21. Sandrine
Sandrine
The car ride back from Norridge unfolds in a quiet but hopeful silence.
Maybe…
Maybe we can be those people in the video again.
I sit beside Kirill with my hands folded in my lap. He’s staring straight ahead, his eyes hidden behind platinum-rimmed shades. I’m painfully aware of the ghost of his touch where his fingers had wrapped around mine for much of the afternoon.
He hasn’t spoken in several minutes, but when I shift in my seat and turn toward him, he immediately glances my way.
The sharp line of his jaw and the controlled, firm set of his mouth have more effect on me now.
Kirill is a man built for decisions and destruction.
Not complications. And yet, he chose a giant one.
Me. A wife who doesn’t remember him.
“I want to meet my daughter,” I say, needing that connection.
It’s making me reach outside myself. Even if it’s a hard fall and it blows up in my face.
His gaze drops briefly to his hands as he breathes in and out. When he looks back up at me, his expression is composed and sorrowful.
My heart drops. “Wait…”
“No. You’re not ready.” His answer stabs me in the heart.
I search his face, longing to understand why he’s drawing this line. God, I hate how attracted I am to him.
“If I wasn’t ready, the doctors at Norridge would have suggested you leave me there,” I reply firmly.
“They could’ve lined up every doctor in the country. I still wouldn’t have left you there.” The possession in his voice stuns me.
“Exactly. It’s taken a day to process that I have a daughter. I can handle it.”
“You passed out.”
I shake my head. “I want—”
“This isn’t about what you want,” he interrupts, not in anger but with a concern I hadn’t seen before.
“It’s about what’s best for her. I won’t let you walk into her life before you can stand steady on your own.
You’re not a girlfriend that I can explain later on why you left if you have a massive relapse. ”
I don’t know how to argue with that. Part of me understands it, even as another part recoils from being kept at a distance from my blood. She’s the reason he married me. And now he’s keeping me from her.
“Fine.” I give in and remember that, despite the hand-holding, the gentle sweeps across the small of my back, and the building smiles I can feel dying to come out, Kirill is a powerful and dangerous man.
I look away and watch the city pass us.
Iron Keep rises in the distance against the pale sky. When the SUV pulls through the tall gates and into the drive, it stops, and Kirill gets out first. He turns to help me.
“I got it. My arms and legs work perfectly fine.” I use the door handle to lift myself out. “Don’t be kind for show. In fact, wouldn’t your men respect you more if you acted cold toward me?”
“You don’t know my men, Sandrine.” He takes my hand anyway. “Family is important. It’s called a brotherhood for a reason. We have a bond. It may not always be blood. But it’s as strong as iron.”
We get inside the house, and I break away from him. But in the kitchen, I feel lost. At Norridge, or at Marlowe, heck, even at Lakeshore, I had a routine. Now I don’t know what to do with myself. I breathe in the warmth and whatever the cook is making in the kitchen.
Kirill walks beside me, close enough that his body competes for that heat. At the archway to a dark corridor, he pauses, watching me.
“I have work to handle,” he says, the distance already back in his voice. “Please stay upstairs. Violet will be home soon. She has a nanny.”
“Are you keeping the nanny?”
He narrows his eyes. “The nanny was hired to help me because I was alone.”
The word alone hurts my heart for him. What he’s been through.
“I’ll bring you your dinner.”
I nod, though the word stay really doesn’t sit right with me. I watch as he turns and walks away. He’s not as tall as Ares, not as muscular. He’s lean and lethal.
I turn and wander off in the opposite direction toward the grand staircase. The walls have a heaviness that drips with tradition. A peek out the window overlooking the grounds confirms Kirill’s warning.
There are guards everywhere.
I reach the staircase, and a long console sits against the railings. The surface is crowded with framed photographs. My throat goes dry as I stop and look down at them.
I pick up a random frame and smile at a younger Kirill wearing a thick parka outside an ice hut. Ice fishing. Squinting, I see snowy mountains in the distance and nothing but a blanket of white stretched out to meet them.
In another photo I recognize Ksenia. Her wedding photo makes me gasp. God, how beautiful she looked. The dress was a monstrosity. Kirill stands next to the groom, and next to the bride is a much older, much scarier man. Yuri Volkov, I presume.
