Chapter 23 - Tatianna

Book 31 in Cocker Brothers - Hunter Cocker's Spy Love Story.

Sunlight through gauzy curtains wakes me from a dream. I cannot remember what it was about, but it felt nice. Peaceful. Being held all night long did me good.

Wait a minute.

Where are the arms that had been around me? The body up against mine, so strong with muscles so hard? I do not feel his presence in the room.

But I could be wrong.

He is a quiet sleeper.

Trained to be that way?

Maybe.

Oh, please be there.

Please do not have left.

Do not have snuck out.

While I was sweet-dreaming.

While I thought you were here.

While I thought I was held.

That would break my heart.

I take a deep breath and peek behind me. Sink into the mattress. Soul crushed. Alone. Abandoned. Betrayed?

I know he did not trust me. Does he have reason to? If I am honest, I have to admit he does not. If I am honest I have to admit I am a liar…if omittence equals lies.

Tears hover in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall and soak the pillow, but I wipe them before they have a chance. I am strong! I can handle feelings no matter how overwhelming they may try to be. I am the master of my own reaction, and I will not show my friends how deeply I feel for my American.

Thank goodness their guest room has a private bath where I may slap my face with icy cold water. Rinse away his taste with their mouthwash I have used countless times when taking care of Buster. I would love a shower but I did not bring a change of clothes. If I could go back in time, I would leave some behind, bathe myself until I was raw and wear fresh clothing so that nothing about me reminded me of him when I joined them for coffee, for tea, for morning conversation. Perhaps then I would feel less hurt. Vulnerable.

But if I could go back in time?

It would not simply be to bathe.

I would do so many things differently. I would say yes to his invite when we met. I would kiss him, warn him, implore him with the news that I have been to the future, run while you can, my American, and take me with you! You do not know who I am, but come with me. Let us leave this place and go where no one can search for us. Where threats do not point guns at us. Where my father will never look.

Trudging to the bathroom and wiping stubborn tears away from my eyes, I turn on the light to more clearly examine my reflection. Dappled sun through frosted glass is not enough. I want to boldly address my weakness. “Tatianna, you are a fool. Stop your emotions!” But a memory returns of Margot crying when Alfred’s mother was ill. She told me, “Crying is our heart releasing pain so it never becomes future illness.”

A tug pulls inside my chest at the truth, but I cannot cry now. Not here. I will cry later. My friends are going through enough. They do not need to worry about a broken heart. And how can I explain more when there is much I do not know. They are also unaware of my father, his presence in this country. His past. His existence, at all.

Turning on the faucet I whisper, “When I am alone, I will let out this pain. For now, I must smile and enjoy the morning with them. Excuse myself and leave as quick as I am able.”

Cold water is soothing against flushed cheeks. Mouthwash brightens the taste in my mouth and fights off sadness. Pinching my lips to brighten them, I straighten my back and dress in everything I left behind before sleep.

Buster greets me at the door, and I bend to pet under his chest where he cannot scratch. “Bom Dia, Buster.”

“Someone’s awake!” Margot practically sings from their main room. I look up toward the sound and see her smiling at the dining table.

Alfred turns in his chair, lifting his tea cup in salute. “Bom Dia Tatianna!”

I force a smile and walk toward them as Margot points to my waiting cup. “Thank you for doing the dishes last night! What a treat to wake up to a clean space. Hungry? We’ve got…” She looks toward the kitchen. “Fried

eggs coming?”

“Are you not sure what you’re making?” I tease her, passing the wall divider and glance right toward their stove’s delicious aroma.

“Hi,” My American waves a spatula and I freeze where I stand. “I’m not the best cook but I figure it’s the least I could do after they let us stay here last night.”

My breath is caught in my throat.

From behind me Alfred lets out one of his huge, rare laughs, a single guffaw that turns my head. His face is bright as a tomato ready to be picked, and he is pointing at me. “You thought he had left you!”

My jaw drops.

Margot titters, “Alfred!”

“She did! Why, it’s all over her face. Tatianna, admit it!”

My American flips an egg, reaches over, swipes his left arm around me and brings me close, spatula dripping high in his right hand and away from us. “Nah, she’s just shocked I look this good when I cook.”

Relief at his very presence — no, pure joy — bubbles up from my core and I do not give a damn if Alfred is laughing at me. Frankly, any reason for Alfred to laugh is a welcome one to me, after all he has been through. Instead of being angry or embarrassed I throw my arms around my American’s neck, kiss his smirk, and tell him with my whole heart, “I love eggs!”

His smirk falters.

Becomes a grin.

Because I think he knows.

I meant what I said.

And I do not mean eggs.

Author’s Note…

Hi there! When I was in Lisbon I stayed in apartments and many of them available to me on the site were a one-room type scenario. Open floor plan I think it’s called? Is that right? So I had to install a wall separator (and I’m sure they exist…I just didn’t see any that would hide Hunter from sight long enough to really surprise her.)

I almost - ALMOST - wrote him gone. But you know what? I like to say that my characters tell me what happened to them. And Hunter didn’t want to be a cliche and be an empty dent in a pillow.

He wanted…eggs.

Hope you’re having fun.

Spread the word if you’re having fun.

xx,

Faleena Hopkins