Post by tingrin on Dec 4, 2006 18:10:38 GMT -5
Lake Baikal, Siberia
"It is the most beautiful place in the world," Piotr had said to her as they travelled out here in the car that his shiny new credit card had paid to hire. His mother and sister were seated in the back. Piotr had made arrangements to have his father's body returned to the farm by helicopter in a few days for the funeral. It hadn't come cheap, but the credit card would cover it. He would deal with paying for it afterwards.
The road leading to the farm was winding and narrow, taking them alongside a deep copse of evergreens. The hill was fairly steep, but worth it simply for the beautiful sight that met Sibyl as they crested the top. The crystal blue waters of the lake itself lay out before them, forest on either side reflected in its waters.
Piotr stopped the car and insisted everyone get out and admire the view, despite the fact that he and his family had seen it many times.
The past two days had seen much of a return to the young man's former cheerfulness, although there were still moments of terribly dark despondency.
Sibyl murmured with appropriate- and sincere- awe as the lake came into view, and got out, tugging her shawl around her a bit to shield her skin from the sunlight.
Hovering near Illyana and her mother, Sibyl looked out on the water, and smiled to herself.
Things had become much more peaceful in the last few days, though Sibyl still felt the stress of all that had happened in the center of her chest. It was soothed considerably by the thought that what the Rasputins must be going through eclipsed Sibyl’s own problems, and she endeavored as always to be supportive and inconspicuous at every opportunity.
“How long has the farm been in your family?” Sibyl asked Alexandra and Illyana.
"It was our great-grandfather's," replied Illyana with obvious pride. "Our bit of it, that is. The farm is part of a collective. There are sixteen families living off the land, working together. My father..." A touch of sadness in the eyes, but it passed swiftly. Illyana, Sibyl had learned, was very like her brother in many ways. "My father was a teacher, amongst his other chores. We have looked after the vegetable crops for many years now."
Piotr listened to his sister talk. My family are three generations of turnip farmers, he thought, suddenly feeling terribly ashamed of his humble origins, yet at the same time incredibly proud.
"We each have our own home," he interjected. "It is nothing large, but it is comfortable. Mother and Illyana work hard to make it so." He smiled at his family, and actually managed to wrangle a small smile out of his tired, careworn mother.
"Come," he said. "It is only five minutes more to drive."
Sibyl smiled as she listened to them talk about the farm and its lands. Piotr may have thought his origins humble, but Sibyl was Roma. They had no land, owned little more than what they could travel with, and held little hope of rising above their station- or expectation their children would do the same. To Sibyl, their plot and their hard work was worthy of respect, if not envy.
Sibyl wasn’t prone to envy or jealousy. She understood quite poignantly via her mutation just how fickle life could be. Some coveted, even revered Sibyl for her “powers”… others rejected her with a fear and disgust that taught Sibyl early on lessons of prejudice and kindness.
Helping Alexandra back into the car with a hand in the older woman’s, she shut the door and took her own seat, giving Piotr a sweet smile. “It’s all so lovely, Petya. I understand more in each moment why you missed this place so much.”
"It is funny," he said, as they drove off. "The longer I am here, the more America feels like a distant dream. Apart from the credit card, of course." He flashed her a smile and returned his attention to the road.
Despite their recent loss, all of the Rasputins appeared to have rallied rather impressively. Even Alexandra brightened as they took the final turn down towards the farm, several people of assorted ages and gender assembling to watch the big 4 x 4 drive in through the gates.
Illyana waved furiously at people and called out names and clapped her hands like a little girl. Piotr's face grew a little darker and his mother leaned forward and lay a hand on his shoulder.
"They will be glad to see you, Piotr," she reassured him softly.
And oh yes, they would- but how would they react to the pale gypsy girl who came with them. Sibyl lifted her chin a bit, and patted Piotr’s leg. She turned her head to look at Alexandra, and smiled softly.
