Page 58 of Lethal Obsession

The thought creeps in alongside the doubts, but oddly, it also brings with it a certain kind of hope. Surely Alexei wouldn’t have left his belongings in my room if he hadn’t planned to come back?

I remember the way he glanced at me from the door this morning, just before Lars and the others came home. Hungrily, like he wanted to taste all the parts of me he hadn’t already. There was nothing in his face that hinted he might leave and never return. I fell asleep certain that when I woke again it would be to the sound of his voice, if not to his physical presence in my bed.

The only time I sensed any hesitation in him was when he had his fingers inside me and felt the physical evidence of my virginity.

I only realize I’ve put my head in my hands when I hear myself actually groan aloud.

I wish I could have seen his eyes clearly in that moment. I don’t know how to interpret his hesitation, if that’s what it was. Was it shock, horror, or just surprise? Maybe it was none of those things, and Alexei didn’t even notice.

And maybe, I think miserably, that stupid internal barrier was the reason he made up an excuse to run.

I lift my head and look around the room. My eyes settle on the door by the TV stand. It looks like I’m in the kind of adjoining room my siblings and I always had in hotels when we were kids. I imagine Mickey is asleep on the other side of it, knowing him.

I go and turn the handle quietly, more out of curiosity than any real desire to know what’s on the other side. But instead of the drawn curtains and snoring brother I’m expecting, I find the room flooded in light and the bed made up. It takes only a brief look at the monogrammed leather carry bag to realize who was supposed to be staying in this room.

Alexei was right next door.

The thought quite literally takes my breath away.

I can smell him in here, a tantalizing hint of smoky Russian leather clinging to his bag and the clothes hanging in the closet, bringing with it a bolt of longing so deep it’s almost painful.

He left his bag. I walk to the closet. And most of his clothes.

I glance at the bedside table. His laptop is still here.

I stare at it, my heart twisting with a mixture of happiness and fear. It looks like Alexei really did leave unexpectedly.

But if so—where is he now? Is he in danger?

I turn on the spot, unsure whether to run for Lars’s room and answers, call my father and ask for the same, or barge into my brother’s room and demand to know what is going on.

But I also know that doing any of those things will result in questions I’m not equipped to answer. Create problems on top of whatever crisis is already in play.

So in the end, I do nothing except what I’ve always done when it comes to Alexei Petrovsky: try to keep our secrets.

I go into my room and silently pick up his jacket and shoes, then take them through to his room and put them neatly in his closet, as if they’ve always been there.

As if he was never in my room at all.

Then I close my door, get dressed, and wait.

As the morning gives way to midday and the rooms around me begin to stir, the night we spent together fades further into the past, as if it, too, never happened at all.

It’s early afternoon when my father finally calls to give the all clear. He doesn’t call me, of course. I'm just given the message via my brother.

Benny and Lourdes are still fast asleep. Neither Mickey or Lars, bleary faced and downing coffee, discuss the night’s events with me other than the briefest remarks. I don’t even bother asking questions of Darya, who arrived at my hotel with Masha an hour ago. Even if she does know what is going on, she’d never betray my father’s confidences.

Normally, this suits me just fine. If I’ve learned anything growing up amid my family’s blood and chaos, it’s to not ask questions. My life delivers enough drama without inviting more into it.

But this time, the wall of silence drives me just a little crazy. Nor can I think of any diplomatic way to get the answers I want. Lars, my easiest target, wanders off to the shower, yawning widely, before I have a chance to get him on his own.

Fortunately, my little sister isn’t constrained by any of my concerns.

“I want to know what happened to Alexei.” She glares daggers at Mickey, who is unshaven, has red-rimmed eyes, and is still wearing last night’s shirt and suit pants.

“Hush, Masha.” Darya hugs her close, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. “Alexei had to go away.”

Really? My heart falls a little further.