34. Arkadiy
34
ARKADIY
I cy barbs pierce through the scars on my back when I bury my head under the water pumping from Mara’s showerhead. I can’t face scorching-hot showers. I haven’t since I was a child. It is either cold or freezing. It will never be close to warm.
As I work my jaw from side to side, I step under the spray more. I’m meant to be prepping to officially meet Mara’s daughter, not fighting to rid my skin of sweat that plagues it anytime I consider becoming someone’s stepfather.
My stepfather was a monster, a reincarnation of the woman who birthed him. He did terrible, horrible things, and although I’d give anything to pledge that I am nothing like him, my mother’s concerns have my mood circling the drain any time Mara brings up Tillie.
I want to protect her. I’d never do anything to hurt Mara, and hurting Tillie would do that. But how do you protect someone if you’re the one they could need sheltering from the most?
It is seriously fucking with my head, and every time I think I’m getting a hold of it, I get bombarded by a severe case of anxiety.
As my mother has said numerous times over the past two weeks, I didn’t marry and have kids in my prime for a reason. Yet now, right at the pinnacle of my career, I’m minutes away from playing house like a family was always on the agenda.
Ugh.
Why the fuck, out of all the men in the world, did my mother choose him? I could have had close to a normal existence if he hadn’t been introduced to Karolina’s life and mine when we weren’t old enough to take care of ourselves.
I bang my fist on the tile, too worked up to discount all the signs our mother ignored not to respond. They were right in front of her, flashing in neon lights, yet she let them happen.
She let them continue.
She ruined our chance of normalcy, and now my insecurities are doing the same.
A chill runs down my spine when I sense I am being watched two seconds before Mara’s shampoo fills the air. There isn’t enough heat in the water to produce steam, but the tension that forever fires between Mara and me could cause an inferno. I heat up in an instant, and the incineration is quick since Mara refuses to enter the bathroom without an invitation.
After drenching my hair, making it sit flat enough to curl around my ears, I peer at her from beneath a curtain of water.
Fuck, she is beautiful. Her shoulder is propped against the doorjamb, and her arms are hanging loosely down her svelte frame. With our antics running late into the morning, dark circles are ringing her eyes, and her lips are chapped from how many times we’ve kissed, but she is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The silky gown she placed on when we stumbled to bed in the wee hours of this morning hugs her curves, and her hair is down and curtaining her gorgeous face.
She is a sight for sore eyes, and she makes my dick ache.
If I were a good man, a decent man, I’d tell her I would meet her in the kitchen once I’d finished my shower and then sneak out the fire exit.
Since I’m not, I hold out my hand, inviting her to join me.
She doesn’t hesitate for even a second.
Her trust loosens the noose clutching my neck while desire takes care of the unease slicking my skin with sweat.
It completely clears away when I twist in enough time to watch her remove her silky sleeping gown. It falls off her shoulders with a soundless whoosh, exposing her lush tits, smooth stomach, and lean body.
She was built to be fucked, but fierce enough to bring the strongest man to his knees.
I don’t see vulnerability when I look at her.
I see strength.
Admiration.
I see the woman I want to make my wife.
“We should get married.”
Mara balks before her throat works hard to swallow. “Sorry… what did you say?”
She heard me. The thudding of her pulse in her neck is a surefire indicator. She just wants to give me a chance to back out of my suggestion.
I refuse.
“Married. We should get married.”
When her face pales, I catch her by the wrist and pull her under the spray. She yelps when the freezing temperature takes care of the wildfire raging through her stomach from my suggestion, but she doesn’t attempt to adjust the faucet.
Between brief touches, kisses, and mind-blowing sex, we spoke so much last night, even if she hadn’t seen my back when I’d yanked Paarth away from her, she’d know the scars are from burns.
The water she bathed me in was hotter than hell, and I’ve been submersed in its fiery depths for over thirty years.
That’s all done with now. Mara flipped my universe on its head in less than twenty-four hours, and I couldn’t be happier.
Or scared.
I’m so fucking scared.
And Mara knows that. “NDAs are cheaper and a whole heap less complicated than marriage.”