There was little to say as she helped Alexandra out, and touched Illyana’s elbow as the girl stepped out, but Sibyl’s pale pink eyes remained on her lover. Her heart beat hard, recalling how she had been rejected in the past. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to remain if she brought further hardship on the Rasputins. She hoped even more than for herself that Piotr would not be rejected as well.
There was a rush of people who came over to the Rasputins, but they were courteous and kind, deferential and deeply sorrowful for the loss that was, as several of them said, everyone's to bear. Piotr stood back from his mother and sister, reluctant and unsure of himself. It hadn't been that long, yet it felt like a lifetime.
Finally, the first person plucked up enough courage to come over to the big young man; a woman, approximately Alexandra's age. She stood boldly in front of Piotr and then, rather unexpectedly, threw her arms around his neck.
"Little Petya," she said, her voice choked with tears.
"Aunt Meryem," he said, gently. "It is good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to my...to my...to my future wife, Sibylinka."
He took a step back. The woman turned her gaze on the young woman and an expression of surprise came into her face at the girl's colouring. "Is she...like you, Petya?"
The briefest of smiles.
"Da, Aunt Meryem," he said. "Da. Sibyl is like me, but different." He slid his big hand into hers and gave her a smile. "She means, are you a mutant like me," he clarified, softly.
The flood of memory that had come as the woman embraced Piotr had knocked Sibyl out of her thoughts for a moment, and she swallowed hard, taking what she could remember from it. Love, and family, and history. Things Sibyl herself missed greatly from her own childhood. She hoped these moments would heal Piotr’s family, and Piotr himself.
Sibyl took a deep breath without letting her chest rise enough to show it. Squeezing Piotr’s hand as much to comfort him as herself, she nodded to Aunt Meryem and smiled bravely.
“I am so glad to meet you,” she said in her best Russian, struggling to hide the southerly accent in her voice. The colour rose easily to her milk-white cheeks and she felt her knees go hot and tingly.
"You too," said the elderly woman. "I am Nikolai's sister."
"Aunt Meryem's husband passed away some years ago," said Piotr, easily. "My father provided for her as part of our family. As will I, Aunt Meryem, do not worry." He smiled at his aunt, a fond smile that hid nothing.
"Are you staying here now, little Petya? Or will you go away to your school in America agan and leave us?"
Forthright, blunt, seemingly forgotten Sibyl already - such was the way of these hardy farm women. There was little point in pontification when the obvious could be stated.
Piotr glanced at Sibyl, clearly uncomfortable.
"Perhaps, Aunt Meryem. For now, I need to take mother and Illyana home. Please, come to us for dinner later."
Sibyl nodded as the introduction was made and kept her smile in place as the dreaded question was asked. To her surprise, she felt no fear as Piotr gave his answer. It was not something that needed to be decided now and no matter what happened to both of them, Sibly wanted Piotr to make the best decision for himself and his family. She would decide for herself when he made his decision.
Looking away from Piotr’s aunt, Sibyl kept an eye on Alexandra. She was still concerned for the woman’s health and did not want her overtaxed any more than was possible. Murmuring to Piotr, she tugged his hand subtly between them.
“Yes Piotr we should be going. Your mother needs to sit and rest.”
Piotr shot her a grateful look. "Yes, you are right. Excuse us, Aunt Meryem." He smiled at his aunt, a genuine smile of warmth, then he slid his arm around Sibyl and held her close. Meryem's eyes narrowed briefly, but what she sensed from the woman was little more than the loving jealousy of an affectionate aunt concerned for her nephew's welfare - and it wore off again swiftly.
"Come, Mother," said Piotr, softly to Alexandra, whose moment of pleasure at returning home had been marred when she realised she would have to go back to a husband-less home for the first time. Illyana took her mother's hand and Piotr guided Sibyl towards a low building with a thatched roof and good stone cladding on the walls.
"Home," he said simply, and a wave of memories rushed over him so strongly that he almost physically stepped back.
Sibyl gave Piotr a moment of reflection before stepping forward and urging him on. “Tell me everything,” she encouraged, they walked towards the building together.
