Page 21

Veronica

“I know I have said it like a hundred times already,” Shiro 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, Veronica 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 Raidon, Marlene would do the honor if, for some reason, she doesn’t make it back to America on time and Marlene returns before her.

“I still can’t believe I actually agreed to this.” Shiro 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,” Shiro mumbles under his breath and Veronica presses her lips together, dragging in a sharp breath.

Following her heart like Shiro suggested had seemed like the right choice indeed. And Raidon 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 Shiro 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 Shiro 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 Shiro’s request. Because if she did, Veronica wouldn’t have made this reckless decision.

Shiro 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 Raidon’s contact details. But when they reach the booth, reality slaps her.

No coins.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shiro 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.

Veronica 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, Shiro 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.”

Veronica 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 Shiro. “I’m gonna trade for coins.” She begins to head away before Shiro gets to say anything.

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

Veronica 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 Raidon’s when he speaks English.

“Yeah.” She nods awkwardly, glancing briefly at Shiro, 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 Veronica 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,” Shiro comments, pushing off the booth as Veronica 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,” Shiro says with a slight chuckle, watching her punch in Raidon’s number and hitting the dial.

It begins to ring, and her heart starts to pound. It rings for some minutes, but no response. Shiro says something under his breath, but Veronica 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!’

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

Veronica 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.

“Veronica?” 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, Veronica?” he finally speaks.

Veronica 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, Shiro 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.”

Veronica 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,” Shiro 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.

She doesn’t really know Raidon Volkov.

“That’s not scary as shit, at all,” Shiro comments, his voice laced with sarcasm as his gaze locks on the same sign post Veronica is staring at.

MILITARY ZONE. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

“Will you guys actually do that?” Veronica turns to Raidon, who is sitting next to her in the backseat, while Shiro takes the passenger’s seat next to the brooding soldier behind the wheel.

Her gaze on Raidon is expectant. She refuses to believe the sign is more than a scare tactic—that they will actually shoot.

“That’s the rule.” His response is quick, detached. He isn’t here with her. His mind is tangled elsewhere, and she knows part of that tangle is her. Why she is here without prior notice, why she flew across the world to come and see him even though they haven’t reached out to each other for over three weeks now.

“If I had your address, I would have just shown up at your doorstep, you know,” she says. “Would I have been shot?”

“I have never been saluted before, definitely not by a soldier.” Shiro’s voice cut through the silence, shifting her attention from Raidon, who, she is sure, has no intention of answering her question, anyway.

“I hope you realize it isn’t you they’re saluting but their marshal,” she corrects, her soft chuckle filling the car.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “I’m sitting in the car with the marshal. I am an important person, too.”

“Whatever.” She shakes her head, the smile still lingering on her lips as she turns her gaze to the window, taking in the view.

“I can’t believe this is actually your house, Snow white,” she murmurs, her forehead pressing against the tinted window while her mind spiral back to the many times he has flown away from this palace to see her, a girl who lives in a house that though, quaint, is a cabin in the woods compared to this. A palace sprawling across hundreds of acres. And with comparison comes the cruel realization; they are truly worlds apart.

Men like him don’t belong with girls like her. She should have listened to Shiro and moved on.

Her eyes rest on the estate, its glass walls reflecting the sinking sun. The grandeur begins to mock her. And all of a sudden, she feels small, insignificant.

Around the property, soldiers stand at attention. Some are wearing the correct army uniform, while some are in black T-shirts and green cargo pants—the type that usually follow him down to the States. Back in the States, they were usually never more than two. But now, they are in hundreds of numbers, spreading across the expanse of land, all built for war, armed, ready to take out an enemy without hesitation.

“Anytime soon?”

Veronica startles, unaware that everyone in the car has stepped out, and Raidon is by the door held open by a soldier, waiting for her.

“Oh, sorry.” An embarrassing tint coats her cheek as she maneuvers herself out of the car, almost crashing into Raidon’s chest. But he doesn’t move, his presence looming over her, body heat ghosting over her skin.

“Let’s go.”

He moves ahead, soldiers in front him, countless at the back of her, trapping her in the middle, their steps powerful and precise. Then Shiro appears beside her, his hand slipping into hers, squeezing it gently.

“Can you see this, Tanaka?” she whispers, her gaze traveling as far as the peak of the building, which is at forty feet tall, while she clutches the strap of her backpack tighter. Her voice feels too small here, too weak.

All of a sudden, poverty has a smell. A convoluted suffocating thing, clinging to her like a second skin.

The echo of heavy boots falls behind them steadily as they head to the grand entrance which looms ahead. And when they arrive and the massive oak door swings open, a flood of warm, golden light spills out, illuminating the sleek elegance of the manor.

They walk into the palatial living room and the polished floor stretches endlessly, reflecting the glow of the chandelier that casts geometric shadows across the room.

Every inch of the space is curated—crisp white walls, muted grays, abstract paintings that breathe color into the vastness. Unspoken elegance weaves into every corner as the air hums with quiet wealth.

She absolutely does not belong here.

Her fingers twitch as she fights the urge to turn around. To flee.

“Do make yourselves comfortable,” Raidon’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts. “Your rooms are being prepared. In the meantime, Mr. Putin over here…” He turns his gaze to the man dressed like a butler, his graying hair combed back neatly. “Will attend to your needs. I assume you must be hungry. Just tell him whatever you want and he’ll set it up for you.”

His gaze flickers between them again, then settles on her. A fraction too long, a second too sharp, but he looks away. And even though it’s fleeting, Veronica can’t help but notice the storm brewing in his eyes. And there’s exhaustion too, casting a shadow under the lids of his eyes.

“Do you want to eat anything?” she asks Shiro.

“Nah, I’m not really hungry,” he shrugs and begins to wander off.

She turns back to Raidon, and she finds him already watching her. “I’ll be gone for a couple of hours,” his voice is low, firm. “Was about to head to a meeting when you called. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Are you trying to avoid me?” The question is out before she can stop it.

“Get some rest, Veronica.” His expression doesn’t waver. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

And then he’s gone.

She stands there, fist clenched at her side.

For the first time since she arrived, uncertainty truly creeps in.

Maybe she should have just let him go.

“Would you like anything, Miss Beaumont?” the butler asks, his voice kind, despite his rough accent.

“Nothing for now,” she says, her smile forced.

Maybe she just needs to sleep for a little while. Maybe she’s just tired and overwhelmed.

Maybe everything will be better in a couple of hours when he gets back.

Maybe he will tackle her in a hug and tell her he misses her.

Who knows, maybe he will kiss her.

It may seem as though her life is full of ‘ maybe’ these days. But hope is all she’s got.