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“Zoya.” The voice somehow sounded both faraway and intimately close. She groaned and tried to burrow deeper into her blankets, but the voice was soon joined by a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Zoya, come look out the window.”
“ You go look out the window,” she grumbled. But she still reluctantly dragged her mind out of slumber and forced her eyes open. Nikolai’s face hovered above hers, a rare boyish glee lighting up his features. He looks like a boy in need of kissing , her mind provided unhelpfully. She shook that thought from her head.
He leaned back and let her sit up. It was still freezing in the room and Zoya bit back a curse as the cold air pricked at her bare arms. Weak morning light streamed into their room, picking out the gold in his hair. She didn’t quite see why Nikolai looked so excited. Had she perhaps forgotten about his birthday?
The next thing she knew, he was grabbing her wrist and the last traces of sleep evaporated from her mind. She yanked her arm back from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Just-” His face fell for a moment, but then his cheery smile was back as if nothing had happened. “Come out onto the balcony with me.”
He sounded strangely insistent . Maybe he wants to push me off the balcony and fake my suicide , she thought darkly as she pulled on her dressing gown. If so, then perhaps he was the better spy after all. She’d have to commend him for playing the long game so well.
But when she stepped out onto the balcony, instead of a grisly death, a fairy tale scene awaited her. Fluffy flakes of snow drifted from the sky, blanketing everything in a soft white. A thin layer had already built up on the street below, as well as on the railing of their balcony. It was far from Zoya’s first time seeing snow, but somehow, given the setting and the warm presence at her side, it felt...different. She extended a hand and caught a few flakes of snow on her palm.
“It’s a white Christmas,” Nikolai said from behind her. She turned her head to find him leaning on the frame of the sliding balcony doors.
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Well,” Nikolai began, coming to stand beside her near the railing. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets, which Zoya found most suspicious. She’d seen the level of tricks he could play like a common street magician. “We call it a white Christmas when it snows on Christmas day.”
Zoya scoffed and turned back to the view, letting her eyes wander over the still-shuttered shops and businesses. “We don’t celebrate Christmas in Russia.”
It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. The government didn’t allow any celebration of religious holidays, but that had never stopped Zoya’s aunt. She recalled candlelit nights of pies, sausage, and tea so sweet Lada would be running laps around the house for hours. Lilyana had never been one to skirt on gifts either. Zoya rubbed the gold bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly.
“Do you have a point to make or do you just want the both of us to freeze out here?”
“Always so impatient,” he said with a sigh. “Is it not enough to enjoy the scenery? Bask in the holiday cheer?”
It was enough to simply be on that balcony with him at her side, and that was what she was terrified of. She crossed her arms and tried to look at anything but him. “I’m cold.”
“I thought you were Russian, comrade.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He sighed again and took a step closer to her. She froze instinctively. When people got that close to her, she was either kissing or killing them, but with Nikolai, it was a bit more complicated than that. She forced herself to not step backwards.
“Close your eyes,” he said as if entirely unaware of her inner turmoil.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
He raked a hand through his already messy hair, either in frustration or nervousness. But what did he have to be nervous about? It wasn’t as if she were armed. His eyes darted to the side before returning to her face. “Trust me.”
The words hung heavy between them, a bullet that couldn’t be recalled. A shadow passed over Nikolai’s eyes as he realized his mistake. He hastily took a step back, his hands once again buried into his coat pockets.
Perhaps it was the holiday season, or just her desire to get back inside where it was warm, but Zoya cut off his apology with a sharp shake of her head. She shut her eyes. “Make it quick, cowboy.”
His shoes scraped against the tile as he came closer again. When he spoke, his voice was as soft as the snow covering the rooftops. “Hold out your hand.”
She complied. There was a moment where she thought he had to be playing some immature prank on her, but then his hand was taking hers, his fingers warm against her skin. It...wasn’t unpleasant. He pressed something rectangular into her palm, then his hands were gone. She found herself missing them for some unfathomable reason.
“Alright. You can look now.”
Zoya opened her eyes to find a small black box in her outstretched hand, a merry green bow attached to the lid. Nikolai looked at her excitedly, like it was he who had received the gift. She gave the box an experimental shake.
“What is it?”
“Why comrade, I’m not going to spoil the surprise for you.” Amusement lit up his face. “Open it.”
Zoya sighed, but did as he asked again. Inside, nestled in a bed of black velvet, was a pearl ring, nearly identical to the once she’d lost a few weeks ago. She plucked it from the box and turned it this way and that in the morning light to exame it further.
“Is it bugged?”
He winked. “Only the best for you, comrade.”
So it was. Not that it mattered much, when they were together almost every moment of the day for their cover. She slipped the ring onto her finger, instantly comforted by the familiar weight of it. Then a horrible thought occurred to her.
“I- I didn’t get you anything,” she admitted.
He didn’t seem offended, instead tucking his hands into his pockets and leaning back on his heels. “That’s alright. Your bracing personality is a daily gift.”
Zoya scowled. She didn’t like being in the debt of others, much less so when it was work-related. And especially not to Nikolai Lantsov. “Close your eyes.”
He looked startled for a moment, but he did so. “I would prefer a cleaner death than being pushed off a balcony, but if you insist.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she muttered as she closed the distance between them. This close, she could see the silvery scar just under his jaw. “If I wanted you dead, you would have never made it out of New York.”
“How generous of you.”
Zoya let her eyes linger on his handsome face for a moment longer. The corners of his lips were pulling upwards, the usual crease between his brows smoothed over by his good cheer. He looked expectant, excited even. A boy in need of kissing , she remembered. She reached up and brushed back a strand of his hair from his face, her hand skimming his cheek. It had been bothering her for a while.
Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His eyes fluttered open in shock, but she’d already taken a hasty step back. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her stomach fluttered the way it did when she was hurtling through the air in freefall. It was all completely ridiculous. She’d done much much more than just kiss a boy on the cheek in the course of her life. Hell, she’d kissed Nikolai at least a dozen times in Berlin. But this felt like the start of something different. Something shiny and new, untouched by the horrors of their careers.
“Thank you,” she managed. “For the ring.”
Nikolai’s smile was wide and unguarded. “Anything for you, Nazyalensky.”