Her heart swelled. Such a place of simple beauty, peace and love she had never seen. Years of toil had obviously gone into every inch of it, and she could almost hear their laughter. Most prevalent in her mind were the two missing men; not only Piotr’s father, but his brother. She wanted to know more of him. Perhaps they would get to reminiscing later after dinner.
"I will," he promised, putting his arm around her again and hugging her close. "For now, we must get you settled, Mother needs to find her feet - and there must be tea. Or vodka. Or perhaps both." He siled at her.
The interior of the building was simple and sparsely furnished, but what colour there was was handmade and so clearly made with love that the whole place seemed almost alive with it. Bright tears briefly stood in Pitor's eyes, but he blinked them back fiercely.
Alexandra, however, was not so composed, and sank into a chair by the fireplace, covering her eyes with her hands and weeping inconsolably.
Piotr and Illyana exchanged glances, and Illyana made shooing motions with her hands. "I will deal with this," she mouthed. Piotr , asting a worried look at his mother, led Sibyl through to a small bedroom that had once been his. There was a single bed in there and it was as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house.
"My room," he said, softly.
Sibyl took the moment of privacy to curl both her arms around his one large one, kissing his upper arm affectionately. “Welcome home my love,” she said, looking up at him.
Lifting a hand to his face, she tipped his to hers and gave him a brief, but lingering kiss. “Come. Let’s get to that tea before she must ask for it. You will show me where everything is?”
Once in the kitchen she slapped at his hands at he went to make the tea himself, and pointed at the table for him to sit, insisting.
The kitchen was a large, open area away from the front room where Illyana and Alexandra were, a large, eight-seater table dominating one side of it. Piotr slid into a seat at this table and watched her as she moved the kettle onto the range. Someone - most likely Meryem - had ensured fresh water had been drawn and provided.
It felt so familiar and yet so unusual at the same time. It shocked Piotr how easily he had adjusted to the comforts of electricity and central heating.
"This feels...strange," he said, softly.
“You are very different than you were when you left home, aren’t you,” she said, finding the tea and inhaling it’s scent. Sibyl smiled to herself. Places like this had scents few American homes would ever contain- decades upon decades of life lived within walls no quite so sheltered from earth, not quite so antiseptic. It had been something at first Sibyl considered a luxury. As she stood in the Rasputin kitchen she realized this, too, had its value.
"I have days when I cannot recognise myself," he confirmed. "I am sometimes Peter, sometimes Piotr, does that make sense to you?"
He ran a finger over the worn wood of the table, allowing himself a moment of memory. The whole family, with baby Illyana, just before Mikhail went off on that ill-fated space mission, gathered around for dinner. The love, the warmth, the laughter.
Everyone at the mansion seemed to eat on their own when they fancied it. There were very few collective mealtimes.
“I suppose it does,” she said, taking the boiling water off and adding the tea, letting it sit and coming to take a chair across from him.
“You miss a sense of family there. I suppose all of you were very involved in one another’s lives. Now you are on your own- or, were.” She decided to correct herself. “At least when you are in America.”
Something that Piotr had very studiously been avoiding for a while bubbled to the surface and he took Sibyl's hand in his own.
"I....I should call the Institute," he said. "I can take the car up to the nearest town and use a telephone there. They must...surely have noticed you gone by now. I am surprised, Sibyl, that nobody was waiting here for us, to be honest with you."
The normally reserved young woman blurted her first reaction before she could catch herself. “They will make you regret bringing me,” she said. Looking from his face to their hands together. “You will want to send me back. You will –have- to send me back. Petya… when I made this choice with you…” She shook her head a little, looking back up at him.
“Let me call my father first. Perhaps I can make him understand I am safe and cared for. Ohh…” she sighed. “But then he will call the school and you will be in trouble.” She bit her lip.
“I should not have come. But I could not refuse you. And I am glad to be here.”
"I am glad you are here," he said, earnestly. "But ... I was not thinking clearly. Now...I have done too much thinking and everything is clear. Whichever way I look at it, I am in trouble. But I do not wish for you to leave me."
