The Glorious Becoming (29 page)

Scott lowered the pie. “Oh, come on! Now you got me wanting to do it!”

Sputtering out something in Russian, Svetlana bent forward on her knees. She looked up in hilarity. “I changed my mind.”

“You can’t change your mind!”

She was red like a beet; she pressed her hands to her forehead. More Russian sputtered out, then English again. “I really have to do this.” Scott didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. Just the same, she fanned herself furiously and stepped forward. “All right, all right,” she said. “Let’s go.” She blew out and leaned forward. “Do it.”

He gave her the warning. “I’m doing it.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Okay.” He eased his arm back.

“No, no, no, wait, wait, wait!” She leapt away from him again.

“Sveta, this is ridiculous!”

She laughed though pleading blue eyes. “Please don’t get it in my hair.”

“Don’t get it in your hair? What is this, the wussiest pie-in-the-face ever?”

Running a hand over her head, she stared at him with the most pathetic look of defeat and regret he’d ever seen. Then slowly, almost warily, a grin crept out. “You had better enjoy this.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“You had
better
enjoy this, Scott Remington.”

He waved her forward. “Come on. Take it like a blonde.”

Hands on her hips and face flushed, Svetlana stepped toward him. “I can’t believe I am doing this.” She shot a look that screamed
not happy
.

“Are you ready?”

“Do
not
get it in my hair.”

“Are you ready?”

She inhaled. “I am ready.”

“Okay. On three.” There was zero chance he was waiting until three.

“Okay,” she said, “on three.”

“One.”

She stared the pie down like it was her mortal enemy. She nodded confidently. “One.”

“Two.”

“Two—”

Thrusting the pie forward, he slammed it into her face with the passion of a thousand clowns. She couldn’t even shriek. Whipped cream enveloped her head as he blocked her instinctive retreat with a hand to her back. As her body went rigid, he slid the pan around in circles.

Beneath the layers of white that cascaded from Svetlana’s face was a look of open-mouthed horror. By the time Scott ended his masterpiece, the contents of the pan were completely gone. Her head was a wreck.

“Oh, my God,” she said. The way the words came out, it was as if she was about to either laugh or commit homicide. The end result was a mixture of both. “Scott James Remington!”

“Hang on, hang on,” Scott said, taking a step back. “I want to take this in.”

Finally, her grin came out. It was a grin of disbelief, but a grin just the same. Cocking one hand on her hip, she stared at him. Or at least he thought she was staring at him. He couldn’t quite tell. “I am going to get you,” she said, pointing a finger. “I want you to know that. When you least expect it.” Wiping her hand across her head, she slung a pile of mess to the floor. “I am so mad at you.”

“Can I tell you something?” Scott asked.

She leered through globs of white. “What?”

“You’re an incredible sport.” Amid the absurdity, he wanted to say something sincere. “I mean it. When I say this was the last thing I expected this morning, this was
really
the last thing I expected. I had no idea you were capable of this.” Her skin was barely visible, but he could swear she was blushing.

“I try,” she said. “This was a first for me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” she said, laughing. “I would not do this for
anyone
else. I hope you got a good laugh.”

Did he get a good laugh? Yes. But she’d given him something infinitely more meaningful. She’d given him a momentary reprieve from all things
Cairo
, and that was exactly what he’d needed. “You want to look at yourself?”

“Not particularly. Okay, yes.” Sliding her fingers over her eyes, she cleared them to see. Scott eased her in front of his sink mirror. As soon as the blonde saw her reflection, she succumbed to a laughing fit. “Scott!” She angled her face to see the sides of her head, then grabbed at her ponytail. “I am so going to get you one day.”

“Promises, promises.”

“I told you not to get my hair!” Wiping the filling from her face, she flicked it in globs to the sink basin. “Can I have a towel?”

Tossing her a towel from his linen closet, he watched as she ran it solidly over her face and its various crevices.

“This is the grossest thing ever. I cannot believe I did this.”

“You were good at it. You’d be good at a circus.”

“Thanks a lot! I will keep that in mind.”

