I don't own Yassen!
I lie awake in the dark. Why hasn't he come? Rolling over, I pick up the phone. Listen to the dial tone. It's working.
Where is he? A conference? A meeting? One of the usual lies. Tonight… he knew what tonight meant, our anniversary, unofficially. Our first night together in weeks. And he isn't here.
Tears well up, I brush them away. I won't cry, he wouldn't cry. Those blue eyes, always dry, never showing anything.
It was on a night like this, lying lonely between cold sheets, that I found out what he is, what he does. On a night like this I found out what I am: the lonely lover of an assassin.
I am the lonely lover of Yassen Gregorovich.