Chapter Twenty-Nine
LUKYAN VOLKOV
The water from the shower cascaded down my back, so hot it was almost scalding. Steam surrounded me so heavily that I could barely see anything around me. I was trapped under the pressure of the water, unable to move, my thoughts all but consuming me.
I should be happy, shouldn’t I?
I was finally home. Finally able to do what I’d gone all that way to do, and yet, my mind wasn’t at all focused on the task as it should have been.
It was on Lyla.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I wondered if she had returned home yet. If she knew I was gone, and if she did, was she okay? Was she upset? Angry? Confused?
I had a feeling she would be all of the above when she found out.
“Fuck,” I blew out, leaning against the tiles. Guilt was swirling inside me, potent enough for me to question if I’d done the right thing. If I should have just stayed.
I didn’t want Lyla to think I had just abandoned her. That she showed her true self to me, and I just ran at the first chance I got.
But that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?
Guilt slammed into me again, and I tried to shake it off.
It wasn’t about her. She should know that, right? We were in the middle of a war that would forever define us. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay locked up in that house forever. I had a duty to my family. An obligation to help.
I wondered how I could fix it.
If she would even forgive me for leaving.
I touched the column of my throat in reminiscence. I missed the collar. Her collar. I missed its heavy weight around my throat. Missed what wearing it represented. That I was hers. Owned by her.
My brain went into overdrive, trying to come up with solutions—any solutions that would repair the giant clusterfuck I found myself in. I stayed in the shower for I didn’t even know how long, running through different scenarios in my head. Every one ended with her losing her absolute shit at me.
A wave of sadness rolled through me. I didn’t want her to be mad at me. The thought almost made me whimper in despair.
I have to fix this somehow. I have to. I have to—
“Lukyan?”
I pulled myself out of the spiral my thoughts were taking me down, and stuck my head out of the stream of water. “Yeah?” I grunted, wiping a hand down my face.
“You’ve been in there for a while. You okay?”
It was my father. He stood on the other side of the bathroom door. I could see his shadow through the small crack, and I held in my groan. I just wanted to be alone.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ve got some food out here for you.”
Food actually sounded really fucking good. “Any weed?”
His soft laughter echoed through the air. “I can have some brought up.”
“That would be great.” I didn’t smoke a lot.
Mainly when I was trying to quiet the voices in my head.
They said lots of different things, ranging from homicidal thoughts to degrading ones.
When I thought about it, I hadn’t had a single disparaging thought since I had been with Lyla. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Turning the shower off, I opened the glass door and stepped out. My feet landed on the tiles, but they weren’t cold. Thank God for underfloor heating. After quickly drying myself off, I wrapped the towel around my waist and walked out of the bathroom.
My father was on the three-seater couch in the center of the room, plates of food sitting on the coffee table in front of him. The smell of something delicious and hearty hit my nose. Whatever it was, it was exactly what I needed.
He smiled warmly at me.
“Stop looking at me like that. It freaks me out.” I sat down on the single chair beside the couch and lifted the cloche over the food. Meat and vegetables. Was there anything better?
He frowned. “Like what?”
“All nice and shit. It’s weird.”
He huffed and leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “I can’t be nice?”
“You?” I scoffed, spearing a cube of meat before putting it into my mouth. “No.”
“Rude, but after everything you’ve been through, I’ll allow it.” Father watched me as I ate, studying me with that freaky eeriness he possessed. “So? Tell me about her.”
My spine stiffened. “What?”
He gave me a who you tryin’ to fool kinda look. “What’s her name? You did learn her name after all that time, right?”
“How long was I gone?”
“Ten days.”
“Felt like longer.” Way, way longer. I guessed that was normal. During those ten days, we’d spent every single day together. Connecting. Laughing. Kissing. Touching—
“So?” my father questioned again. “What’s her name?”
I looked down at my hands. “Lyla,” I whispered. I couldn’t hide the emotion in my voice even if I tried.
“Hm.” His finger tapped idly on the armrest. He cocked his head, studying me diligently.
I avoided his gaze and kept eating. “What’s been happening here?” I asked—an oh-so-obvious attempt to change the subject.
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. Damn. “We’re going to talk about this.”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes.” There was no debate on the matter. He was using his Pakhan voice, even though the fucker wasn’t even Pakhan anymore.
“What if I don’t want to?” I picked up the cloche covering another plate of food. It was a big bowl of creamy carbonara pasta. Yum.
“Is there a reason why?”
“No.” Yes. I worried how he would react when he found out who Lyla was. Feared it might dredge up the past he had worked so hard to put behind him. It didn’t bother me who she was. But my father? I honestly didn’t know.
He sighed, shaking his head again. “When are you going to learn? You can’t lie to me.
” Actually, I could. There were things I’d been hiding for a while.
From everyone. I was an excellent liar when the occasion called for it.
“Let me tell you what I think happened. I think you spent some time with her, and now you like her. Lyla. The woman who tricked you into marrying her and kidnapped you.”
I said nothing, twirling my fork into the pasta. The spaghetti wrapped around the utensil, and I shoved it into my mouth. “That would be a fair assumption.”
His foot slammed onto the ground, and he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “What kind of like are we talking about here?” he asked seriously. “A passing like? An I like to fuck her and that’s it like—”
“An all-consuming like,” I answered honestly.
