15. Arsen
15
ARSEN
“Brother!” Dominik is panting as he answers the phone. “Valentin said there was a— He said Natascha?—”
“She’s dead.” The words are a fact. An objective truth. I hated Natascha, but her death should bring up something in me, shouldn’t it? I should care that she’s gone. I should give a fuck. “Her body is being transported to Adamov Place as we speak.”
“Okay… then where the hell are you?”
I glance towards the door. It’s only been a handful of minutes since Laila went to talk to her mother, but it feels like it’s been hours. Maybe I should’ve dragged her through the window like I wanted. It would’ve been faster.
“I’m with Laila.”
“Jesus, Arsen, I coulda done that! Rolan is going to expect to see you at the house. He’s going to expect you to be with his daughter’s— your wife’s —body.”
I cringe. Natascha was still taking her dying breaths when I was planning how to get to Laila.
“This is more important.”
“Brother…” Dominik’s voice lowers. “I get that Laila needs to be moved, but we have shit to handle here first.”
“That’s what you and Gedeon are for. Go to Adamov Place and wait for me there. We’re on our way.”
“‘We?’”
“I’m bringing her with me.”
The silence is rife with all the things that Dominik isn’t saying. Thankfully, he bites his tongue. “I’ll see you soon.”
As I hang up, Laila finally appears on the porch. Her eyes are puffy, though a knitted scarf hides most of her face.
We walk wordlessly to the car. She doesn’t fight as I pull the seatbelt over her belly and fasten it in place.
It’s the first time I’ve let myself truly look at her. I don’t know if I’m surprised or pleased to see that, despite the pregnancy, she looks exactly the same as I remember. Same gorgeous blue eyes, hiding hints of purple. Same pouty pink lips that are currently curved into a very distinct frown.
It’s like no time has passed at all. I remember every detail of her.
Sitting next to her now feels like a deep breath after hours under water.
Then there’s a sniffle, a stifled sob.
“Lai—”
“Don’t!” she explodes, whipping her attention toward me. “You had no right to show up like this without warning.”
“I didn’t exactly get a warning, either.”
Natascha certainly didn’t.
Her jaw tightens. “You had eight months to tell me who you really were.”
“It wasn’t relevant until now.”
“Actually, it was relevant the moment you offered me the job.” Her hands clench around the edges of her seat. “I’m giving you my child . I deserve to know who I’m giving her to.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I have nothing to say in my defense.
She’s right.
“I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life,” I admit instead.
“My mother is a cancer patient with no chance of recovery, Arsen. She doesn’t deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night to hear that her only daughter is in danger because she decided to adopt her child out to the wrong kind of people.”
One wrong word snags my attention. “‘Adopt’?”
Laila’s cheeks redden. “I had to tell her something . It’s not like I can hide what’s going on when I’m ginormous.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. It looks silver in the moonlight. “And then I had to come up with some story tonight to explain whatever the hell is going on now, but she’s confused. She’s scared. And she’s already so sick?—”
“You can explain everything to her tomorrow when I have her moved to my house.”
“We’re moving into where ?”
“It’s the safest place for you right now. I need to keep you close. Because of the baby.”
I expect her to argue. She didn’t even like the idea of Dominik acting as her security at first, though she clearly changed her mind about that. Instead, she starts making demands. “Evelyn has to be moved, too.”
“Who?”
“Mom’s live-in nurse. I would have thought you’d know her name, considering you’re the one paying her salary.”
My hands squeeze around the steering wheel. “Is there anyone else I need to move into my house? Some friends of yours? A couple of alley cats and a pet rock? I had no idea I was running a fucking orphanage.”
I wait for her to snap at me for being cruel and heartless and a liar, but she doesn’t say a word. When I look over, her eyes are trained on the mansion looming large in the distance.
Adamov Place is silhouetted in moonlight. It’s eerily beautiful in the dark, and Laila takes in every detail as I navigate up the long drive. Gables rising high into the night, copses of trees dotted around the property like watchtowers. Fountains trickling black water. When we pass the additional security guards stationed along the perimeter, she shields her hands protectively over her belly like they would hurt her if I gave them the word.
We don’t speak as I park, step out, and lead her up the front steps and through the house.
Our footsteps tap against the marble staircase. Laila is gripping the railing, panting by the time we’re only halfway up the stairs, but when I press a hand to her lower back, she recoils away from my touch.
Stubborn woman.
At the end of the hall, I push open a door and usher her inside. “Your room.”
I refrain from telling her that my bedroom just so happens to be located right next door. I also leave out that there’s a hidden entrance that adjoins the two rooms, giving me direct access to her if I ever need it.
I figure she’s had enough new information dumped on her for one night.
“If you need anything, just call the housekeeper, Polina. She’ll make sure you have whatever you need.”
“Can she give me some reassurance? A promise that I haven’t irreversibly fucked up my daughter’s life would be good, too,” Laila mutters. “Because right now, I’m fresh out of both.”
“Laila—”
The harsh ring of my phone interrupts whatever I was about to say. I want to ignore it and stay here with her. I want to make sure she’s okay, though I have no idea why. But it’s Rolan’s name flashing across my lockscreen, and I can’t avoid my responsibilities forever.
“I have to go.”
“Bodies to bury?” she bites out.
I ignore her because she’s not entirely wrong. “Try to get some sleep tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I’m halfway out the door when I hear her gasp. I turn around, and she’s doubled over, clutching the arm of a chair so she doesn’t crumple to her knees.
“Laila.” I rush to her, slipping one arm around her waist so I can brace her against my body.
“It’s okay,” she winces. “It’s nothing… False labor. The doctor said it might happen closer to my due date.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, squinting through the pain. “It should pass. I just… need to… breathe.”
I count her breaths as she labors through them, sweat forming across her brow. Little by little, her grip on my arm eases.
“Are you okay?” I ask when her breathing is back to normal. My own heart is racing.
“I told you I would be,” she mumbles, looking up at me. She has some of her color back.
She’s beautiful. Glowing, actually. Her lips part and her blue eyes widen. We’re a lot closer than I realized, but I’m in no hurry to back away.
Suddenly, she pushes away from me. “Ow.”
“Did I hurt you?” I don’t know how. I was barely even touching her.
“It’s… the baby. She’s a kicker.”
“She’s kicking right now?”
Laila studies me through lowered lashes. Something unspoken passes between us. Then, slowly, she takes my still-bloody hand and places it against her belly.
A second later, I feel it. A soft nudge against the palm of my hand.
My daughter.
“Jesus Christ. She’s real,” I breathe.
“She was always real, Arsen.” Laila gives me a melancholy smile. “You just weren’t around to see it.”