Page 28

Vivienne

I kn ow I have said it like a hundred times already,” Kenji huffs, hitching the strap of his duffel bag tighter around his shoulder, as they walk through the pavement of Moscow Domodedovo Airport.

“But you know when I told you to follow your heart, I didn’t mean, fly across the world on a whim to see a guy you’ve had blocked for weeks now, without even letting him know beforehand that you’re suddenly coming to see him, right? ”

To that, Vivienne shoots him a look even though, once again, he’s right.

But forty-eight hours ago, this had felt like a rather brilliant idea.

Now, standing in an unfamiliar country, disoriented by the swarm of unfamiliar voices and flashing Cyrillic signs, it suddenly feels like a reckless, terrifying decision.

Ever since she came to America, she has never left the country. Never gone to a place more than two hours away from home.

And here she is, in a country where she knows no one but a man who, despite all she thought she knew, is suddenly feeling like a stranger.

If she doesn’t get kidnapped and killed here before she gets to Lucan, Isadora would do the honor if, for some reason, she doesn’t make it back to America on time and Isadora returns before her.

“I still can’t believe I actually agreed to this.” Kenji removes his sunglasses, raking his hand through his blond hair. “No, this is so fucked up.”

“For a second, just shut up and let me think, geez,” she hisses.

“What if we get stranded?” A look of horror flashes through his eyes.

“We won’t.” The words are sharp, defensive, a mask for the gnawing doubt in her gut. “Worst-case scenario, we crash at a motel or something.”

“People get killed in motels,” Kenji mumbles under his breath and Vivienne presses her lips together, dragging in a sharp breath.

Following her heart like Kenji suggested had seemed like the right choice indeed.

And Lucan was the only name that kept echoing in her heart.

Seeing him face-to-face had felt like the best way to get the closure she needed, too.

So spending all the money from the handful of art commissions she got through her, though, poor marketing skills on Instagram, had seemed worth it.

But standing here now, she realizes how reckless that decision was, and how little thought she gave it before diving in.

It’s like walking into an examination without knowing the subject, let alone having studied for it.

She is probably more scared than Kenji is right now. With the winter air nipping at her skin despite the thick wool jacket she’s wearing, sweat beads down her back, soaking into her black cotton top.

She’s terrified, alright? But she won’t let it show.

She can’t.

And no matter what goes down here, she must return Kenji to his mother in one piece. They had told Rose they were going on a vacation—Russia, of all places.

The woman had raised a brow but didn’t argue as long as it made her son happy.

Maybe Rose should have argued, for once, not succumb to Kenji’s request. Because if she did, Vivienne wouldn’t have made this reckless decision.

Kenji nudges her arm, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Let’s try the payphone over there.” He gestures toward the phone booth across the street.

“Oh, okay.” Unlocking her phone, she pulls up Lucan’s contact details. But when they reach the booth, reality slaps her.

No coins.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kenji groans, slouching against the booth. “Let’s try with a card.” He swipes out his debit card from the case his phone is secured in.

Vivienne presses her palm to her forehead. “For heaven’s sake, you can’t use a US-issued card here.”

“Whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Do you have another solution?”

“Give me cash.” She thrust her hand in front of him, impatiently bouncing on her heels.

Rolling his eyes, Kenji quickly unzips his cross body bag, revealing the wad of Russian rubles Rose had gotten for them in case of emergencies.

“You know you can’t use cash on the payphone, right?” He arches his brow, handing her the money. “Just saying.”

Vivienne ignores him at first, glancing toward the lone figure on a nearby bench—an old man sitting with a weathered slouch. Then she turns back to Kenji. “I’m gonna trade for coins.” She begins to head away before Kenji gets to say anything.

“Well, do be careful,” he calls after her anyway, his voice drowned by the hum of traffic.

Vivienne reaches the bench the man is sitting on, stopping a foot or two away, shifting on her heels nervously.

“Hi.” It’s barely audible, but the man looks up, grey eyes sharp with irritation.

“Foreigners,” he grumbles. His Russian accent is thick, rough, nothing like Lucan’s when he speaks English.

“Yeah.” She nods awkwardly, glancing briefly at Kenji, who’s still leaning against the phone booth, watching her with guarded eyes.

“Can I, um, trade this cash for some coins?” She extends the money to the man.