She slaps away my hand when I veer it toward her nipple, already versed that I’ll use sex as a tactic to get my way. Our relationship is moving at a breakneck speed, but aren’t all the best ones? We stripped our cloaks before uniting in a way only couples do. We scaled the hurdles, so it is only up from here.
A legally binding commitment seems like the next logical step.
Once her nipples are safe, Mara lifts her eyes to my face. “That is what this is about, isn’t it? You’re worried you’ve shared too much so you want to protect your privacy.”
“No,” I lie, equally peeved she’s denying me the drug I plan to use to get over my neurosis until I take my last breath, while also in awe about her hitting the nail on the fucking head. “It isn’t just my privacy I want to protect. It is yours as well… and Tillie’s.” My voice is barely a whisper when I add another name to the short list of people I am desperate to protect. “And Riley’s.”
When Mara arches a brow, confused, I reward her with a level of trust I’ve never given anyone. “I found out recently that my stepfather groomed Karolina so well she believed it was possible for a forty-year-old man to fall in love with a ten-year-old child. She only learned differently when she walked in on him bathing Riley, their two-year-old daughter.”
Mara’s calculations are quicker than the ones I undertook when my mother exploded this bombshell on me earlier this week, but instead of them fettering her face with worry, they fill it with remorse. “Ark… I’m so sorry.”
I continue before I lose the nerve. “The horrified look on Karolina’s face when she told our mother what he had done to her is still burned in my retinas. She left no stone unturned during her confession. Years of abuse was spilled in under an hour.”
A sigh sinks my chest when Mara displays she is both beautiful and smart. “And your mother didn’t believe her.”
Even though she isn’t asking a question, I nod, too ashamed to speak.
The rope around my neck loosens enough for me to breathe when Mara moves closer, her eyes sympathetic. “But you did. You knew because a victim knows a victim.”
Again, I nod.
The way she can read me is astonishing.
She truly does have eyes that can see through to my soul.
“Who did you tell, Ark?”
Shockingly, I smile before breathing out slowly. “Rafael. And since I was too scared to tell, he told a lie that saw my stepfather sentenced to twenty years behind bars.” She smiles with me, making me believe I’m not insane when I confess, “Karolina hated us for it.”
“No, Ark.” Her brisk headshake fluffs up the scent I’m obsessed with. “She wouldn’t have. I promise you.”
I wish I could believe her, but I can’t. “She killed herself the day he was sentenced.”
I suck in a sharp, desperate breath when Mara says with the utmost confidence, “Because she thought it was the only way she could free Riley as unapologetically as you and Raf had freed her.” I shake my head. She either sees it and ignores it or misses it. “When a child is conceived from rape, you never stop worrying that you will push your hate onto them. That you will never love them how they deserve to be loved.” I’m shocked when she confesses, “That’s why I had originally planned to put Tillie up for adoption. I didn’t believe love could be bred from hate.” A pained huff parts her lips. “Then I almost lost her in my third trimester. I’ve never looked back since, and I’ve loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her.”
Her story shows her strength.
Mine reveals I am a coward.
“I didn’t see love when I looked at Riley. I saw the pain in Karolina’s eyes when our mother slapped her and heard the words our mother screamed while accusing her of seducing her husband. I saw the evil I assumed they had bred into Riley because I was too busy hiding my own shame to do the math.” A mixture of sadness and anger bombards me. “Why didn’t Karolina tell me Riley was her daughter? Why did she keep that from me by pretending she attended an out-of-school art program?”
I’m not expecting an answer. How could someone outside my family give me one? But Mara hits the nail on the head for the second time today. “Because you believed the lies of your abuser.”
She isn’t speaking about the pedophile who raped my sister or the lady who scarred my skin and stole the hearing in my left ear. She is speaking about my mother. My heart knows this as well as my brain.
Too fearful that I’ll choke on a sob if I were to speak, I nod instead.
“I took so long to confess to someone outside the circle of my abuse because I believed their warnings of shame. They said I’d be ousted by my family and hated by everyone in the community.” There’s nothing but honesty in her tone. “If I had a brother, I probably would have kept my secret even longer than I did. Kids are meant to disappoint their parents. We’re meant to rebel. It is different for siblings. They don’t want to envy each other, but they do.” I pfft off her factual comment as if it is a lie. “I see it in Riley’s eyes every time she looks at you.”