He sighed and stared at the table.
"It was all so...sudden," he said, sadly.
Both her hands were in his now, her fingers grasping his tightly. She leaned towards him. “I will make it right, I will. I will speak to my father and he will see you’ve done nothing wrong. I was helping my countryman, that is all. You needed me here!”
And then the tea came back to mind. She got up quickly and pulled down the small cups, putting it all together.
“Come,” she said tightly. “Come and bring this to your mother.” Her voice was shaking.
"Yes," he said, "yes, you are right. The tea." He gave her a smile, but she could tell that he was anxious and worried - and she knew it wasn't for himself. In the more lucid moments amidst the panic of the past few days, he had known that what he had done would bring down the wrath of someone on him.
He did not yet know who, or how much, though.
"Tea," he repeated, more firmly.
When she had poured the tea and set the rest of it onto the tray and put it in Piotr’s strong hands, she had wordlessly pushed him towards the front room where his mother and Illyana sat speaking. Staying behind, she crossed her arms over herself and held her breath.
He would be in horrible trouble. She has seen it with her husband, they had extradited him back to Saudi Arabia because he was a wealthy man- he served no jail time, as child wives were not illegal in his country and Sibyl had been given over willingly. If Piotr was not an American citizen, he would be sent home if not prosecuted in the United States. And she knew because of her past they would never accept her word to his innocence. And suddenly her first marriage would make a second to Piotr an impossibility.
She had been trying not to think about it, throwing herself into the moment and pretending, while she could, that this place was their home and that for once, they were normal people with normal lives who had fallen in love just as their parents might have wished for them to. But it wasn’t the case. And she’d been foolish to do so. Foolish to come here with him at all.
Putting her hands to her face, she tried to think of what she would say to her father to make him understand. She felt for sure she would have to lie to him; that it was a sudden excursion, it was neither romantic nor sexual in the slightest. It would kill her to lie to the man who had rescued her and so generously taken her into his home. But if it meant sparing an equally kind-hearted man the shame of conviction for crimes he did not mean to commit… then she would do so.
"It is the most beautiful place in the world," Piotr had said to her as they travelled out here in the car that his shiny new credit card had paid to hire. His mother and sister were seated in the back. Piotr had made arrangements to have his father's body returned to the farm by helicopter in a few days for the funeral. It hadn't come cheap, but the credit card would cover it. He would deal with paying for it afterwards.
The road leading to the farm was winding and narrow, taking them alongside a deep copse of evergreens. The hill was fairly steep, but worth it simply for the beautiful sight that met Sibyl as they crested the top. The crystal blue waters of the lake itself lay out before them, forest on either side reflected in its waters.
Piotr stopped the car and insisted everyone get out and admire the view, despite the fact that he and his family had seen it many times.
The past two days had seen much of a return to the young man's former cheerfulness, although there were still moments of terribly dark despondency.
Sibyl murmured with appropriate- and sincere- awe as the lake came into view, and got out, tugging her shawl around her a bit to shield her skin from the sunlight.
Hovering near Illyana and her mother, Sibyl looked out on the water, and smiled to herself.
Things had become much more peaceful in the last few days, though Sibyl still felt the stress of all that had happened in the center of her chest. It was soothed considerably by the thought that what the Rasputins must be going through eclipsed Sibyl’s own problems, and she endeavored as always to be supportive and inconspicuous at every opportunity.
“How long has the farm been in your family?” Sibyl asked Alexandra and Illyana.
"It was our great-grandfather's," replied Illyana with obvious pride. "Our bit of it, that is. The farm is part of a collective. There are sixteen families living off the land, working together. My father..." A touch of sadness in the eyes, but it passed swiftly. Illyana, Sibyl had learned, was very like her brother in many ways. "My father was a teacher, amongst his other chores. We have looked after the vegetable crops for many years now."
Piotr listened to his sister talk. My family are three generations of turnip farmers, he thought, suddenly feeling terribly ashamed of his humble origins, yet at the same time incredibly proud.
