6. Tara
6
TARA
The first thing I feel is heat—his heat.
A furnace of a body pressed against mine, his arm draped over my waist, anchoring me in place.
His scent lingers on my skin, a reminder of the night before.
I blink, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
The bedside clock reads 5:30 AM.
Shit.
I need to go.
Carefully, I slide out from under his arm, trying not to wake him.
He stirs but doesn't wake, his brow furrowing slightly before settling back into sleep.
I take a moment to look at him. Even in sleep, he exudes danger and power. His chiseled features are relaxed, but there's a tension in his jaw, a hint of the storm beneath the surface.
The dragon tattoo coils around his torso, a guardian etched into his skin.
I dress quickly, gathering my things and slipping out of the suite.
The hallway is quiet, the early morning hush wrapping around me as I make my way to the elevator.
As I step out into the cool morning air, a voice calls out.
"Tara!"
I turn to see Irina hurrying toward me, her gym bag slung over her shoulder.
"So, I take it you and Dr. Steve had a hot night of sex after all," she teases, looping her arm through mine.
I feel my cheeks heat.
"Actually, Steve stood me up. Again."
Irina raises an eyebrow.
"Seriously? That guy is the worst. This is what? The fifth time he’s done this."
“It’s time number six,” I laugh, a little embarrassed.
"But I met someone else. A stranger at the bar. We... connected."
Irina grins.
"You little slut. Good for you."
I smile, the memory of the night still fresh.
"It was... intense."
“Intense good or intense bad?” she asks.
“Oh, good.” I nod, flashes of the night running through my mind.
“Very, very good.”
“Then, I’m glad Dr. Steve stood you up,” Irina says.
“I hope this time you ditch him. He doesn't deserve you."
We walk together for a moment before I turn to her. "I've decided. I want to do the surrogacy."
Irina stops, looking at me with wide eyes. "Are you sure?"
I nod. "Yes. I knew last night, and I still feel the same."
"Thank you, Tara. This means so much to us." She hugs me tightly. “But let’s not tell Gavriil that we spoke about it without him. And let’s not mention your night with a hot stranger.
“Of course.”
We part ways, my heart feeling both heavy and elated at the same time as I head home, my mind a whirlwind of emotions.
Later that day, I meet with Irina and Gavriil.
“How was your night?” Gavriil asks as I walk into his office.
“Oh, pizza and indulgence,” I answer, and then move the conversation away from last night. “I’ve made a decision about the surrogacy.”
Irina’s eyes shine the moment I say the words. Gavriil straightens from where he’s leaning against the desk, his brows lifting just slightly—it's the only sign of emotion he allows to break through that stoic face.
“I’ve made my decision,” I repeat. “I want to do this. I want to be your surrogate.”
Irina lets out a shaky breath. Her hand finds mine across the desk. “You’re absolutely sure? You don’t feel pressured?”
“Not at all,” I tell them. “I’ve thought it through.”
“You don’t know how much this means to us,” Irina says, tears already rising. “After everything, this… It’s hope.”
“What comes next?” I ask, needing something concrete to hold on to. Something clinical. Safe. A process I can follow.
Irina’s composure tightens. “We’ve already started. I’ve been working with a fertility specialist for the last month. My hormones are being tracked, and we’ve reached the point where they’re ready to extract my eggs.”
“They’ll retrieve them next week,” Gavriil adds. “All we need now is for you to undergo a physical. Just routine—blood work, screening, and an ultrasound to check uterine health. If everything checks out, we can proceed almost immediately.”
“How long until we know if the implantation works?” I ask, my voice quieter now. The weight of this is starting to settle in.
“About two weeks after implantation,” Irina says gently. “It’s hard not to get attached, but it’s best to take it one step at a time. Still… I can’t help but be hopeful with you.”
“And this is your last chance to back out,” Gavriil says, his tone firmer now. “We’ll understand if you change your mind. Are you sure, Tara?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. But the word lodges in my throat differently now. As if it echoes through something fragile inside me. Because the high of last night has faded. And now I feel a dull ache—a hollow space in my chest where Damien used to be.
It’s stupid. I knew what it was. A night. A perfect, scorching night with a man I don’t even know.
But it wasn’t just sex. It felt like something else. Something that reached inside me and left a mark I can’t seem to scrub away.
Still… I push it down.
I’ve worked too damn hard to let one man throw me off course. I’m going to be a professor. I’m going to finish my PhD. I have a future lined up, a real career ahead. Not just some fantasy that could blow up my whole life.