God, I want to believe her. Even before I learned the truth, I was never the brother Riley deserved. I encouraged my mother to enroll her in boarding school and hid her from the world because it was easier to hide from the truth than contemplate its consequences.
I was an adult during Riley’s formative years. I should have been there for her as I was Karolina.
Mara leans deeper under the spray like the temperature isn’t freezing before asking, “Does Riley know Karolina is her mother?”
Even the shortness of my reply can’t hide how furious it makes me. “No.”
She smiles, thankful for my honesty, before asking, “Are you going to tell her?”
I don’t contemplate as long as I thought I would if asked this question. “Yes. Eventually. I just need to stop jumping through fiery hoops first. I’ve taken steps to do that, but they don’t seem like enough.”
The confused crinkle between Mara’s brows is back, and it makes her expression too cute to remember the seriousness of our conversation.
She slaps away my hand for the second time this morning before arching a brow, silently demanding for me to continue.
I do, albeit begrudgingly.
“Our mother”—I cough before correcting myself—“ my mother is threatening to make it a public announcement if I don’t…”
“Stay away from me?” Mara fills in when my anger has words eluding me.
I nod, the fury pumping out of me turning the icy water to lukewarm.
Mara looks like she hates herself more than my mother when she suggests, “Then why don’t we keep this between us for now?”
“No,” I immediately respond. “I’m not playing by her terms anymore. I can’t ask you to be my wife, then hide you away like a dirty secret. I want you at my side.”
She looks torn between kissing me and slapping me. I learn why when she whispers, “I’m not asking solely for Riley, Ark.” The love her eyes have been rarely without the past twenty-four hours lowers a smidge when she says, “I’m not ready to tell Tillie just yet. I need m-more time.”
Her stutter breaks my heart.
I did that. I brought that edge of desperation to her voice. The panic.
My insecurities brought her down to my level, and it is the last thing I want.
I lift her downcast head, re-aligning our eyes. “You have time.”
“Not after I stand at your side.” I realize my effort to keep her as far away from my mother as possible was fraudulent when she says, “They’ll want to know why you picked me, and the stuff they will find could tear our relationship apart.”
Her words echo cautions my mother made numerous times over the past two weeks, but I’m not worried. I’ve done my research. I know what I’m getting into. The journalist who met with me yesterday afternoon knows how hard I will persecute anyone stupid enough to strip the privacy of a minor or a victim of a crime.
I’ve also never been more honest with anyone in my life. Mara knows all my secrets, yet she is still here, peering up at me in awe. Nothing they could unearth will change how I feel right now, holding her in my arms.
“Trust me when I say I will destroy any media outlet stupid enough to run Tillie’s story or yours. Tillie is a child, and her rights are protected by a law I will uphold to its full degree on anyone who dares to test me.”
My cock turns to stone when she says, “I trust you.”
I hear a but, so I vocalize it. “But…”
Her words are like a punch to the gut and remind me again of how selfish I am being. “Riley is an adult. Her privacy will be nowhere near as sheltered as Tillie’s. She deserves to find out how she was conceived with dignity and respect.” Her wet eyes bounce between mine. “And she needs it to come from someone she trusts. It needs to come from you, Ark.”
Since I don’t disagree with her, I remain quiet.
The silence should aggravate the tension hanging thickly in the air. It doesn’t. It doubles the chemistry my greatest fears couldn’t hold back and has me remembering the question I asked her when she entered the bathroom.
“I am willing to consider keeping things on the down-low on the agreement you become my wife the instant they know the truth.” I say “they” in a manner she can’t mistake. This is for both Tillie and Riley.
Mara’s smile… fuck. I’ve never seen such an exotic image.
“Can I think about it?”
Her lips part to make way for a giggle when I say all caveman-like, “No. You cannot. That’s not how marriage proposals work. I ask, you say yes.”
There’s no heat to my tone, no malice. It is as cool as the water I guide her under before I reacquaint our lips, certain I will never take a full breath again without her mouth on mine.