Page 53 of Unforgiving Sinner (Starukhin Bratva)

And I can pretend that I’ll be okay.

As the Mercedespulls up to the curb, excitement races through me, and my knees shake. Traces of fear disappear, and a growing sense of gratitude for Nikolai places a massive smile on my face. It’s a dangerous mix of emotions, to know I should be alert to trouble but also to be too stupid-happy to care.

My footsteps slow as I walk toward the Met steps, and my gaze is drawn upward to the top one. I place my foot on a granite step and sigh. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. A woman sitting on the steps a few feet away looks at me, scoffs loudly, and then ignores me.

New York, I love you, I think.Even when you’re bitchy.

We walk up the granite stairs side by side. My heart flutters as we step inside the main entrance of the Met. I’m struck speechless by the massiveness of the place. The Great Hall is packed with visitors from all over, their voices echoing against the marble columns.

Nikolai guides me through the labyrinth of columns and people, his hand warm and reassuring against mine. We approach the grand staircase, and my eyes trace the elegant sweep of the steps.Anticipation shortens my breath, knowing that the treasures inside will surpass the stunning first impression.

We wander through the exhibits, and Nikolai takes my hand, bringing me closer to his side as we stop in front of a painting. The woman has flowing red hair and an expression of longing on her face. Her beauty and emotion mesmerize me as she holds a fully bloomed rose to her nose to sniff with her eyes shut tight.

“It reminds me of you,” he says.

I shake my head. “Do you really think so?”

He nods. “You should be painted in a garden.”

I stare at him, feeling shy, and heat blooms across my face.

Smiling, Nikolai leads me away from the painting, but not before I whisperthank youunder my breath. I’m grateful for this opportunity to pretend that we’re not captor and captive, for a chance to connect with something greater than myself. And my imagination is far from disappointed.

We travel back downstairs until we reach a gallery dedicated to modern art. Here, Nikolai stops and points out a painting depicting two people locked in an embrace among stars glittering in an endless night sky. With their eyes closed, they seem so content, as if nothing else matters.

“Is it a Chagall?” I ask.

He leans in to read the card. “It is,” he turns and smiles at me. “Good guess.”

I swat his arm. “It wasn’t a guess. Well, it was an educated one.”

An elderly woman stands beside me. She nods with approval before she walks away.

Being surrounded by all this art is like a shield against the dangers lurking outside. Inside this museum with Nikolai … this is where I belong right now. No matter what happens tomorrow or next week, or even next year …

Here, I can forget about the accusations against my father. I can forget about Nina the wedding planner. I can forget who Nikolai is and what I am to him.

I’d do anything to stay in the bubble.

“You haven’t stopped smiling since we got here,” he says teasingly.

“Have you ever had a dream come true?” I ask.

“No.” Nikolai looks away, and his expression darkens like he’s stepped into a storm cloud he couldn’t avoid. “Only nightmares.”

I swallow hard and give him a moment alone with his thoughts. Soon enough, I’m focused on another painting of two-dimensional shapes that seem to spin on the canvas. I look at the card, and it’s hard to believe it was painted over a hundred years ago.

I glance over at Nikolai, and the mood has passed. “What is your favorite exhibit?” I ask him.

He smirks. “Arms and Armor.”

I tug on his arm. “Let’s go there.”

“No.” He faces me. “It’s your day.”

“But I want to see it all.” I laugh like a goof. “Every corner of this place.”

We pass countless works of art, each more breathtaking than the last, but the Arms and Armor section amazes me. The actual armor is not only for people but for horses too. My mouth drops open as we pass by four figures in armor, each mounted on a horse. Silently marching in a straight line through the corridors of the exhibit as if they were alive.

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