"We each have our own home," he interjected. "It is nothing large, but it is comfortable. Mother and Illyana work hard to make it so." He smiled at his family, and actually managed to wrangle a small smile out of his tired, careworn mother.
"Come," he said. "It is only five minutes more to drive."
Sibyl smiled as she listened to them talk about the farm and its lands. Piotr may have thought his origins humble, but Sibyl was Roma. They had no land, owned little more than what they could travel with, and held little hope of rising above their station- or expectation their children would do the same. To Sibyl, their plot and their hard work was worthy of respect, if not envy.
Sibyl wasn’t prone to envy or jealousy. She understood quite poignantly via her mutation just how fickle life could be. Some coveted, even revered Sibyl for her “powers”… others rejected her with a fear and disgust that taught Sibyl early on lessons of prejudice and kindness.
Helping Alexandra back into the car with a hand in the older woman’s, she shut the door and took her own seat, giving Piotr a sweet smile. “It’s all so lovely, Petya. I understand more in each moment why you missed this place so much.”
"It is funny," he said, as they drove off. "The longer I am here, the more America feels like a distant dream. Apart from the credit card, of course." He flashed her a smile and returned his attention to the road.
Despite their recent loss, all of the Rasputins appeared to have rallied rather impressively. Even Alexandra brightened as they took the final turn down towards the farm, several people of assorted ages and gender assembling to watch the big 4 x 4 drive in through the gates.
Illyana waved furiously at people and called out names and clapped her hands like a little girl. Piotr's face grew a little darker and his mother leaned forward and lay a hand on his shoulder.
"They will be glad to see you, Piotr," she reassured him softly.
And oh yes, they would- but how would they react to the pale gypsy girl who came with them. Sibyl lifted her chin a bit, and patted Piotr’s leg. She turned her head to look at Alexandra, and smiled softly.
There was little to say as she helped Alexandra out, and touched Illyana’s elbow as the girl stepped out, but Sibyl’s pale pink eyes remained on her lover. Her heart beat hard, recalling how she had been rejected in the past. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to remain if she brought further hardship on the Rasputins. She hoped even more than for herself that Piotr would not be rejected as well.
There was a rush of people who came over to the Rasputins, but they were courteous and kind, deferential and deeply sorrowful for the loss that was, as several of them said, everyone's to bear. Piotr stood back from his mother and sister, reluctant and unsure of himself. It hadn't been that long, yet it felt like a lifetime.
Finally, the first person plucked up enough courage to come over to the big young man; a woman, approximately Alexandra's age. She stood boldly in front of Piotr and then, rather unexpectedly, threw her arms around his neck.
"Little Petya," she said, her voice choked with tears.
"Aunt Meryem," he said, gently. "It is good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to my...to my...to my future wife, Sibylinka."
He took a step back. The woman turned her gaze on the young woman and an expression of surprise came into her face at the girl's colouring. "Is she...like you, Petya?"
The briefest of smiles.
"Da, Aunt Meryem," he said. "Da. Sibyl is like me, but different." He slid his big hand into hers and gave her a smile. "She means, are you a mutant like me," he clarified, softly.
The flood of memory that had come as the woman embraced Piotr had knocked Sibyl out of her thoughts for a moment, and she swallowed hard, taking what she could remember from it. Love, and family, and history. Things Sibyl herself missed greatly from her own childhood. She hoped these moments would heal Piotr’s family, and Piotr himself.
Sibyl took a deep breath without letting her chest rise enough to show it. Squeezing Piotr’s hand as much to comfort him as herself, she nodded to Aunt Meryem and smiled bravely.
“I am so glad to meet you,” she said in her best Russian, struggling to hide the southerly accent in her voice. The colour rose easily to her milk-white cheeks and she felt her knees go hot and tingly.
"You too," said the elderly woman. "I am Nikolai's sister."
"Aunt Meryem's husband passed away some years ago," said Piotr, easily. "My father provided for her as part of our family. As will I, Aunt Meryem, do not worry." He smiled at his aunt, a fond smile that hid nothing.
