Chapter 23 - Gaby #2
He was leaning against a black SUV, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the street with the constant vigilance I'd come to recognize. When he saw us, something in his posture shifted—not relaxing, exactly, but settling. Acknowledging.
Lisa stopped short at the sight of him. I felt her hand tighten on my arm.
"That's him?"
"That's him."
She looked at me, then back at him, then at me again. "Jesus, Gaby. You could have warned me he looked like that."
"Would it have helped?"
"Probably not." She squared her shoulders. "Introduce us."
We crossed the sidewalk together. Vasily straightened as we approached, his green eyes moving from me to Lisa and back again.
"Vasily," I said, "this is Lisa. My best friend. Lisa, this is Vasily. My husband."
For a moment, no one spoke. Lisa was sizing him up with the same fierce protectiveness she'd shown when vetting my college boyfriends. Vasily was watching her with the careful assessment of a man who evaluated threats for a living.
"Mr. Chernov," Lisa said finally. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Miss Warren." He inclined his head slightly. "I've heard a great deal about you as well. Gabrielle values your friendship more than almost anything."
"Almost anything?"
"You'll have to ask her what she values more."
Lisa turned to me, eyebrow raised. I shrugged. "You. The baby. Him. Not necessarily in that order."
Something flickered across Vasily's face—surprise, maybe, or pleasure at being included so casually in the list of things I treasured.
"I'm going to be direct," Lisa said, turning back to him.
"I don't understand what happened between you two.
I don't know if I approve. But she's my best friend, and she tells me she's happy.
So here's the deal: you make her unhappy, you hurt her in any way, and I will find a way to make your life a living hell.
I don't care how powerful you are or how many bodyguards you have. I will destroy you."
Vasily's lips twitched. "I believe you would try."
"I'd succeed."
"Perhaps." He glanced at me, something warm in his eyes. "But you have nothing to worry about, Miss Warren. Your friend is the most precious thing in my world. I would burn cities to keep her safe."
"That's... both romantic and concerning."
"I've been told I walk a fine line."
Lisa stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. "Okay. I can see why she likes you." She pulled me into another hug, fierce and brief. "Call me. Every week, at least. I don't care about security or whatever—find a way."
"I will," I promised. "I love you, Lisa."
"Love you too, you absolute lunatic." She pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Now go. Before I start crying again and ruin my makeup completely."
I watched her walk away, her heels clicking on the sidewalk until she disappeared around the corner. Then I turned to Vasily, who was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"That went better than expected," he said.
"She's the best person I know." I took his hand. "Present company excepted."
"I'm not a good person, Gabrielle."
"No. But you're good to me. That's what matters."
***
My father's building hadn't changed.
The same doorman, the same marble lobby, the same elevator that smelled faintly of expensive aftershave and old money. I rode it to the fourteenth floor alone—Vasily had offered to come, had wanted to come, but this was something I needed to do by myself.
The hallway stretched before me, familiar and suffocating. How many times had I walked this path with my stomach in knots? How many times had I stood outside this door, gathering courage to face the man who'd never once told me he was proud of me?
I knocked before I could lose my nerve.
He opened the door in his robe—silk, monogrammed, probably cost more than my old monthly rent. His silver hair was perfectly styled despite the early hour, his expression shifting from surprise to something cooler when he recognized me.
"Gabrielle." He said my name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "You've decided to resurface."
"Hello, Father."
He stepped back, a wordless invitation to enter. The apartment was exactly as I remembered—tasteful, expensive, cold. Not a single family photo on the walls, not a single personal touch that might suggest a real human being lived here.
"Where have you been?" He moved to the bar cart, pouring himself a scotch despite the early hour. "Do you have any idea the position you've put me in? The Carlsen gala was humiliating. Everyone asking where you were, why my daughter had vanished without a word—"
"I was kidnapped."
He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. "I beg your pardon?"
"Kidnapped, Father. Taken from my apartment in the middle of the night by armed men." I kept my voice steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me tremble. "I've spent the last several weeks in captivity."