“I’m one hundred percent in,” I say again, and this time, I feel it in my bones.
“I wish there were something we could do for you,” Irina lets out a soft cry and throws her arms around me. “You have no idea how much this means. We owe you everything.”
“Actually…” I pause, unzipping my purse. “There is something I want to show you.”
I pull out the wooden puzzle box and place it carefully on the desk. Irina’s brows lift.
“What’s this?” Gavriil asks, curiosity replacing his usual cool expression.
I open it and take out the birth certificate and the photograph. “I found this in one of my dad’s boxes. I don’t know who she is. But… I think I might.”
Irina picks up the photo, and her breath catches. “Oh my God… This is Anya Novikov.”
Gavriil leans in. “As in the Anya Novikov? The Jewel of Russia?”
“Yes,” Irina confirms, her eyes scanning the image with reverence. “She’s still alive. Married to General Timofey Morozov. They’re Russian legends. Anya was a codebreaker—probably one of the most brilliant mathematical minds of her time.”
Gavriil adds, “I’ve seen her in old government archives and press clippings.”
“There were rumors,” Irina continues, voice lowering. “That they lost their daughter and grandchildren in a fire. Years ago. In Russia. But no one ever confirmed it publicly. It was just... whispers. A tragedy that never made the papers in detail.”
My heart skips a beat. “My father told me that when I was three, we lost everything in a fire. He said that’s why we have no photos from before I was three. Nothing survived.”
The silence that follows hangs thick in the air.
“That can’t be a coincidence,” Irina whispers, touching the corner of the photograph.
Gavriil picks up the birth certificate and scans the Cyrillic text. “It’s not the full document. If it were, we’d see the parents’ names.”
“You could try to get the full version,” Irina says slowly. “But you’d have to go to Russia for that.”
Gavriil nods, setting the document back on the table. “And if you do, we can help. You know I have a lot of contacts there.”
I nod, heat spreading through my chest. “I want to go. I’ve always wanted to. But only after the surrogacy. That’s my priority.”
My heart beats faster. I’ve always felt a pull to Russia.
Irina wraps her arms around me again. “You are everything to us, Tara.”
“And you to me,” I whisper.
I offer to stay and help, but Irina waves me off. “No. It’s still your night off. Go. Rest. Dream of hot strangers who don’t stand you up.”
I laugh and give them one last wave before I step outside. The sun is still high, and the city hums around me. I walk a few blocks to the small park across from the club and settle on a bench under the trees. I pull the puzzle box from my bag and run my fingers over the grain of the wood. My thoughts tangle. Damien. Lidiya Zorin. Secrets. Surrogacy. Everything.
I open the box. The photo still pulls at something deep inside me. A connection I can’t explain.
“Why did my father have this?” I mutter to myself.
A shadow falls over me. My heart stutters.
“Mind if I sit here?”
The voice is deep. Russian. Familiar.
I look up and blink. “You…”
It’s the man from the club. The one who got “lost” looking for the bathroom. Dressed casually now, but still commanding in presence. His eyes are sharp, blue as glacial ice.
“Oh. No, of course,” I say, sliding to the edge of the bench.
“Now I know where I’ve seen you before.” He sits, angles himself slightly toward me. “You helped me find the restroom the other night,” he says, smiling. It softens his severe features, making him look almost ruggedly charming.
“That’s right.”
He leans slightly, nodding to the photo in my lap. “She’s beautiful. Mother?”
My pulse kicks. “No. I’m not sure who she is. I found it in my father’s things.”
His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Ah. I see.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I add quickly, realizing what conclusion he must be jumping to. “The photo’s old. From the 60s. My father would’ve been a child.”
He studies me. Then glances at the photo again. “Grandmother, maybe?” His gaze flicks from the picture to me. “There is a resemblance.”
I stare at the woman in the photo again. And this time… I see it. Not just in me. In Sabrina, too.
“Could be,” I whisper, suddenly needing to shut this conversation down. My fingers close over the box, and I slide it back into my purse. “I should go.”
“That’s a shame,” he says, rising as I do. “But hopefully we meet again.”
“Vegas isn’t as big as people think,” I reply, and walk away without looking back.
But I can feel him watching me. And even though I just buried Damien in my past with the rest of last night… something tells me this man isn’t a stranger at all.
And fate? Fate’s not done with me yet.