"Are you staying here now, little Petya? Or will you go away to your school in America agan and leave us?"
Forthright, blunt, seemingly forgotten Sibyl already - such was the way of these hardy farm women. There was little point in pontification when the obvious could be stated.
Piotr glanced at Sibyl, clearly uncomfortable.
"Perhaps, Aunt Meryem. For now, I need to take mother and Illyana home. Please, come to us for dinner later."
Sibyl nodded as the introduction was made and kept her smile in place as the dreaded question was asked. To her surprise, she felt no fear as Piotr gave his answer. It was not something that needed to be decided now and no matter what happened to both of them, Sibly wanted Piotr to make the best decision for himself and his family. She would decide for herself when he made his decision.
Looking away from Piotr’s aunt, Sibyl kept an eye on Alexandra. She was still concerned for the woman’s health and did not want her overtaxed any more than was possible. Murmuring to Piotr, she tugged his hand subtly between them.
“Yes Piotr we should be going. Your mother needs to sit and rest.”
Piotr shot her a grateful look. "Yes, you are right. Excuse us, Aunt Meryem." He smiled at his aunt, a genuine smile of warmth, then he slid his arm around Sibyl and held her close. Meryem's eyes narrowed briefly, but what she sensed from the woman was little more than the loving jealousy of an affectionate aunt concerned for her nephew's welfare - and it wore off again swiftly.
"Come, Mother," said Piotr, softly to Alexandra, whose moment of pleasure at returning home had been marred when she realised she would have to go back to a husband-less home for the first time. Illyana took her mother's hand and Piotr guided Sibyl towards a low building with a thatched roof and good stone cladding on the walls.
"Home," he said simply, and a wave of memories rushed over him so strongly that he almost physically stepped back.
Sibyl gave Piotr a moment of reflection before stepping forward and urging him on. “Tell me everything,” she encouraged, they walked towards the building together.
Her heart swelled. Such a place of simple beauty, peace and love she had never seen. Years of toil had obviously gone into every inch of it, and she could almost hear their laughter. Most prevalent in her mind were the two missing men; not only Piotr’s father, but his brother. She wanted to know more of him. Perhaps they would get to reminiscing later after dinner.
"I will," he promised, putting his arm around her again and hugging her close. "For now, we must get you settled, Mother needs to find her feet - and there must be tea. Or vodka. Or perhaps both." He siled at her.
The interior of the building was simple and sparsely furnished, but what colour there was was handmade and so clearly made with love that the whole place seemed almost alive with it. Bright tears briefly stood in Pitor's eyes, but he blinked them back fiercely.
Alexandra, however, was not so composed, and sank into a chair by the fireplace, covering her eyes with her hands and weeping inconsolably.
Piotr and Illyana exchanged glances, and Illyana made shooing motions with her hands. "I will deal with this," she mouthed. Piotr , asting a worried look at his mother, led Sibyl through to a small bedroom that had once been his. There was a single bed in there and it was as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house.
"My room," he said, softly.
Sibyl took the moment of privacy to curl both her arms around his one large one, kissing his upper arm affectionately. “Welcome home my love,” she said, looking up at him.
Lifting a hand to his face, she tipped his to hers and gave him a brief, but lingering kiss. “Come. Let’s get to that tea before she must ask for it. You will show me where everything is?”
Once in the kitchen she slapped at his hands at he went to make the tea himself, and pointed at the table for him to sit, insisting.
The kitchen was a large, open area away from the front room where Illyana and Alexandra were, a large, eight-seater table dominating one side of it. Piotr slid into a seat at this table and watched her as she moved the kettle onto the range. Someone - most likely Meryem - had ensured fresh water had been drawn and provided.
It felt so familiar and yet so unusual at the same time. It shocked Piotr how easily he had adjusted to the comforts of electricity and central heating.
"This feels...strange," he said, softly.