"That's absurd. If you'd been kidnapped, there would have been a ransom demand. Some kind of contact."
"There wasn't. It wasn't about money."
He took a sip of his scotch, studying me over the rim. "Then what was it about?"
"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm free now. I'm safe." I straightened my spine. "And I'm married."
The glass stopped halfway to his mouth again. "You're what?"
"Married. To the man who—" I paused, searching for words that wouldn't reveal too much. "To a man I met during my captivity. We fell in love."
"You fell in love with your kidnapper." His voice was flat with disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No. I've found it, actually."
He set down the glass, his expression hardening into the cold disappointment I knew so well. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Gabrielle. What kind of attention you're seeking with this ridiculous story. But I won't be part of it."
"I'm not seeking attention. I'm telling you the truth."
"The truth." He laughed—a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "The truth is that you've always been unstable. Anxious, dramatic, prone to making poor decisions. I had hoped that job would steady you, but clearly—"
"The job you had Mr. Brown monitor me at? The job where he reported back to you on my performance like I was a child?"
His jaw tightened. "Richard was doing me a favor. Keeping an eye on you. Making sure you didn't embarrass the family."
"The family." The word came out bitter. "You mean your reputation. That's all you've ever cared about. Not me. Not whether I was happy or fulfilled or loved. Just whether I reflected well on the great Thomas Blanchard."
"That's enough."
"No, it isn't." I stepped closer, something shifting inside me—some final chain breaking free. "I spent my whole life trying to be good enough for you. Working harder, achieving more, shrinking myself smaller to fit into the box you'd built. And it was never enough. I was never enough."
"Gabrielle—"
"I'm done." The words came out strong, steady. "I'm done seeking your approval. I'm done trying to earn something you're incapable of giving. I have a husband who loves me. I'm going to have a baby. I'm building a life that has nothing to do with you."
His eyes dropped to my stomach, noticing for the first time the small swell under my sweater. Something flickered in his expression—not warmth, not joy. Just calculation.
"A baby," he said slowly. "And this husband of yours—he's wealthy, I assume? If he was able to orchestrate a kidnapping—"
"Don't." I held up my hand. "Don't try to turn this into an opportunity. Don't try to insert yourself into my marriage, my child's life, my future. You had your chance to be my father. You chose to be my critic instead."
"I was trying to prepare you for the real world—"
"You were trying to control me. To shape me into something you could use." I stepped back, toward the door. "I'm not that person anymore. I'm not your daughter anymore. Not in any way that matters."
His expression hardened. "If you walk out that door, you walk out of this family. No inheritance. No connections. Nothing."
I laughed. Actually laughed. The threat that would have devastated me a few months ago now seemed absurd—a child threatening to take away toys I'd already outgrown.
"I don't need your money, Father. I don't need your connections. I don't need anything from you." I opened the door. "Goodbye. I hope someday you find whatever it is that might make you capable of love. But I won't be waiting around to see."
I walked out without looking back.
The elevator descended slowly, and I watched the numbers tick down with a strange sense of lightness. Like I'd been carrying a weight I hadn't even recognized until I'd finally set it down.
It was over. The approval I'd chased my whole life—I'd finally stopped chasing. Had finally accepted that it wasn't coming, and more importantly, that I didn't need it.
I had Vasily. I had Lisa. I had a baby growing inside me.
I had myself.
The doors opened onto the lobby, and I walked out into the gray New York afternoon. Vasily was waiting by the car, his eyes finding mine immediately, reading my expression with the intensity I'd grown to love.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"It's done." I walked into his arms, letting him fold me against his chest. "I said goodbye. Or maybe I finally said hello—to myself."
"I'm proud of you."
The words were simple, but they hit me like a wave. My father had never once said them to me. Had never acknowledged anything I'd achieved, anything I'd survived, anything I'd become.
And here was Vasily—this man who'd turned my life upside down, who'd dragged me into darkness and somehow led me to light—saying the words I'd waited my whole life to hear.
"Take me home," I said against his chest. "I'm ready to start our future."
He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Whatever you want, little dove. Whatever you want."