Chapter 9Claire
9
Claire
I pace the length of my room, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The memory of Valerian’s touch lingers on my skin, sending an unwelcome surge of desire through me. I stop abruptly, pressing my palms against my temples.
“Stop this shit,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as if I could physically dislodge the thoughts of Valerian’s piercing blue eyes.
The room suddenly feels too confining. I move to the window, pushing it open to let in a rush of cool air. The sprawling grounds of Valerian’s estate stretch out before me. My reflection in the glass catches my attention. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me, with her hair slightly disheveled, and her cheeks flushed.
Is this what Valerian sees when he looks at me? The thought makes my stomach flip.
“No,” I say firmly to my reflection. “This isn’t about him. This is about Bloom House. About Mom and Dad.”
I turn away from the window, my gaze falling on the small, framed photo on the nightstand. It’s a snapshot from happier times—my parents, Jay, and me, all smiling in front of the flower shop. The sight of it sends a pang through my chest. I pick up the frame, running my thumb over the glass. “I’m doing this for you,” I whisper to the smiling faces. “All of you.”
Even Jay’s face in the photo brings a mix of emotions. Anger bubbles up, warring with lingering affection for my brother. I set down the frame with more force than necessary. “Damn it, Jay,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “How could you be so stupid?”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. Jay’s actions, my parents’ worry, and the precarious situation with Bloom House settles heavily on me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the conversation ahead while lifting my phone. I finally tap my mom’s contact, and the line rings twice before she picks up.
“Claire? Is everything alright?” the concern is obvious in her voice.
“Hi, Mom. I’m okay.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “Is Dad there? Can you put me on speaker?”
There’s a rustling sound, then Dad’s voice joins in. “We’re both here, sweetheart. What’s going on?”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s about Jay. I know you’ve heard he’s been arrested, but there’s more to it.”
Mom’s sharp intake of breath is audible even through the phone. “What do you mean, more?”
I close my eyes, wishing I could soften the blow somehow. “The charges... They’re worse than we thought. Jay’s facing accessory to attempted murder charges.”
The silence on the other end is deafening. When Mom finally speaks, her voice trembles. “Attempted murder? Our Jay?”
“There was a raid on a gambling den,” I explain, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “Someone got hurt. Jay was there, and now...”
Dad’s voice cuts in, tight with barely contained anger. “How could he be so reckless? After everything we’ve been through?”
“Robert,” Mom chides gently. “This isn’t helping.”
I grip the phone tighter. “There’s a plea deal on the table. Ten to fifteen years if he cooperates with the investigation.”
Another heavy silence falls. I can picture them in the back room of Bloom House, Mom’s hands clasped tightly while Dad paces the worn linoleum floor.
“Fifteen years,” she whispers. “He’d be middle-aged by the time he got out.”
“I know,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Dad. I wish...”
“It’s not your fault, Claire,” Dad interjects. His voice softens. “How are you holding up? With everything that’s happening?”
I swallow hard, thinking of Valerian, and of the strange new world in which I’ve found myself. “I’m... managing. Mr. Rostova hasn’t mistreated me. The work is challenging, but I’m handling it.”
“Are you sure?” asks Mom, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. “You can come home anytime. You know that, right?”
“I know, Mom, but I’m okay, really. This is something I need to do.” I take another breath before asking, “How’s the shop doing?” to steer the conversation to safer territory.
“Business is good,” says Dad. His voice brightens. “Remember Mrs. Henderson? She ordered three dozen roses for her granddaughter’s wedding.”
“The one who used to sneak me caramels?” A smile tugs at my lips. “Is she still coming in every Thursday?”
Mom laughs, the genuine sound warming me through the phone. “Like clockwork. Always asks about you and Jay.”
The mention of my brother brings a heavy silence. Dad clears his throat before we dance around other topics—Dad’s new supplier for tulip bulbs, Mom’s book club, and the unseasonably warm weather, but underneath it all runs an electric current of worry, of questions they won’t ask and truths I can’t share.
“I should go,” I say finally. “I love you both.”
“We love you too, sweetheart,” whispers Mom.
After hanging up, I press my forehead against the windowpane. Outside, the city sparkles, beautiful and oblivious to the dull throb in my chest, to all the words trapped behind my teeth about Valerian, about debts and danger and decisions I never wanted to make.
I set down the phone and move to the en-suite bathroom, going through the motions of my nightly routine. The face in the mirror looks tired and older somehow. I splash cold water on my cheeks, trying to wash away the stress of the day.
Back in the bedroom, I change into a soft nightgown and slide between the luxurious sheets. The bed is impossibly comfortable, but sleep eludes me. I toss and turn, my mind racing.
When I finally close my eyes, it’s not the comforting faces of my family I see. Instead, Valerian’s intense gaze fills my vision. The memory of his voice, low and commanding, sends an involuntary shiver through me.
I snap open my eyes, heart pounding. What is happening to me? This man, this dangerous, enigmatic man, has somehow wormed his way into my thoughts. The way he looks at me, like he can see right through me, both terrifies and exhilarates me.
I roll onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. The rational part of my brain screams at me to be careful, to remember why I’m here, but another part, a part I’m not entirely comfortable acknowledging, whispers of possibility.
Valerian Rostova is a puzzle I can’t seem to solve. One moment he’s all cold efficiency, the next there’s a flash of something almost...tender. The dichotomy is maddening, and I want to unravel the mystery.
