“Let me show you our room,” I say, placing my hand on Ariana’s lower back. I take her to the left wing, where my bedroom is, and when we step inside, we put our bags down by the foot of the bed.

Ariana will move in here with me. But I’m putting off that talk because I can feel something’s bothering her.

Ariana glances around then says, “I didn’t expect your home to look like this.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs. “Like a home. I was expecting a bachelor pad with weapons decorating the walls.”

Chuckling, I say, “The weapons are in the armory.”

“Right.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s been tense ever since we left Russia.

It’s been two weeks since I got shot, and my strength is returning faster by the day. Ariana’s been the perfect nurse, taking care of all my needs. But her smiles are too wide. The happy tone she injects into her voice is fake. She’s putting on one hell of a show, and I’m trying to figure out why.

I watch as Ariana walks to the window, staring out over the backyard.

I move to her side, and lifting my hand, I brush strands of hair out of her face, then ask, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

She pretends to give me a what-are-you-talking-about look, then says, “Nothing’s wrong.”

I keep staring at her, and after a minute or so, she mutters, “You’re staring.”

“I am,” I murmur.

“Do you want to show me the rest of the house?” she asks, trying to divert my attention. I catch her arm before she can try to walk away.

“No.” My eyes don’t leave her face. “I want you to be honest with me.”

She shrugs. “I am. Nothing’s wrong.”

Taking hold of her shoulders, I turn her, so she’s facing me, then I tilt my head to meet her eyes. “Talk to me.”

She shakes her head, and I see the crack in the walls she’s slammed up around herself when the corners of her mouth tense.

I move my hand to her chin and force her to make eye contact with me. Slowly more cracks appear, and then her chin quivers. She swallows hard, pulling her face out of my hold. Looking out the window, she says, “It’s just been a really long six weeks.”

I keep staring, and it has her finally admitting, “It’s been hard, Demitri. You getting shot was an eye-opener.” She begins to lightly shake her head, the mask falling from her face, and the pain she’s been hiding from me is now clearly etched into her features. “It made everything real. I think I was living in this bubble where I thought nothing can hurt me as long as you’re there. I never thought you could die.”

I brush my hand over her hair as she takes a deep breath, and then she continues, “I thought I could be a part of your world, but I can’t.”