Gunner leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. “I’ll finish your sentence for you. There’s no one I wanted to share my house with more than you.”
She scrunched her eyes.
“It’s true, Rocket Girl. I like having you here.”
“I like being here,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to be tentative with me. You’d know if I was lying to you. You’d also know if I didn’t want you here.”
“I’m not sure about knowing if you were lying to me.”
“Sure you would. Just like I know when you’re lying to me.”
Gunner waited. He was taking a risk, hoping that if he opened up to her, she might do the same. At least a little.
She took a deep breath, studying him.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
“I want to.”
“I won’t ask, Raketa. Whatever you want to tell me will be in your own time. I just hope, one day soon, you’ll trust me enough to tell me where your pain comes from.”
She stood, walked across the kitchen, and looked out the window. “It’s really beautiful here.”
“I agree.” The leaves were just beginning to change. Soon the entire island would be awash with the reds, oranges, and yellows of autumn, and shortly after that, the days would become increasingly colder.
“I grew up in a children’s home,” she began without turning around to look at him.
Gunner waited, steadfast in his commitment not to ask her questions.
—:—
“When I was young, my parents were killed.”
“That’s what you were told.”
She nodded, still not turning around to look at him.
“I was taken to Moscow.”
“From Azerbaijan.”
She nodded again, turning around to face him. “I became a child of the SVR.”
“When you were eighteen.”
“Before that.” He was making this easier on her by essentially stating what she left unsaid. “I was seventeen.”
Gunner nodded.
“That’s when I became Raketa. I left Zaryana behind.
“Raketa Ivashov.”
“My mother’s maiden name.”
“I see.”