Her Cathedral
Viktor & LilyViktor Volkov speaks in four-word sentences. He is the Moretti family's head of security, six-foot-four of silence and precision, and he has not laughed in approximately three years.
Then a girl calls him a cathedral in a hotel room in July, falls asleep on his chest mid-sentence talking about Fleetwood Mac, and disappears before morning.
Four months later, Lily — nineteen, loud, her best friend's guest — walks into Viktor's chest in a corridor, says the word cathedral because her mouth operates on a three-millisecond delay, and changes everything. Again.
She's pregnant. It's his. She drives a Fiat that Sal in Bridgeport has classified as a humanitarian crisis. She snores. Her mouth has never met a thought it didn't immediately share with the room. She is the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to a man whose job is not being afraid.
Viktor doesn't have words for what he feels. But he has hands that fix transmissions, a doorway where he stands and watches her eat Rosa's bread, and an emerald ring he bought next to a spark plug.
Some things don't need words. Some things just need someone to stay.
Viktor & LilyViktor Volkov speaks in four-word sentences. He is the Moretti family's head of security, six-foot-four of silence and precision, and he has not laughed in approximately three years.
Then a girl calls him a cathedral in a hotel room in July, falls asleep on his chest mid-sentence talking about Fleetwood Mac, and disappears before morning.
Four months later, Lily — nineteen, loud, her best friend's guest — walks into Viktor's chest in a corridor, says the word cathedral because her mouth operates on a three-millisecond delay, and changes everything. Again.
She's pregnant. It's his. She drives a Fiat that Sal in Bridgeport has classified as a humanitarian crisis. She snores. Her mouth has never met a thought it didn't immediately share with the room. She is the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to a man whose job is not being afraid.
Viktor doesn't have words for what he feels. But he has hands that fix transmissions, a doorway where he stands and watches her eat Rosa's bread, and an emerald ring he bought next to a spark plug.
Some things don't need words. Some things just need someone to stay.
Used availability for Cora J Riley's Her Cathedral