Page 72 of Bratva Prisoner
“Because I don’t know how to do this,” I say instead. “I don’t know how to be part of a couple, part of a family, or part of something bigger than myself.”
“You don’t have to know how,” Maksim offers with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen on his face. “You just have to want to learn.”
“And if I’m terrible at it?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
The sun begins to set as we pack up our picnic, and the hues it creates reflect off the windows of buildings below. The entire afternoon has felt like something out of a dream, too perfect to be real but too wonderful to end.
“Thank you,” I tell Maksim as we walk back to the car.
“For what?”
“For this. For showing me what peace feels like.”
He stops walking and turns to face me. “Alyssa, I need you to understand something. This isn’t just a nice afternoon for me. This is what I want our life to look like.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean afternoons like this, dinners with my family, and quiet evenings at home. Building something real and permanent instead of just surviving from one crisis to the next.”
The picture he paints is beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Part of me wants to throw myself into his arms and promise him anything he wants. The other part whispers warnings about fairy tales that end badly.
“I want that too,” I admit. “But wanting something and being able to have it are different things.”
“What would it take for you to believe you could have it?”
“Time, I think. Time to prove to myself that this isn’t just adrenaline and convenience and gratitude for rescuing me.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. However long it takes for me to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He nods like he understands, though I can see disappointment in his eyes. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
The drive home is quieter than the trip up, mostly because I’m lost in my own head. My feelings for Maksim are growing stronger every day, but so is my fear of what those feelings might cost me if I let them fully take root.
Over the next few days, I will avoid him whenever possible. Not because I don’t want to be around him, but because I want it too much. Every glance, every casual touch, every moment of domestic normalcy makes it harder to maintain the emotional distance I need to think clearly.
“Going somewhere?” Maksim asks as I grab my purse and keys on Thursday morning.
“Shopping. I need some things from the mall.”
“Want company?”
“I’m fine on my own. It’s broad daylight, lots of people around. What could happen?”
“Famous last words,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t try to stop me, which I’ll take as a win. Though I have little doubt security will be close behind.
The mall is exactly what I need—anonymous crowds, mindless consumerism, and enough sensory distraction to quiet the constant loop of thoughts about Maksim running throughmy head. I spend two hours browsing stores and buying small items I don’t really need.
The food court seems like a safe place to sit and people-watch while I sort through my emotional turmoil. Families with strollers, teenagers in clusters, elderly couples sharing pretzels—all the normal human interactions that make my life seem surreal by comparison.
“Alyssa.”
The voice behind me makes every muscle in my body freeze. I turn slowly, hoping I’m wrong, but there’s no mistaking the face that’s haunted my nightmares for months.
Troy is standing about ten feet away with his hands in his pockets, and he’s wearing the kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks completely normal, like any other mall shopper, which somehow makes his presence more frightening than if he’d been obviously threatening.
