40. Daphne
40
Every knock at the door makes me wonder if the police are here to ask about Brittany’s sudden disappearance.
I’m not actually worried. Pasha will handle it the way he handles everything.
I stir the creamer in my coffee, watching the tendrils of white melt into a pale brown. My mind can’t help but wonder if this is what her blood looked like when they washed their clothes in her machines when they were done.
Good lord, Daph. Talk about macabre.
But I can’t help the relief I feel knowing she’ll never show up in my life ever again. It’s so much easier to breathe through the aches and bruises when I don’t have to worry about the next ambush.
“Sleep well?”
Pasha wraps his arms around me from behind, careful to not squeeze too hard as he presses a kiss to my hair.
“Better than yesterday.” I lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “My hips have finally stopped throbbing.”
“When’s your next chiropractor visit?”
“Thursday.”
He nods and pours himself a mug of coffee. “I confirmed your massage therapy for next week. Eileen will be stepping in with the hot stones.”
“I am able to go to the spa, you know.”
“I don’t think we’re there quite yet.”
“Trusting me to go out without getting my ass kicked?” I take a sip. “Or trusting me, period?”
Pasha doctors up his coffee while he thinks about it. “You know I want to be pissed about you going to the gym behind my back.”
“But…?”
We haven’t fully talked about what happened. We’ve discussed Brittany, sure, and what she “shared” with Pasha in terms of information regarding my parents.
But about me sneaking around and keeping my training a secret?
Not so much.
“But,” he concedes with a sigh, “I have a hard time being mad about it. Especially since I have to wonder what would’ve happened to you if you weren’t training.”
“I wouldn’t have been at the gym.”
“True. But we both know that woman had it in for you. She’d find you somewhere else. So no, I’m not okay with you keeping secrets from me. But I’m pretty damn okay with that secret saving your life.” He kisses the top of my head again. “I have to get to the office. Do you need anything?”
I turn in my seat at the breakfast bar so I can pull him into a longer, more heartfelt kiss. “Just that,” I say when I release him. “I love you.”
Pasha gives me the smallest of smiles, but I know he means it. “I love you, too.”
It’s been two weeks since the attack, and I haven’t left our penthouse since I was discharged from the hospital.
We’re going to need to take a vacation or something, and soon. I’m starting to get stir-crazy.
There’s a knock at the front door. Again, my mind flashes to the possibility of it being the cops coming by to ask one of us about our connection to the missing Cleary heir.
To my relief, it’s Arlo.
Better yet: he has ice cream.
“I promised Asya I’d stop by and check on you,” he explains as I welcome him in. “But if I’m being honest, I’m just here to cuddle the baby.”
I roll my eyes with a giggle. “At least you’re honest. She’s napping right now, but you’re welcome to relax and chat. Or just relax.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer.” He plops himself into one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room and hands me the ice cream. “Asya says you’re a… what’s the word?”
“Choco-holic.” I glance at the label and immediately want to hug this man. “And she would be correct in that assessment.”
I duck into the kitchen to stash my contraband in the freezer and grab a beer for Arlo. He accepts the bottle with a charming grin. “Spasiba.”
“Pustike.”
“Slang. Impressive,” he adds with a toast to me.
“Sofiya’s teaching me ‘street Russian.’ She says it’s important to not sound like a textbook.”
Arlo chuckles and we sit in comfortable silence for a while. It’s one of the things I’ve noticed about this guy—he’s got a warmth to him that makes anyone feel like they can be open and honest in his presence.
That being said, I have a suspicion that, as with most things in Pasha’s world, he’s hiding a much darker and more dangerous side.
“I also wanted to check in on you, truly.” Arlo sips his beer and smiles at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Physically? Or emotionally?”
He tilts his head. “Emotionally. You look like you’re in pretty good shape otherwise.”
Something in the way he says that reminds me of Pasha. I shake it off and wave a dismissive hand. “I’m doing good. Truly. Better, actually, knowing my attacker won’t be coming back.”
“It must have felt good to be able to defend yourself, too.”
“It did. I’m just…” I try not to scoff at myself, but it still comes out. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel proud about kicking her ass. Or anyone’s ass, really.”
“You’re allowed to be proud about it. Your first fight, your first win, is always something to be proud of. Especially when losing would have meant dying.”
I study him for a long, silent moment. Something within me tugs at the string he’s left dangling: a fight he’s talking about that has nothing to do with punches or kicks.
“Is that how you felt when you lost Asya?”
I wince as soon as I say it. I should really learn to shut my mouth.
To my surprise, Arlo doesn’t seem fazed. He just takes another swig and nods. “Every day of my life. Nothing hurts like living when your soulmate is ripped from your arms.”
I… I don’t know what to say to that.
“I know he may seem overbearing,” continues Arlo, “but you’ll have to forgive Pasha in the face of knowing he’s like this because he loves you. And losing you would not only undo him—it would destroy him.”
“You seemed to make it out okay.” I don’t know how else to ask about his wife and children back in Russia.
Arlo catches my drift and again, doesn’t seem offended by my poking around in his personal life. “I made do. I busied myself with travel until I had no choice but to marry. She ended up being a very dear friend, and someone I needed at the time to get through the darker days.”
“Did she know…?”
“She knew. I did not… how you say? … hold back. In our early days. I was bitter and blamed her for making it impossible for me to win my Asya back. I made sure she knew she was second choice.”
“Sounds like something Pasha would do.”
“I’ll admit, men like us don’t always have our best qualities up front.”
Don’t I know it. “You seem happy now, though. Are things better? Now that you’re back with Asya?”
Arlo stares off into the distance for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he sets his bottle on the side table and looks at me. “I’m alive again. I can breathe again. I did—for the record, just so you don’t think I’m a heartless monster—treat my first wife very well, once I got over myself. So I do miss her company. Even just to talk like we used to. But now?”
He breathes through his laugh. That grin… I know it so well.
It’s Pasha’s.
“It’s like I got used to swimming, but now, I’ve finally reached the surface. Asya is my everything. She always has been, and always will be.”
“Hold on.” I lift a finger just for good measure. “You said your first wife. Are you…?”
“I’m not letting that woman slip through my fingers ever again.” He winks at me. “That should be answer enough, da?”
Truth be told, this man raises more questions than he ever answers. And, just like my infuriating husband, I know he holds things close to his chest as a means of maintaining control over his world.
I snicker at the thought of Arlo pulling half the shit Pasha’s done with me. “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t flown her to an Elvis chapel in Vegas by now.”
“Ah, see, there’s the difference between you and her. You know how to fight for yourself now.”
“She puts up a good fight, huh?”
His grin widens. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I know for a fact, neither would your husband. He may not say it out loud, but he’s immensely proud of you.”
“You’re right: he doesn’t say it out loud.” I smirk so he knows I’m just teasing. I’ve come to accept that Pasha is not one for expressing his emotions via poetry, or soliloquies, or carrier pigeons, or… ever, really.
“You should also be proud of yourself,” Arlo says. “I don’t know your story, but I can see you are a force of nature. That is needed in a woman who wants to be with a man like him. Men like us.”