Page 43 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
A group of tourists stumbles past, clearly drunk before noon, and I let a laugh slip without meaning to.
From beside me, Ivan watches, but doesn’t comment on just how dialed in I am right now. Instead, he leans in and murmurs, “How long do you think they’ve been at it?”
The question surprises me, assuming he wouldn’t think much of anyone making a fool of themselves here, but I hum as I consider it. “Since last night?”
“I give them two days strong. Maybe pushing three. That one guy looked like he hadn’t showered in a while.”
I grimace at the thought, to which Ivan chuckles and continues walking alongside me.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s allowing me to set the pace, rather than nudging me in the direction he wants, or pulling me from place to place. Something about that warms me more than it should.
We wander for a while, and as we stop for food and the occasional pop-up game booth, I lose track of time. In the moment, I don’t concern myself with it, even if part of me is still waiting for the catch to come out of left field.
Still, it doesn’t.
A light, jazzy melody catches my attention, and when I glance over to see a music store just up ahead, I stop at the first set of windows. Various instruments line the displays, polished and faintly glowing under warm lights. It’s something so simple, yet it looks more like heaven to me.
When Ivan pulls the door open, my heart does a little jump. “You better not be messing with me.”
He glances between me and the displays, and something dances in his eyes. “I thought you could use a browse.”
I still don’t move, finding myself caught in a place of disbelief and absolute glory. “Ivan…”
“Go in,” he says with a light grin and a nod towards the string section. “Pick one. Whatever you want.”
My heart almost stops entirely. “I can’t, I—”
“You can, and you will,” Ivan insists with a lighter tone than anticipated as he guides me in.
As stunned as I am, I’m not willing to let the moment pass me by, so I go in.
From inside, the world outside goes quiet as the light smell of wood and fresh varnish surrounds me like something familiar, and at once, I feel myself itching to touch everything. To test each one, like I’m waiting for the right instrument to call to me.
Before long, an associate comes to help us, sharing various details about the violins while I’m able to hold them and get a feel for them myself. When I try a gorgeous dark one, Ivan watches and listens patiently, far more involved than I thought he’d be.
“Looks like a perfect match,” he comments once I finish.
I glance at the price tag, then back to him hesitantly. “It’s expensive.”
To that, he chuckles. “Not in my books.”
Before I can refuse, Ivan purchases it without even blinking, and before long, I’m walking out with a violin case inhand that still shakes faintly. It feels more like carrying proof that any of this happened, and that I didn’t just imagine the strangely nice time we’ve had so far.
On the way back, while the case sits in my lap, I carefully hold it like a precious thing, and I pull in a slow breath. “Thank you for this…but I’m still not forgiving you completely.”
Unbothered by this, Ivan keeps his eyes on the road while he drives. “I didn’t do it for forgiveness. I realized you were right.”
When I look at him, I feel more receptive than usual. “About what?”
“Needing to live,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing too profound. “You’ve had enough taken from you. I don’t need to ruin that, too.”
Even with a head full of thoughts, all fighting for center stage in my mind, I can’t form a response to that. He has just given me more than he realizes with those words alone.
I don’t trust him fully, but in some odd way, this feels like something other than doom.
Chapter 15 - Ivan
I don’t know what’s been happening lately, but I blame it on Mila.
