Page 117 of The Lottery

With my wounded heart beating frantically, I slowly turn, waiting to wake up, waiting to see nothing, waiting to be devastated again.

But he’s there.

I see him.

His dimpled chin. His cobalt blue eyes.

I blink. He’s still there.

I am completely still, though my body feels as if it’s exploding into a million pieces.

“Are you… are you really here?”

Marek takes a step closer, his face bruised, bloodied, and beautiful, coming clearer into view.

“Yes, moya lyubov. Now and forever.”

29

MAREK

“The eyes of the world now look into space, to the moon and to the planets beyond, and we have vowed that we shall not see it governed by a hostile flag of conquest, but by a banner of freedom and peace.”

- John F. Kennedy

* * *

I have been awake for at least an hour, but I hesitate to move lest Azalea wakes. She sleeps peacefully in my arms, her warm breath on my skin, shafts of sunlight falling on her face. The moment is a perfect one. One I would live in forever if I could.

She stirs uncomfortably, her eyes staying closed as her cheek settles on my shoulder. The last few days have been difficult, but they are getting better. Her morning sickness has begun to ease, but the pregnancy has thus far not been an easy one.

I feel overwhelming guilt each time she is sick, that our coupling could do this to her. But she just smiles and says it is all worth it, then puts my hand on her belly.

Each time I think of the little bean--as she calls the child-- my heart flutters with anticipation. And trepidation.

I worry I will not be a good father. That I will fail my child in some irreparable way.

We have hundreds of thousands of books stored in Metis, and I have taken to reading everything I can on pregnancy and parenting.

But for now, my highest priority is keeping this woman in my arms safe and happy.

I kiss her forehead, breathe in her scent, feel the warmth of her body tucked into mine and I am awash with love.

The visions that woke me too early ebb out of my mind, wisps of smoke that her presence clears.

She shifts against me and her eyes flicker open. “Good morning, sexy,” she says softly, blinking sleep out of her gorgeous blue eyes.

Dark hair is splayed around her head like a halo, and she sleeps in one of my old shirts and nothing else.

She lifts a finger and gently brushes it against the worry line between my eyes. “Another nightmare?”

I nod, more sharply than I intend, and she pulls me against her, our faces a breath apart, her hands in mine. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re mine. Now and forever.”

“Da.” Our mantra we say to each other, to offer comfort when the too recent trauma we have both endured flares up around us, threatening to consume everything we are trying to build.

It has only been a few weeks, I remind myself. Another mantra.

Time heals.

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