Page 97 of One For my Enemy

She wore a dress that was a muted shade of sage, and he wondered for a moment if she’d chosen it specifically for him; if she’d woken up that morning and put it on, thinking nothing of it, or if she’d reached into her closet and thought,I wonder what Dima will want to see me in today.

He wondered if she knew the dress perfectly matched his eyes.

“Masha,” he said evenly. By now, he had expected to see her. “You’re alive.”

“Seems that way,” Marya replied, leaning against the window frame and observing him as he sat at the foot of his bed, waiting. “What is it you want from me, Dima? You’ve been relentless,” she noted. “It’s beginning to irk my contacts, if I’m being honest, though Ivan didn’t seem particularly bothered. Thoughtful of you not to press him too vigorously,” she added, half-smiling. “He’s had a rough couple of months.”

“I,” Dimitri began, and paused, weighing how much to confess. “I had my suspicions you were back,” he admitted. “I wanted a favor.”

“Mm,” Marya said, unimpressed. “And do I owe you a favor?”

He watched her.

She knew, he determined.

She had chosen that dress on purpose.

“You owe me nothing,” he said. “But I suppose I’ve always been too entitled not to ask.”

Her smile broadened slightly. “Did you do as I asked, at least?”

Dimitri paused, considering whether to tell her, and then conceded that she must already know. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, stopping only once the vial around his neck was visible above the scar her death had left behind.

“Ah,” Marya noted, eyeing it from across the room. “Well, you must realize your possession of it keeps me alive.”

“I thought that might be the case,” he admitted.

“Surely you know it’s dangerous, then,” Marya said, taking a long step towards him. “What will happen to your family, Dima, if none of them can kill me?” she mused, the little glow of light from his nightstand catching in the darkness of her hair. “If Roma cannot deny me, and Koschei can do nothing to stop me—”

“I won’t be the cause of your death again, Masha,” Dimitri told her. “Never again. No matter what it costs me.” He dropped his head, eyeing his hands. “But I was seeking you for another reason.”

“Oh?” She fell beside him on the bed. “And what reason is that?”

He glanced at her.

Marya Antonova was meticulous, and she’d chosen the dress on purpose. She’d chosen this room, his bedroom, on purpose. Like the last time they’d been alone together, every inch between them was a consequence of her choice.

“I want my brother back,” Dimitri confessed, and she blinked.

“And why would I help you?”

“Because,” he said, and paused. “Because, Masha.” He turned to face her, reaching out, and twined one long curl around his finger. “Because it’s you, Masha, and it’s me. Because it’s us. Because you can, I know you can. And because,” he finished, releasing her hair and brushing his fingers beneath her jaw, “I know you want to.”

She sat perfectly still, not coming any closer.

“I can hardly feel anything for you with nothing beating in my chest,” she commented. “If you’re counting on my affections to sway me, you’ve done so unwisely.”

“Masha,” Dimitri said, shaking his head. “Masha, even you know that is a lie,” he murmured, letting his fingers hover over the scar where her heart had once been. “Every piece of you, body and soul, remembers what it is to love me, don’t they? Whether your heart is in your chest or not. I know you do, because I do,” he said softly. “Sometimes my eyes open and I know, somewhere in my bones, that I have formed myself to the shape of waking up beside you. Sometimes I smell your perfume on the breeze and wonder how it’s possible I still know the scent of you so well. Sometimes I wake up with the taste of you on my lips,” he said, fingers stretching out to hold her, “and I know, Masha, the only reason you ever gave your heart to me to begin with was because it would never belong to anyone else, and neither of us could ever forget it.”

He paused, noting her breath was ragged beneath his touch.

“You gave me your heart, Marya Antonova, and I will keep it safe until my dying day,” he promised her, and took her free hand gently, placing her palm against his chest; a vow made between them. “I’ll keep it safe,” he swore, “and in return, you’ll have my heart, forever, until someone cuts it out of my fucking chest.”

She said nothing, only staring up at him. Considering him, and in return, he considered her.

“Your hair is getting long again,” he murmured. “It’s almost like it was when you loved me.”

Only then did Marya move.

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