He didn’t move for a long moment, then lowered his hand and turned back to her. Sophie could see him cringing in humiliation as a tear splashed down his cheek.
“You are right,” he choked out. “I was so angry. I still am. He cut you, hurt you…because of me.” He let out a sob that sounded like it was being forcibly wrenched from his body. “Orlisia…my country is gone. I could not save it. I could not protect you as I should have –” His voice broke off.
“Michael, please just let it out.” He shook his head, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. She reached out again and captured one of his hands, tugging on it. Reluctantly, he let her pull him closer until his head rested on her chest. She wrapped her arms around his stiff frame, feeling his body shaking against her.
“I am so sorry,” he gasped. “Please, mana mila, tell me you still love me.”
“I will always love you. Even when I am this angry at you, I still love you.”
Something seemed to let go in Michael’s body, and she felt hot tears soaking into her gown.
A short while later, she nudged him. “We’ve only a few more minutes before Anjali returns. I need to say some more things.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, looking like a little child. “I accept your apology with one condition.”
“Which is?”
“When we get back to New York, you need to talk to someone. Will and I work with a therapist who specializes in professions that involve trauma. If he’s not right for you, he can refer you to someone else.” He didn’t say anything. “You’ve had a very bad time of it these last six months, and perhaps this has interfered with your judgment.”
He sat there, thinking. He wasn’t one to talk about feelings, and the thought of him in therapy was a bit of a stretch, even for Sophie.
“If it is a condition for us to stay together, then I will do it,” he finally said.
“It is a condition. And,” she added in deadly earnest, “if you ever disrespect me in this way or any other again, our relationship is over.” He nodded and took one of her hands in his.
“Who punched you?” she asked.
“Anjali. She is very strong for someone so small.” He looked affronted for a moment. “Also, it was a sucker punch.”
They sat together silently until Anjali came into the infirmary. Sevastian stopped just outside.
“Return to your room,” she said to Michael, the hostility in her voice unabated. For a minute, Sophie thought he would defy her. Instead, he squeezed Sophie’s hand, gave her a light kiss on the cheek and slid off the bed.
“Thank you, mana mila. May I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes. I will come to see you when I am ready.”
He nodded and left the infirmary, Sevastian following behind him.
She looked at Anjali. “A guard? Is that necessary?” Her friend didn’t answer. “Where have you put him for the night?”
“Your quarters,” she said. “I have nowhere else to put him. Don’t even think about going to him in the night. I’m putting a guard on your door, too.” Anjali sat down on the edge of the bed. “You forgave him.” Her tone was disapproving.
“Yes. On the agreement that he seek counseling when he returns to the US. What he did was wrong, and it’ll be a long time before we can put this behind us. But I wonder if he’s showing early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Anjali frowned, pondering that. “Possibly,” she conceded. “Or maybe he’s just an arrogant, pig-headed asshole.”
“That’s a disease a lot of people suffer from.” Sophie lay back against the pillows, exhausted. “And I may have called him that myself.”
Anjali squeezed Sophie’s hand. “I’m trying to look out for you. I know how much you love him, how much he loves you. But he’s volatile. You’ve always told me he was, but I didn’t really understand until now. So difficult, so stubborn, so totally convicted that his way is the right one.”
“Sound like anyone else you know?”
“Yeah.” Anjali smiled sadly. “Sounds just like my best friend. Who needs to get more sleep if she wants to be up and around tomorrow.” Anjali kissed Sophie’s forehead, turned off the lights, and whispered goodnight.
Chapter 16
Michael returned to his room after splashing cold water on his face. He felt humiliated, knowing that the Soviet soldier walking behind him had seen him cry like a girl.
He hated crying. His mother cried, of course. Women cried; that was acceptable. His father cried occasionally, too. He remembered tears running down Maxwell’s face as he ran to greet Signe and Michael when they’d cleared immigration at JFK the day they had finally come to New York. But his father was American, and American men behaved differently. Michael had never seen an Orlisian man cry, and his mother had always impressed upon him how important it was to behave like an Orlisian man from the time he was very small.