18. Erin
Chapter Eighteen
ERIN
I barely sleep. How can I? The man walked off and never returned. Not that I expected him to. Not that he’s shown a drop of human emotion.
It’s like he keeps coming in here to torture me, taunt me with our son. Still, at least he took the goat. That’s something.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Sasha happy, Sasha chasing the butterfly.
Sasha not missing me.
And I hate it.
Not that I want my child to hurt or be sad. But it’s like he forgot me in this short period of time.
“Selfish fucking thing,” I whisper to myself.
At least I have a change of clothes, a sundress, from my case. I don’t even remember packing it. But Olga brought it with a brush and my toiletries and… What the hell am I meant to think about that?
Good? Bad? A sign he’s keeping me here for the foreseeable future.
Heartless, hard, a man of ice and stone .
I swallow.
Except… Except last night I picked something up, a small thing, like a glimmer of hope. The faint hint of pride and softness when I spoke about Sasha. That male idiocy when I told him, there’s only been him so that’s how I know who Sasha belongs to.
That and Sasha looks like we made him. He has his father’s stubborn streak because it must be stubbornness keeping me locked up, stubbornness in Demyan’s search for something real to blame me for, and he has Demyan’s eyes and hair.
But what use is any of that if I’m trapped in here?
None at all.
But the worst thing is, when I opened up to Demyan and his eagerness to know about the birth, about his son did something to me.
I should have insisted on letting him know.
I’ve robbed the man of two years and I know how precious that time was; it’s something I treasure. So how must he feel, knowing…
“You know how he feels, and I didn’t rob him. I didn’t know how he’d react.”
Saying the words out loud doesn’t exactly help. They don’t assuage the guilt I’m suddenly feeling. I shouldn’t, I know that. Things happen and I didn’t do a vindictive thing. Unlike him.
But I can see how and why he’s being like he is. Perhaps not the whole picture as I know nothing of his past, but sure, I see how he’s feeling like this.
It’s Sasha.
Anyone would want to be part of his life.
Especially his biological father.
He’s angry.
And I hope to God he puts Sasha’s needs first, not his. That’s what I’m trying to do. It’s what any good parent would do. And if I can’t see him, all I can do is hope and pray Demyan loves him like I do.
I can’t see why he wouldn’t.
Sasha’s very loveable.
Voices outside my door infiltrate and I go still. Male voices. Is that Demyan?
My heart is beating hard and wild as the door opens and he walks in. As always, he sucks the space in the room into him and it’s just me and him and nothing else.
I can’t breathe as I try to stand, my heart caught in my throat.
“Demyan? Is everything all right? Is Sasha okay?”
He doesn’t answer, just studies me. Then he nods. “He’s fine.”
The air rushes out of me. “I just… I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Follow me.”
But I can’t move as terror and hope swamp me in equal measures.
Demyan lets out an exasperated breath. “You’ll live another day, Erin. We’re going downstairs to have lunch. You, me, and Sasha.”
My legs almost give way and he catches my arm, electricity shooting through me at his touch.
My eyes blur with tears of happiness but I dash them with my hand as he lets me go. I’m not going to cry. Sasha won’t understand.
But the happiness swells and I stare at him. “Really?”
“Yes.”
I don’t think. I throw my arms around him and hug him tight, the warmth of his hard body seeping in and enveloping me like a psychic hug .
He doesn’t move and I hug him harder, the beat of his heart strong and slightly erratic.
Demyan mutters something in Russian as I press against him. He feels good, I won’t lie, but he feels even better because I’m getting to see Sasha.
“Thank you. Thank you.” And I sob a little, shoulders shaking, unable to stop myself.
For a moment he remains a solid wall of hot rock, and then his hands come up to grip my hips. Large, strong, my body bursts into life.
I remember that touch, how it burned and set off further fires inside. I rub my cheek against his chest and thread my fingers into his thick hair, breathing in that honeyed whiskey and lavender and leather of him.
“You smell like warm summer and flowers, not honey and lavender,” he says.
“That’s you.”
“Is it?”
A laugh bubbles up, followed by the slam of reality. He probably never read the scent profile of whatever he wears. I don’t even know if it’s just his products or an expensive perfume that’s so subtle a woman needs to be up close.
I go to pull free, but his fingers skim my side and tip my chin. Our gazes mesh and for a moment I’m lost in him.
“No tears, good,” he says.
Then I pull free, embarrassed by my reaction. I’m getting caught up in some sick fantasy about the man who’s kept me prisoner and away from my child and he’s checking I’m not a blubbering mess for Sasha to see.
