11. Pasha
11
Sofi’s jaw is in her lap as I finish explaining how I told Daphne about our wedding.
“Well, I’ll be damned, Mr. Darcy. Your sense of romance is overwhelming.”
I scowl right back at her. “I wasn’t asking for your feedback. Don’t you have anything constructive to contribute? Say, oh, I don’t know… running the Bratva?”
She flashes a toothy grin at me. “I’m keeping your child quiet and happy so you can do something constructive. Like taking a nap.”
Deep down, I’m grateful for the help.
On the surface, I’m irritated with the world in general.
Makari nudges himself through the door to my home office and beams at Taty. “Is she sleeping?” he whispers.
Sofi nods. “Just barely. Her eyes keep blinking, but they’re getting slower, so…”
“So it’s my turn.” He plucks my daughter away from Sofi and cradles her to his chest. “Hey there, baby girl. Uncle Mak’s got you. Yes, he does. It’s okay—you can drool on my shirt, I don’t mind.”
Sofi rolls her eyes at him, but I can see the smile tugging at her mouth. Again, I’m feeling all the warmth of pride and happiness over my family deep down. It’s just not showing up on my face or in my voice. That requires more energy than I have at the moment.
“So, back to the topic of nuptials…” She scoots to the edge of the loveseat. “When’s the big day? Any plans made yet?”
I sigh. “Just finalized Taty’s christening at the tserkov for next month. I’ll send you and Mak the details.” I flip open my desk calendar and let out another heavy sigh as I start counting backward from Taty’s day. “I want at least a week before the baptismal so Daphne and I can adjust, so that leaves… less than four weeks to get married.”
Mak whistles low. “Damn.”
Sofi’s brows lift, but for once, she doesn’t have anything snippy to say about it. Thank God. “Sounds like a plan. I’m assuming you’re gonna do a courthouse situation? Go in, sign the papers, and get the hell out?”
I do my best to hide my own surprise at how distasteful that sounds. Not even a year ago, I had absolutely no aspirations to marry at all, let alone have kids. But now…?
“Fuck no. She deserves better than that. If I’m going to bind myself to her as her husband forever, the least I can do is make sure she has her dream wedding.”
My sister scoffs. “You know it takes, like, a whole year to make those arrangements. Not to mention the fittings, tastings, parties…”
“So make it happen.” I shrug and toss my pen back into the cup. “It’s amazing how much can get done on short notice when the right amount of money is involved.”
“Ah. Gotcha. Spare no expense.”
“None whatsoever.” I turn to my brother, who’s back to nuzzling his baby niece. “Mak, I need you to call Melanie and see what she knows about Daphne’s preferences. I’ll have Mama and Sofi get some ideas from Daphne, but I have a feeling her sister will remember a few more important details.”
I also have a feeling that Daphne won’t be completely forthcoming with her desires. She’s been reserved, constantly pulling away ever since…
Well, ever since I acted like an idiot and left her alone for a week.
I know I have to pay the price for my stupidity. Nowhere does it say I have to like it.
“Sure thing.” Mak makes a note on his phone with one hand while bouncing Taty with the other. “Consider it done. What do you want to do about the FBI? And the Hamishes? And the contract that Brennan’s still being a chickenshit over?”
“Do as you see fit,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’m trusting both of you to make the best calls on my behalf while I focus on my family.”
Both of my siblings stare at me. Blinking. Mouths partially open.
Fuck me, I need a drink. Then a nap.
“Whatever either of you are about to say, don’t.”
To my surprise, they obey.
But on my way out of the office, Sofi stops me with a hand on my arm. “You’re doing great,” she says softly. “You’ve got this.”
I nod my thanks, scoop up my daughter from Mak, and step out into the living room.
I find Daphne lying on the couch, sound asleep. She still looks pale and worn, almost worse than when we left the hospital. I wasn’t lying to her when I said she’s beautiful—she is, in more ways than one.
But I’m starting to grow worried for her.
Taty is drifting off to sleep again, so I set her down in the bassinet I set up for the living room. After everything that went down at the hospital, I have good reason to keep our daughter within reach at all times.
I pull a blanket out from the storage ottoman behind the couch and drape it over Daphne. She barely stirs. She’s been drinking her water, though, which is good. I grab the bottle from where she set it on the floor and head into the kitchen to refill it.
“Are my girls asleep?” Mama asks when she sees me walk in.
“All except the mouthy one.”
“I could never get Sofi to rest for longer than five, ten minutes at a time.” Mama slides a plate of cookie bars across the counter to me. “I made these for snacks. They taste like dessert, but they’re full of nutrients.”
“I’m sure she’ll love it.” I finish filling up the bottle with fresh water and twist the cap back on before grabbing the plate. “I’m worried about her. She doesn’t seem to be recovering well.”
“Keep an eye on things. If next week comes and it’s worse, you may want to speak with a therapist. Postpartum depression is a very real thing.”
My stomach twists at the thought of Daphne suffering from anything at all. Hasn’t she been through enough?
But then I realize how my mother knows about these things, and the twisting tightens. “Did you have that?”
She hesitates. We try not to bring up her horrific marriage with Kostya as much as possible, but some things can’t stay repressed forever.
“I wouldn’t know with much certainty.” Mama sighs and grabs a towel to wipe down the counters with. “I was never given that much attention or care. But I would also say that my situation was much different than Daphne’s. My depression was caused by my life more than by hormones.”
It makes sense. I hate it, and I wish I could go back in time to be a bigger help to my struggling mother who basically raised us as if she wasn’t married at all.
But I can’t do that. The past is unchangeable.
I can only fix the future.
The cookie bars and water jug go on the coffee table, and I plop my exhausted ass onto the couch at Daphne’s feet. I’m so fucking tired.
I love my life, I love my woman, and I love my kid.
But I would also love eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Consecutively, too, if I can convince my daughter to make it through the night without screaming her head off.
I’m finally able to close my eyes and feel myself drifting off into dreamless sleep… when a phone buzzes on the floor.
Must be Daphne’s. Probably a text. Probably Melanie.
BZZT.
BZZT-BZZT.
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT-BZZT.
Grimacing, I drape Daphne’s legs and feet over my lap and reach over her to snatch her phone from the floor.
No calls, all texts. And they keep coming in, one after another.
Who the fuck needs to message her so damn badly?
I pluck up the phone and wait for it to vibrate again. Not to read through her texts; I just want to see the name that pops up.
Todd Bloomington.
Huh.
That’s strange.
Daphne is on maternity leave. Her bosses shouldn’t be contacting her for another four weeks, at least. And definitely not like this.
I glance at Daphne. She doesn’t hear her phone go off, and only shifts in her sleep to get more comfortable. Probably for the best.
I unlock her phone. Hit the Messages button.
And instantly see red the moment I read the most recent message.
TODD: It’s that baby or your job. Choose.