I look up, feeling a chill that he’s here somewhere, sick and dying under this roof, even if he sleeps in a different wing.
I feel better when I reach a wave of photos of Kirill with Violet. He’s holding her and kissing her while she smiles brightly. An ache settles deep in my chest as I wonder if she’ll ever smile like that when I hold her.
My eyes scan the rest of the photos. Kirill, Violet, Ksenia and Drago.
The Volkov family.
My breath catches. There’s none of me.
Not a blurred figure in the background, not a shadow at the edge of the frame. Nothing. It’s as though I never existed. Why are there no photos of me? Or our wedding? Were they kept from this shrine on purpose?
A sickening feeling settles in my stomach. It was to keep what I looked like from Violet. That’s why she didn’t know who I was when she walked into the library yesterday.
My absence cuts deeper than the physical distance Kirill is contemplating for us. I stare down at one of the photos again.
“That’s me and my daddy,” someone says from behind me.
Uh oh. I recognize that sweet voice.
Violet.
Damn it. I’ve lingered here too long.
She knows I’m her mother, but she’s five. Maybe her brain hasn’t connected that it’s me. I’m in different clothes. My hair is up.
Heart pounding, I turn around, but she’s gone.
Hearing a soft giggle, I peek around the corner back toward the kitchen.
Go upstairs. Listen to Kirill. He knows his child.
Only, a pull I can’t ignore has me following the sound of giggling.
“Are you hiding?” I ask softly, like we’re sharing a secret.
She giggles again, then jumps across the hallway to hide around the other corner.
A warm feeling comes over me, and I want to play her game. Despite fearing Kirill’s wrath, I take a step down that corridor, my heart beating a little faster now. She and I will have that special moment soon.
“Do you want me to find you?” I continue, letting a playful note slip into my voice, surprising even myself.
Another tiny giggle betrays her. I follow the sound, my footsteps light. I glance around the next corner, taking note of my surroundings. The lower floor of this house is a maze.
“Hmm,” I murmur, tapping my finger against my chin. “I wonder where you could be?”
More giggling floats from the distant corner.
I turn quickly, and she darts from behind a chair. Her laughter is high-pitched and unrestrained, as she tries to run past me. Instincts rear up through my soul. I reach out and catch her gently around the waist.
“I got you. I found you.” I lift her before she can escape.
Violet studies me, her head tilting slightly at the sound of my voice. Her silence alarms me slightly, though. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me and thinks I’m some strange woman wandering around her house. Who’s now touching her.
For a minute, I hope this can be chalked up to a mistaken identity. Kirill won’t be angry.
“You’re my mommy,” she says, her voice certain.
Oh crap.
“I am,” I reply, my throat tightening.
Violet reaches out to press her small palm against my cheek. The touch feels like she’s confirming I’m real.
She narrows her eyes just a fraction before she speaks. “Why didn’t you say hi to me yesterday?”
I bend to help her back to her feet.
I told her you were sick…
“I’ve been sick, sweetie,” I use Kirill’s lie. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”
She wrinkles her nose, the gesture so quick and expressive, shifting from playful to thoughtful. “You forgot about me?”
“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain.” A breath catches in my chest. “I was sick. Like Daddy said. But I’m here now. I’m better.”
“When I was really sick, I took a nap after school and forgot to take off my school clothes. Daddy didn’t mind, but I also kept my shoes on.” Her little story loosens every taut muscle in my body.
“I’ve done that, too,” I admit to her, not going into details.
“I can help you remember things, Mommy.” She rushes at me and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her small body against mine. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
A flood of emotion steals my breath. My arms come around her without thinking. Holding her close, my child, my heart breaks and heals itself all at once.
“I’m glad too, sweetie,” I say, hearing a creak from several feet away.
I look up, and fear pulses through me.
Kirill stands there, frozen in place, his gaze locked on us. Raw and unguarded emotion breaks across his carefully controlled expression. Something he does so effortlessly.
He gives a faint groan, but Violet hears it and drops her head back. Her dark hair nearly brushes the floor while she holds on to me like a pole.
“Daddy,” she says brightly. “I found Mommy.”