He motioned to his bathroom. “You want to use my shower?” She paused, eyes lingering on the bathroom door as if considering the offer. “Seriously, go wash your head. I won’t go in.”

“Okay,” she said, leaving his towel in the sink. “I will not be long. I need to rinse my hair, thanks to someone terrible.”

“Rinse away.”

Pointing again as she passed, she said, “I will get you for this. You wait.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Her leer lingering, Svetlana walked into his bathroom and closed the door behind her. A minute later, he heard his shower turn on.

I can’t believe she did this.
The whole while Svetlana showered, Scott’s mind replayed the morning’s scene. When he’d opened that door and seen her in that initial moment, he’d been so confused.
She didn’t have on a lick of makeup. Has anyone else seen her like that?
Living in barracks, it was a certainty. But he couldn’t imagine her letting anyone see more than fleeting glances. Women were prideful about how they looked, and Svetlana was no exception.
No mascara, nothing to conceal her blemishes. She just showed me herself.
Something about that was a little special.

Despite the fact that they’d been engaged, Scott had only seen Nicole without makeup a handful of times. But she’d been a natural beauty. Svetlana...

...there was no other way for his mind to put it. Svetlana needed a little more work. It wasn’t to suggest that Svetlana was anything less than beautiful. She had a daintiness about her—an elegance. She carried herself, well, like a lady. There were certain things that she was above, like juvenility and silliness. Like pies in the face.

Why did she do that today? Why did she really do that?
There was no doubt in Scott’s mind that he saw her differently than everyone else. Most others saw sourness. Even he had found her cold upon their first encounter almost a year ago. But there was one thing, if asked, that everybody would agree upon: Svetlana was a serious, proper woman. Until now.

She was telling me something.

It struck Scott that, with Svetlana being aware of his rejection of Esther, it was actually the first time the medic was free to be herself. When they’d first met prior to her departure from
Novosibirsk
, she’d been with Anatoly Novikov. Ineligible. Upon Svetlana’s return, Esther was already established in the Fourteenth. And while Scott was unaware of Esther’s infatuation, it was apparently something Svetlana sensed from the get-go. But now there was no Lieutenant Novikov. There was no Esther. Svetlana’s competition was gone. She was just being...her.

That’s what this morning was about, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about anything I said; it wasn’t about being even with Esther.
The pie was an excuse.
She wanted to show me that she could be fun.
And she had done it in the most unserious, self-depreciating, off-the-wall way possible.

In football, there were certain games when messages needed to be sent through the opposing team. Players called them “statement games.” Scott had his during his first start: Michigan’s upset of nationally-ranked Southern Cal. Svetlana’s was this morning. As Scott stared at the closed bathroom door, the sound of the shower splattering behind it, he found himself wondering. Could their fun ever rival the fun he had with Nicole?

The water squeaked off. Svetlana was finishing. Bending forward in his chair, Scott closed his eyes and cupped his fists together. He didn’t know what he was praying for exactly, but he had a feeling God could figure it out. It was for something like clarity. Assuredness. A sign that, when he met that person he was supposed to be with, he would know.

Could anyone replace Nikki?

Several minutes passed before his bathroom door opened. Stepping out, her damp hair hanging to her shoulders, Svetlana placed her hand against the doorframe and gazed at him. Slowly, she smiled.

Kiss her.

The thought came suddenly. It actually caught him off guard.

Kiss her.

Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. His feelings toward Svetlana were in never-ending flux. As Scott stood, he felt the sensation of floating toward her as if his feet weren’t touching the floor. Her oceanblue eyes were locked steadfastly to his. Her lips parted.

This mission was for her. To save the life of the woman before him. The woman whose gaze was unwavering. The woman he knew truly loved him. Reaching out, he placed his hands at her sides as she draped hers over his shoulders.
She could never be Nicole. She could never be Nicole.
Did it matter?

Her fingertips slid beneath the hair above his neck. Their bodies pressed. As Scott tilted his head inward, he saw her eyes close. His followed suit.

This is it. This has to be it. Or it will never be.

Could she ever be Nicole?

The course of his lips altered. Their cheeks brushed together. The kiss never came.