I don’t know what the hell my reaction was. But I shove it away and straighten my dress.
“Come on, Erin.”
I follow him and as we near the landing on the ground floor, he says, “Just remember I’m watching. ”
“What am I going to do? You’ve got guards everywhere.”
The scents from the kitchen reach me as we go down the hall and he suddenly grabs me, pushing me against the wall.
Heat radiates from where he touches. He leans right in, breath teasing my skin, and I’m in overdrive for reasons I can’t fathom. Maybe because I’m so pathetically grateful to be out, or maybe it’s because he’s the only human touch I’ve had in what seems forever. Or maybe?—
His face is calm, but his voice could cut bone. “Fucking me over right now would be a very bad, very dangerous move.”
“I wouldn’t?—”
“I’m talking, Erin, and you’ll do fucking well to listen. This is your one and only chance to prove you can be trusted. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
And he lets me go and turns on his heel, sauntering ahead like he didn’t say a thing, like he has no cares in the world.
It takes me more than a few seconds to stabilize, to get myself together so I can smile and be happy. Sasha can pick up on my moods and an upset mama is an upset little boy.
There have been days where I’ve come home from a shitty workday doing a job I hate so I can be with him, days where a boss got handsy and he’s hugged me, kissed me, and given me his goat to ‘make Mama happy again.’
He’ll pick up on my turmoil if I’m not careful.
And he won’t understand this, not with everything else he’s been through.
With my smile on bright, I go into the sunny kitchen and Sasha’s in his booster seat, being fussy, and I don’t think I can do this.
The tears surge, but I struggle them down as he senses me and turns. And almost falls off his chair in his sudden cry of ‘Mama’ and a cascade of tears.
I hate I have to glance at Demyan for permission, even as I’m halfway to him, and at his nod, I scoop up Sasha and hold him tight, showering him with kisses.
“Mama, Mama!” Sasha’s chubby little arms clutch me hard and he’s crying, and then he looks up at me, tears glittering and he does something shocking.
He hits me, his little fist smacking my cheek. “Bad mama.”
Demyan’s on his feet, his face confusion and there’s an intent there to put the boy in his place, but I turn, shielding him. “Mama had to go away,” I say. “But I’m back now. I’m back. And I love you, but we don’t hit.”
He starts to cry all over again. “I sorry, Mama. I sorry!”
He kisses me and then frowns.
“Oh, Sasha, I missed you so much.”
“Mama no leave. Mama stay.” Then he peeks at me. “Goat?”
I start laughing. It takes a while to untangle from him, and I’m bereft when Demyan takes him. Sasha squeals, going stiff, and starts to scream.
“No screaming, Sasha. I’ve got baby goat. If you scream, I won’t read you your story.”
He stops. And Demyan settles him as I give him his goat.
Demyan goes to take it from him as Olga comes in with lunch, but I grab his arm.
He looks at my hand, then at me and I just say, “Let him have his goat, please.”
“It’ll get dirty.”
“It can be washed. It’s security.”
Demyan goes to show me to a seat on the other end of the table, but Sasha shakes his head .
“Mama here.” He juts out his lip. And then he adds, “You too.”
And the change in Demyan is astounding. He crumbles, a smile blooming, one of pride and love, and he looks like he just won a prize.
What the hell was his childhood like? He clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing, which is understandable, but the tiny things seem to floor him, little things like Sasha deigning to let him sit with us.
It’s very Sasha. Yes, my boy’s accepted the big man, but he’d invite the postman to sit with us if he thought he could get his way.
I keep that to myself, because I get the feeling Demyan might see it as failure or the invite diminished when it’s not.
Sasha’s been here with them, with him, alone, and he likes Demyan, I can see it.
When Demyan goes to cut up the sandwiches, Sasha hits him with his goat, showing off.
And I make a small sound that makes my son immediately contrite. “Gimme. Please.”
“He can’t eat them like this,” Demyan mutters. “And don’t hit.”
“Sorry.” Sasha sounds nothing like sorry and he sneaks me a look.
I press my lips together to stop smiling because Sasha will take the smile and run.
“Turn half into soldiers, and leave the other half,” I say to Demyan instead.
He raises a brow and does that and, of course, Sasha shoves the soldiers away and tries to eat the big person size half. It’s overfull, it’s not soft white bread and of course he can’t. It goes everywhere.
Demyan looks at me, and I just offer a smile. Normally, I’d just have handed him the soldiers or a sandwich with softer white bread. But Demyan’s so hell-bent on being Daddy that I leave it. Just like I leave Sasha as he plays with the contents of the sandwich in half.