“You are very different than you were when you left home, aren’t you,” she said, finding the tea and inhaling it’s scent. Sibyl smiled to herself. Places like this had scents few American homes would ever contain- decades upon decades of life lived within walls no quite so sheltered from earth, not quite so antiseptic. It had been something at first Sibyl considered a luxury. As she stood in the Rasputin kitchen she realized this, too, had its value.
"I have days when I cannot recognise myself," he confirmed. "I am sometimes Peter, sometimes Piotr, does that make sense to you?"
He ran a finger over the worn wood of the table, allowing himself a moment of memory. The whole family, with baby Illyana, just before Mikhail went off on that ill-fated space mission, gathered around for dinner. The love, the warmth, the laughter.
Everyone at the mansion seemed to eat on their own when they fancied it. There were very few collective mealtimes.
“I suppose it does,” she said, taking the boiling water off and adding the tea, letting it sit and coming to take a chair across from him.
“You miss a sense of family there. I suppose all of you were very involved in one another’s lives. Now you are on your own- or, were.” She decided to correct herself. “At least when you are in America.”
Something that Piotr had very studiously been avoiding for a while bubbled to the surface and he took Sibyl's hand in his own.
"I....I should call the Institute," he said. "I can take the car up to the nearest town and use a telephone there. They must...surely have noticed you gone by now. I am surprised, Sibyl, that nobody was waiting here for us, to be honest with you."
The normally reserved young woman blurted her first reaction before she could catch herself. “They will make you regret bringing me,” she said. Looking from his face to their hands together. “You will want to send me back. You will –have- to send me back. Petya… when I made this choice with you…” She shook her head a little, looking back up at him.
“Let me call my father first. Perhaps I can make him understand I am safe and cared for. Ohh…” she sighed. “But then he will call the school and you will be in trouble.” She bit her lip.
“I should not have come. But I could not refuse you. And I am glad to be here.”
"I am glad you are here," he said, earnestly. "But ... I was not thinking clearly. Now...I have done too much thinking and everything is clear. Whichever way I look at it, I am in trouble. But I do not wish for you to leave me."
He sighed and stared at the table.
"It was all so...sudden," he said, sadly.
Both her hands were in his now, her fingers grasping his tightly. She leaned towards him. “I will make it right, I will. I will speak to my father and he will see you’ve done nothing wrong. I was helping my countryman, that is all. You needed me here!”
And then the tea came back to mind. She got up quickly and pulled down the small cups, putting it all together.
“Come,” she said tightly. “Come and bring this to your mother.” Her voice was shaking.
"Yes," he said, "yes, you are right. The tea." He gave her a smile, but she could tell that he was anxious and worried - and she knew it wasn't for himself. In the more lucid moments amidst the panic of the past few days, he had known that what he had done would bring down the wrath of someone on him.
He did not yet know who, or how much, though.
"Tea," he repeated, more firmly.
When she had poured the tea and set the rest of it onto the tray and put it in Piotr’s strong hands, she had wordlessly pushed him towards the front room where his mother and Illyana sat speaking. Staying behind, she crossed her arms over herself and held her breath.
He would be in horrible trouble. She has seen it with her husband, they had extradited him back to Saudi Arabia because he was a wealthy man- he served no jail time, as child wives were not illegal in his country and Sibyl had been given over willingly. If Piotr was not an American citizen, he would be sent home if not prosecuted in the United States. And she knew because of her past they would never accept her word to his innocence. And suddenly her first marriage would make a second to Piotr an impossibility.
She had been trying not to think about it, throwing herself into the moment and pretending, while she could, that this place was their home and that for once, they were normal people with normal lives who had fallen in love just as their parents might have wished for them to. But it wasn’t the case. And she’d been foolish to do so. Foolish to come here with him at all.
Putting her hands to her face, she tried to think of what she would say to her father to make him understand. She felt for sure she would have to lie to him; that it was a sudden excursion, it was neither romantic nor sexual in the slightest. It would kill her to lie to the man who had rescued her and so generously taken her into his home. But if it meant sparing an equally kind-hearted man the shame of conviction for crimes he did not mean to commit… then she would do so.