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Two knocks meant “all clear,” and three knocks meant “dorogaya, for the love of God, I’m holding something in my hands.”
“I’m Mrs. Mai.” Mai. The easiest combination of “Cai” and “Montagov,” perhaps the least original method of creating an alias in the history of starting anew.
She liked it when she spotted him at the open market unexpectedly, breaking into a run and surprise-attacking him from the back, getting a laugh in response instead of a gun pulled on her. Their past had made every moment of their future a novelty, and she would never get sick of peppering him with kisses when she woke him up in the mornings, waiting for him to draw away before she was willing to stop—only he always refused to draw away first, offering his face with the biggest grin.
It didn’t matter that he had her forever and ever to kiss, past death and into whatever afterlife existed. He still couldn’t get enough of her.
Science could tell him that the ground was below his feet and the sky was above his head and the early light of day was upon his back. Roma wouldn’t listen. To him, Juliette was the sun.
If he didn’t love Juliette so much, he would really spend every waking moment in fear of what went on in that mind of hers.
“It’s Juliette Montagova.” She lifted her hand and waved her fingers, flashing her gold wedding ring while she continued onward and exited the living room. “I’m a married woman. Roma, come help me get the knives, would you?” In that moment, as Roma pushed off the wall and followed her obediently, he fell in love all over again.
“What were you shushing me for?” Roma whispered after a few seconds. “You were the one talking.” “I like telling you to shut up,” Juliette replied. “Do you?” “Absolutely.” Entirely straight-faced, she added, “It gets me all hot and bothered.”
“You won’t ever lose me,” he repeated, sounding so serious even with the jest in their actions. “And I love you, to have and to hold as my unlawfully wedded wife, until the universe itself goes poof.”
“I have an internal compass that centers on you instead of true north.”
Love, she thought, was that kernel of warmth nestled deeper in her chest, glowing with a sense of comfort whenever Roma’s eyes were on her—the same comfort she’d first found when they were fifteen, everlasting.
