Dahlia and Vadisk started walking again. When they realized he wasn’t following them, they turned back.

“Is everything okay?” Dahlia asked.

Montana lifted the camera bag, handing it to Vadisk. “Why don’t you take a turn with the camera?”

Vadisk refused to take it. “That’s not my role here. I know there aren’t very many people around, but we need to remember that I’m only here as a guide and translator.”

“I…” Montana swallowed heavily. “I can’t go into the grotto.”

Dahlia frowned. “Why not?”

“I don’t do caves.”

Vadisk waited for Montana to expound, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable with the subject. “What’s wrong with caves?”

“It’s not just caves. I can’t do tight, confined spaces,” Montana clarified.

Vadisk briefly recalled Montana’s stopping in the door of the small private plane and his somewhat labored breathing. He’d chalked it up to airsickness, but now he suspected it was claustrophobia.

“Weren’t you stationed on a submarine?” Vadisk asked.

Montana grimaced. “I was. That was where my claustrophobia began. There are height requirements for those who serve on subs. Can’t be over six feet one inch tall. You won’t fit on the berth. I’m just under that. I was on the sub for five years and during that time, I found it increasingly difficult to handle the confined space. Spent a lot of time sweating, had trouble breathing. More than a few times, I thought I was having a heart attack. By the time my stint was over, my claustrophobia was so full-blown, I was certain continuing with my commission would kill me. So instead of asking to be reassigned to a ship, I chose to leave the Navy completely.”

Dahlia stepped close to Montana, reaching out to grip his forearm. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it was difficult having to give up your dream job and start over like that.”

Dahlia was also about to lose something precious. It drove home to Vadisk just how resilient and strong his spouses were, to overcome adversity and retain their positive, upbeat natures. He hadn’t felt truly lucky about his trinity until this moment.

Montana shrugged. “The Navy wasn’t my dream job. I told you my father and Mama were both in the military. Dad is a top-ranking officer—a Jarhead until he dies—and he made it very clear when I was growing up that I would follow in his military footsteps. It was an expectation that I followed through on, not a decision I made.”

“Can I assume they weren’t pleased when you resigned your commission?” Vadisk asked. Montana had alluded to having a difficult relationship with his father.

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