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. This is dangerous thinking. Valerian is my employer, nothing more. I’m here to pay off Jay’s debt and protect my family. Anything else is just too complicated.
I give up on sleep, tossing back the luxurious sheets and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet cushions my bare feet as I pad toward the door, my nightgown swishing softly around my knees.
The hallway is dimly lit as I make my way to the kitchen. My mind races with thoughts of Jay, my parents, and the impossible situation in which we’ve found ourselves. The cool tile of the kitchen floor makes me shiver when I step on it with my bare feet.
I move on autopilot, retrieving a saucepan from a nearby cupboard and filling it with milk. The gentle clinking of the pan against the stove top breaks the silence of the night. As the milk starts to simmer, bubbles rising lazily to the surface, I reach for the cocoa powder, my movements slow and distracted.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Valerian’s deep voice startles me. The saucepan slips from my grasp, splashing hot milk across my hand. I gasp, more from surprise than pain. Then the pain hits.
“Shit,” he mutters, crossing the kitchen in two long strides. He gently grasps my wrist, guiding my hand under a stream of cold water from the tap. The sudden temperature change makes me hiss. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I shake my head, unable to form words as the pain in my hand intensifies. Valerian’s touch is surprisingly gentle when he examines the reddening skin.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” he says after a moment, “But we should keep it cold for a while longer.” He reaches for a clean dishtowel, wrapping it around a handful of ice cubes. With careful movements, he presses the makeshift cold compress against my hand.
“Hold that there,” he says firmly. “I’ll clean up and make the cocoa.”
I nod mutely, watching while he moves around the kitchen with surprising efficiency. He mops up the spilled milk, rinses the saucepan, and starts the process anew. The familiar scent of warming milk and cocoa soon fills the air.
“I’m sorry for storming out earlier,” I say softly, breaking the silence. “When you told me I could express my true emotions about the situation... I guess I wasn’t ready to face them.”
He glances over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “You don’t need to apologize. Your reaction was understandable.”
I shift the cold compress on my hand, wincing slightly. “It’s just... since Jay has done so much damage to our family, I’ve always tried to be the strong, sensible one. I didn’t want my parents to worry about both their kids.”
Valerian turns back to the stove, stirring the cocoa. “I understand that feeling.”
He pours the cocoa into two mugs, then reaches for a bottle on a high shelf. The amber liquid splashes into both cups. “A little something to help you sleep,” he explains, handing me a mug.
I take a small sip, the rich chocolate flavor mingling with the burn of alcohol. “Thank you.”
He just slouches against the counter, his own mug cradled in his hand. He seems to be wrestling with something internally. Finally, he takes a deep breath. “I had a cousin,” he says hesitantly, as if he’s really not sure he wants to speak. “Ivan. He lived in Moscow and got himself into trouble with a bratva group there.”
I blink in surprise, both at the unexpected revelation and the pain I hear in Valerian’s voice. “What happened to him?” I ask softly.
Valerian’s jaw tightens. “He didn’t come to me for help. Ended up dead when he got too deeply in debt. His vice was drugs.”
The kitchen falls silent save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. I struggle to find the right words, struck by the raw emotion in Valerian’s voice. “I’m so sorry,” I finally manage. “That must have been awful for you.”
The surprise on his face would be amusing if the atmosphere weren’t so grim. He seems to realize how much he’s revealed as a flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before it’s quickly masked. “I haven’t shared that with anyone outside my inner circle.” He still speaks softly. “I still carry guilt from being unable to save Ivan, but the truth is, I could do nothing for him while the addiction had him in its grip.”
I nod. “That’s so true, and it’s something the family of an addict understands. It doesn’t make it any easier that we can’t save them from themselves.”
“Yes.” He blinks, saying nothing else.
The intensity of his experience settles between us. I take another sip of cocoa, savoring the warmth spreading through my chest. “Thank you for telling me,” I say softly. “I know it isn’t easy to talk about such things.”
He nods, keeping his gaze on his mug. We drink our cocoa in companionable silence, the tension from earlier dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
As I drain the last of my drink, a wave of drowsiness washes over me. The combination of warm milk, alcohol, and emotional lethargy is finally taking its toll. “I should probably try to get some sleep.” I stand and set empty mug in the sink, along with the makeshift ice pack.
“Your hand?” He nods toward it.
I look it over. It’s a bit pink where the milk splashed, and it stings just a little. “I think it’ll be fine. I don’t expect any blisters.”
Valerian nods, taking the mug from me and rinsing it out. “Good. You should get to bed, as you said. You’ve had a long day.”
I nod and turn away but hesitate at the kitchen doorway, turning back to face him. “Valerian?”
He looks up with an arched brow.
“Thank you for the cocoa, the company, and... for sharing that story about your cousin. It’s good to know you have some idea what I’m dealing with.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Good night, Claire.”
“Good night.” As I make my way back to my room, I’m surprised to find my thoughts of Valerian are no longer filled with irritation or confusion. Instead, there’s warmth and a sense of understanding that wasn’t present before.
I slip between the sheets, my body relaxing into the mattress. As sleep begins to claim me, my last thoughts are of Valerian’s gentle hands tending to my burn, and the vulnerability in his eyes as he spoke of his cousin. The man is still an enigma, but perhaps not as unknowable as I once believed.