...no.

The exhale that came from Svetlana was as awful as the morning had been unexpected. He felt her eyes close tighter. He sensed her jaw set as the trembling began. She lowered her chin to his shoulder. In the midst of her morning, in the midst of her boldest reach into the favor of his heart and her best effort of vulnerability. In the midst of her statement game...she’d been rejected.

What have I just done?

Svetlana said nothing, but her arms wrapped around his neck tighter. She was clinging.

What have I just done?

As he slowly leaned back, he registered the look on Svetlana’s face. It was a hurt he’d never seen in her before. Her eyes started to shimmer.

What could he say? What was he supposed to say? There was nothing. “I need to get going.” It was the most pitiful thing he knew he could have said.

Svetlana stayed silent, just stepping back. She held back a deep breath. “Okay.” Her voice quivered.

“I’m sorry.”

The knot returned. Grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he leaned in to give Svetlana a hug. She accepted the gesture. “Keep everyone straight,” he said.

Swallowing visibly, she nodded.

The exchange of goodbyes that followed was as lifeless as the linoleum floor. Neither Scott nor Svetlana looked the other in the eyes; their gazes remained downcast and away. The emotional wall between them might as well have been made of lead.

Scott walked out of the door without saying another word—without slowing down. He couldn’t afford to. Leaving her behind, he trekked for the hangar.

Go, Scott. Just keep walking.

He was doing this for Svetlana. This entire mission was, at least for him, to save her life. That proved he cared for her. That proved he...

...he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Just don’t turn around. Whatever you do. Keep walking to the hangar.

God had led him to
Novosibirsk
and to Svetlana. But God hadn’t led him to become a Nightman by murdering Sergei Steklov. And it didn’t mean God was leading him to
marry
Svetlana.

Wait—what? Marry Svetlana? Scott, what the hell are you thinking?

Svetlana Remington. Esther had put that name in his head. Svetlana Remington. How did it sound? How did it look? He refused to answer.

You didn’t kiss her. You turned her down. It’s done.

When Scott arrived in the hangar, half of the unit was already there. Travis and Boris were talking, the close friends undoubtedly wishing each other luck. David and Max were there, Flopper sitting obediently at Max’s feet, tongue hanging out in happy obliviousness. Even Egor was there, sharing a laugh with Auric. Esther was nowhere to be seen.

“Remmy!”

Scott turned to see Becan trotting toward him.

“Hey, everything all righ’? I heard somethin’ happened between you an’ Esty.”

“Everything’s fine.”

David and Max also made their approach, as did Flopper. Crouching down, Scott swatted the air in front of the dog’s nose. Flopper’s jaws snapped in playful chase.

David folded his arms. “Hey, I never got a chance to talk to you since the meeting yesterday. Did we hear what we thought we heard back there?”

Scott knew what they were referring to: his subtle hint during the meeting about not being allowed to refuse the mission. “Yeah, you did.” Leaving Flopper on the ground, Scott rose up. “It’s Novikov all over again.” Svetlana had slept with Novikov—she’d confessed that to him. It’d affected him to hear that. Why didn’t he care about it now?

“Wait,” said Becan, “wha’ are we talkin’ abou’?”

“About Sveta,” said Max.

“Wha’ abou’ her?”

Scott looked at the Irishman. “Thoor’s using Sveta as leverage against me. If I refused to go on this mission, or if I fail, he’ll kill her.”

Becan’s jaw dropped.
“Like bleedin’ hell!”

“The same thing happened with Tolya,” said Max. “I was there when it happened. Thoor made him stay behind with those explosives by threatening to kill Sveta if he didn’t. That’s why Tolya died.”

“An’ no one told me this?”

“This is what Thoor does,” said Max. “He controls you however he can. Oleg was with us for months—there’s no doubt that’s how Thoor knew about Scott and Sveta.”

Scott and Sveta. Everyone said it so naturally, as if their future was certain. They were always paired together. Only Esther had failed to see it. “What am I supposed to do?” Scott asked. “I have to go on this mission. I have to save her.” She was his damsel in distress.
His
. How that word stuck out.