Page 50 of Crimson Curse
“I am,” I reply.
“Did something happen?”
“Something ended,” I say. I don’t bring the colonnade into this car. The walls here hold only her, and I won’t invite a ghost to sit beside us.
She studies me, then nods and leans her head on my shoulder. The city’s edge gives way to trees. The estate gates open for us. For once, the house doesn’t feel like a fortress. It feels like a home I intend to keep alive for a very long time.
Charlotte walks ahead to make sure the bedroom is warm. Lex checks the corridor and the cameras. I carry Naomi over the threshold because old customs belong to us now, not to the old world that tried to kill everything we loved.
The nursery door stands slightly open, and light spills into the hall from within. Naomi turns her head that way and lifts her hand as if she could touch the glow. I slow, then stop. We look inside together. The walls are painted the soft sage color shechose. The crib space waits. The chair sits by the window, ready for quiet nights. A small box on the dresser holds a mobile she will hang when she feels up to it. It has little woolen bears that made her smile in the shop.
“It feels like a promise,” she says.
“It is,” I tell her.
I carry her to our room and settle her onto the bed while Charlotte brings soup and water. Naomi eats slowly, a few careful bites. She drinks. She makes a face at the pills and swallows them anyway. She falls asleep within minutes. I sit near the bed and watch her breathe. The night slips through its blue hour and into deeper blue. Lex checks in with quiet updates from the doorway.
When Naomi wakes again, evening has deepened. She blinks, finds me, and smiles. Her smile looks tired, stubborn, and bright all at once. I stand and offer my hand.
“Walk with me,” I say.
“Where,” she asks, amused.
“The garden.”
“Are you going to push me around in a wheelchair like an old woman.”
“No,” I answer, and I lift her gently to her feet. “I am going to walk like a patient man. And you are going to walk like a woman who follows the doctor’s orders.”
She laughs softly, wincing as the movement tugs at her wound. “Then I’ll try to be a good patient.”
We dress slowly, and I kiss the top of her head. I carry the memory of Irina’s eyes for exactly one breath and then set it down because I refuse to bring it into what comes next. I pocket the velvet box. We leave the room and take the corridor that leads to the terrace. The flagstones hold the last of the day’s warmth. Night jasmine clings to the trellises at the far end, pale blooms turned to the moon.
Naomi’s hand fits in mine and we walk in silence for a little while. The garden is quiet. A bird gives a single low call from the hedgerow and then goes still again. The pool reflects the night like a sheet of ink. The air carries that clean sweetness that makes a person breathe deeper without thinking about it.
She looks up at me. “Where are we going.”
“You will see,” I say.
We stop beneath the trellis. The pale blooms look like small stars caught in green. The fragrance gathers and then drifts, soft as a whisper. I turn to face her. There is no stage here. No audience beyond the earth and the night.
“Daniil,” she says, her head tilting. “What is it?”
I go down on one knee. I open the velvet box and let the moon find the ring. Diamonds line a band of white metal. A sapphire sits near the center. It’s elegant, simple, and honest. It belongs to her hand and no other.
Her breath catches. She stares at the ring, then at me.
“No more deals,” I say. “No more pretending. No power plays. Just me, you, and the life we are building.”
Her eyes fill without hesitation. Tears gather and brighten her gaze. She tries to smile but fails, then laughs at herself, bringinga hand to her mouth. The sound that leaves her is small and full of everything we have not said and everything we have said in other ways.
“Daniil,” she whispers. “I didn’t expect this.”
“I know,” I tell her. I keep my voice steady. “There is something you should hear from me. Irina thought she gave Viktor my weakness. She believed this child would ruin my judgment. She believed you could be moved around to control me. She believed my love would break my focus, and I would become predictable. She believed she had delivered my end.”
Naomi’s hand drifts to her collarbone, fingers trembling. She blinks rapidly, her breath faltering into a sharp gasp. “She did it?” she whispers, realization breaking across her face like wildfire.
“She did,” I say. I don’t tell her about the colonnade or the bullet I put in Irina. I give her the truth that matters. “She thought Viktor’s rise could not be stopped. She wanted her place secured when I fell. She imagined she could stand beside him and hold paperwork like a scepter because she had given him a permanent lever. She imagined wrong.”