“I don’t have coins.” The response is curt, sharp, slicing through the air like the edge of a blade. Yet Vivienne doesn’t waver. She isn’t about to go around asking for coins when all she can say in Russian is Spasibo . What if in this whole airport, only this strange man can speak English?

“Please,” she persists, her voice layered with forced sweetness. “I really, really need to make this call else I’ll be stranded here and I’ve got no money for a hotel.”

She must have finally touched his heart as finally, the man’s eyes soften, too discrete to catch, though. Then he reaches into the pocket of his brown, worn out coat.

“Crazy Americans,” he mumbles as he fishes out two pieces of coins, handing it to her.

She doesn’t bother acknowledging the jab and just accepts the coins instead. “Spasibo.” She finally uses the one word she has been dying to use since she arrived at the airport, hightailing before the man changes his mind.

“Took you long enough,” Kenji comments, pushing off the booth as Vivienne steps into the confined space, slightly grimacing due to the smell of cigarette lingering in the air—thanks to whoever used the phone last.

“He hates Americans,” she muses, a smirk tugging at her lips as she slots the coin into the machine.

“I figured,” Kenji says with a slight chuckle, watching her punch in Lucan’s number and hitting the dial.

It begins to ring, and her heart starts to pound. It rings for some minutes, but no response. Kenji says something under his breath, but Vivienne can’t hear it due to the increasing blare of car horns and distant sirens.

“Please, please, please,” she chants as she drops the second coin, dialing the number again.

It begins to ring, and it rings for nearly thirty seconds. But just when she’s losing hope, she hears a click.

“Kto ty?” ‘ Who are you?’

His voice is slightly different in Russian—deeper...harsher. And the way he growls the words makes a shiver run down her spine. Regardless, her stomach flips at the sound of it. It’s been twenty-two days since she last heard this voice.

“Govorit!” ‘Speak!’

Kenji leans in, whispering, “If he hangs up before you say anything, it’s not gonna be funny, Vee.”

Vivienne takes in a shaky breath, trembling hands tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Hi.”

Silence echoes from the other end, slow, measured and filled only with the faint echo of his breathing.

“Vivienne?” His voice suddenly shifts, the confusion and shock unmistakable.

“Hi, Snow White.” She swallows, hands gripping the receiver as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. “I’m um, I’m stranded…sort of.”

“Where are you?” he asks, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Airport.” She turns to glance at the illuminated sign overhead. “I think, Moscow Domodedovo?” she says the name carefully, afraid of mispronouncing it.

He doesn’t say anything immediately. But she hears it, the scrape of a chair, hurried footsteps, door opening and slamming shut, a series of rustling in the background.

“Why are you here, Vivienne?” he finally speaks.

Vivienne deflects, running a hand through her hair. People need to stop asking her this question because at this point, she doesn’t know anymore.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Just come and get us, please.”

“Us?” he asks.

“Yeah, um, Kenji and I.”

A string of curses—some in Russian, some that sound a lot like Japanese—hiss through the receiver. Then, a beat of silence.

“My house is far away from the town.” She hears the slam of car doors, clipped Russian commands.

Orders. “But I’ll try to be there in thirty minutes.

When you look adjacent to the payphone stand, about five minutes walk ahead, there’s a coffee shop, Sataraya Obzharka.

Two words, the first one starts with an S and ends with an A, the second word starts with an O and ends with an A.

Go in there and wait. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t order anything, and for the love of God, don’t go anywhere other than there. Just…wait for me.”

Vivienne glances across the street, scanning and she sees it. The coffee shop. “Okay.”

The line goes dead. Either he hung up or her coin has extended its value.

Sighing, she places the receiver back on the hanger, stepping out of the booth. And she can swear the smell of cigarette clings to her body now.

“Well,” Kenji prompts, his eyebrow raised.

“We wait,” she says, curling her hand around the handle of her travel bag. “His house is far away from the city. But he will be here in thirty minutes. In the meantime.” She swings her arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. “We wait at that coffee shop.”

“I don’t want coffee,” he says, his expression flat.

She raises her hand to his head, playfully ruffling his hair as they cross the street and walk to the shop. “Still angry?”

His face stays flat. “We’re in Russia. And we are about to spend the next, I don’t know, three days with a guy we barely know.”

“But I know him.”

“You don’t.” He points out, his tone clipped.

And she doesn’t argue. Because deep down, he is right and she knows it.