VANGUARD(61)

“Oh God, Sophie.” He nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder, letting the hot water wash away the mess on both of them. “So good.”

She smiled, pleased and tired. Loving Michael had always been part of her fabric of being. Loving him physically felt extraordinary. However, she also felt like she might fall down soon if she didn’t get back to bed. She reached for the shampoo, which Michael plucked out of her trembling hands with a smile.

He poured some shampoo into his palm and turned her around, his strong hands working through her hair to lather it up. She sighed with delight as his fingers rubbed against her scalp for several minutes. Then he turned her and tipped her head back to rinse.

“That was nice,” she sighed. “Thank you.” He smiled and picked up a bar of soap.

“My pleasure.” He worked up a good lather between his hands and ran them over her shoulders, rubbing and massaging the skin. After two days of hell, Sophie felt like she’d landed in heaven. He cleaned every inch of her, front and back, ending up on his knees in front of her to wash all the way down to her toes and back up again.

She could have stood there forever, enjoying his attention. Unfortunately, the water started going cold. She squealed, turning the shower off. He dried her with a threadbare towel.

“That felt good.” She wrapped her arms around him, grateful for the support. “Thank you.”

“Next time, you will be well again, and I will do much more than wash you.”

His voice was heavy with promise, and she felt her nipples harden against his chest as a rush of desire flooded through her. She flushed, turning her head away from him to face the mirror. She looked at herself for the first time since she’d woken up.

“Oh.” She ducked out of his arms and peered into the mirror. “You took the stitches out of my forehead.”

“Yes, while you slept.” He seemed even less inclined to discuss it than she did, for which she was thankful. The moment passed, and he turned back to her with his sweetest smile, which made her knees even wobblier than they already were. As did the long kiss he planted on her mouth immediately after.





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Michael went upstairs while Sophie rested. The shower had used up what little energy she had available. He returned, having thanked their hosts and given them more medication. They’d decided it would be best if Sophie had no more contact with them to reduce the risk of infection.

He gathered up their belongings and stripped the bed of its sheets, bagging them with the towels. Then he put the dirty dishes into the sink, and covered them with boiling water. He bagged the medical waste and tossed it beside their stuff. The bathroom he scrubbed down with bleach.

“There,” he said, stripping off his latex gloves and stuffing them into the garbage bag. “That will suffice.” He took a pen and paper, wrote a quick note and wrapped it around a stack of Soviet currency. He left the money sitting on the kitchen counter.

He looked up and saw Sophie gazing at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a smile.

He makes breakfast. He cleans. He looks after me when I’m sick. He’s thoughtful. He’s sweet. Who are you, and what have you done with my angry, misogynistic friend Michael Nariovsky-Trent?





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At Sophie’s request, Michael kept his speed and lane changes to a reasonable rate as they drove north. He found a news station on the radio for a quick check of traffic. She gazed out the window, drowsing, until the words “Orlisia,” “Soviet Republic,” and “United Nations” in the same report caught her attention. She sat up and glanced over at Michael, who was shifting his eyes between the radio and the road. He held his hand up, listening, his face blazing with emotion.

“The United Nations Security Council has broken its deadlock, passing a resolution to send a peacekeeping force Orlisia.” The Russian-speaking radio announcer read the news without emotion. “The president of the UN Security Council has condemned the Soviet Republic’s occupation of Orlisia and has named the Parnaas refugee camp as a key area of interest.”

The two of them screamed with joy. “Shit, watch the road!” she shouted as they swerved out of their lane.

He jerked the wheel back. “Where is your phone? Quickly, call my father. He will have more information.”

Sophie dialed Maxwell’s number with shaking fingers. The call went straight to voicemail, and she left a message asking him to call her back.