He stared at me for a moment. “I see.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” my father called out. A man walked in, carrying a small tin case. He handed it over and left without a word. Father passed it to me. I opened it to see three perfectly rolled joints and a small lighter inside.
I plucked one out and lit it. Inhaling deeply, I let the substance fill me. It didn’t help nearly as much as I was hoping it would.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, taking another drag. “I’m not sure if she’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what?”
“For leaving.”
If the situation were reversed, I’d be pretty pissed, too, if I found out she’d left without a word. I couldn’t even deny that.
“Leaving…the house she was keeping you locked up in?” my father asked, searching for clarification.
“Yes. She has a possessive streak that rivals anyone I’ve ever met, and is prone to spontaneous acts of violence.”
“And you like that.” It wasn’t a question, and he said it with zero judgment. My father knew me very well.
“I love it. But like I said, she won’t forgive me. She trusted me, and I let her down the first opportunity I could.” Why didn’t I leave a note or something? Scribble something down and tell her I wasn’t leaving forever. Just to sort out this family shit. That I would be back for her. Why?
Everything had happened so quickly I didn’t think of doing it at the time, and now, I was kicking myself for it.
“Why don’t you call her? Explain the situation?” he asked, trying to help. I appreciated it, but—
“I don’t have her number.” Lyla was sneaky. She had numerous burner phones, and I wasn’t sure which one she used as her primary. I highly doubted any of them survived the blast anyway.
“Well, that’s an easy fix. Nikolai can find that out for you, can’t he?” He pulled out his phone. “What’s her full name? I’ll text it to him and get him right on it.”
I hesitated.
Father looked up at me when I said nothing. “What?”
I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew I had to. I loved Lyla. I wanted to be with her. There was no question about it. If we had any chance, I had to tell my family who she was and hope they would all be okay with it. The moment I had been fearing for so long was finally here, and it terrified me.
I took another deep drag of my joint. Instead of liquid courage, it was smoke courage.
“Her name is Lyla Voznesensky.”
He stiffened, going deathly still.
“Her father was responsible for Mother’s death. She was just a kid at the time, and you dropped her and her brother off at an orphanage—”
“I remember,” he said roughly.
It all came tumbling out like word vomit.
I was powerless to hold it back any longer.
I told him everything—minus the kinky sex stuff, of course.
I told him all about her relationship with her father.
That Lyla didn’t care that he’d killed him.
If anything, she was glad for it. That Lyla wasn’t looking for revenge—just in case he assumed she was.
I told him about how we connected, having endured the same feelings growing up.
Feeling like we were too much. Too crazy.
Too unpredictable. Like we were a constant disappointment to the ones we loved.
Father listened in silence throughout the whole thing, his face softening in sadness at the mention of the too much talk. When I was done, I felt a little better. Like speaking my mind had made the pressure squeezing my chest lighten just a fraction.
I kept my head down, my eyes locked on my clasped hands, almost too afraid to look up and see his face.
What would I find there? Betrayal for consorting with the daughter of the man who murdered my mother?
Disappointment for allowing myself to be in that position in the first place?
Sadness over the fact that I was hesitant to return to my family?
I honestly wasn’t sure, and it terrified me.
“Do you love her?”
I finally looked up. None of the things I’d feared were showing on his face. Just compassion and understanding.
“Yeah,” I got out roughly. For far longer than anyone even knows.
Father nodded and leaned back, releasing a big sigh.
“I get it,” he began softly. “I get what it feels like to love someone you think you shouldn’t love.
To care for someone you never thought you would care for.
It’s confusing. But it can also be one of the best things to ever happen to you.
If you truly care about this woman, if she makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me. ”
Relief settled deep in my chest. “It doesn’t bother you? Who she is? Who…who her father was?” I asked with trepidation.
“She’s not responsible for the actions of her father. Just like you’re not responsible for mine.”
“Do you think the rest of the family will care?”
At that, Father’s brows snapped together in thought. “I think Aleksandr and Nikolai will understand. Illayana? Well…that could go either way.”
“True.” I took three quick puffs of the joint before extinguishing it. With the assurance that Lyla would be accepted by my father, I nodded at him. “Okay. Let’s get Nikolai on it. I need to talk to her. Explain things.”
“Consider it done. It will also be the perfect opportunity for me to let them all know you’re safe.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You haven’t told them yet? I’ve been back for hours.”
“I knew if I did, they’d want to talk to you immediately. I had a feeling you might need a moment to get yourself acclimated.”
I appreciated that. He was right. There was so much going on in my mind. I needed time to collect myself. Get my wild and chaotic thoughts under control.
I allowed myself another moment to think about Lyla.
To think about her face. Her touch. Her smell.
The softness of her skin. The craziness of her brain.
To think about how the fuck I was going to explain myself to her when I finally saw her again.
And I would see her again. I refused to believe anything else.
I thought about it all one last time, and then, I let the next problem take root, no matter how hard it was to focus on.
The only reason I did it was because I had no choice.
Sergei.
“I want to see Grandfather.”
Father stiffened. “What? Now?”
“Yes. Now.” I cracked my neck left, then right. There was no better time than the present to finally complete the last step in my plan. “Is he here?”
Father hesitated briefly, almost as if he didn’t want to answer me, fearing what was about to happen. “He’s in his office.”