Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Viktor
M y brain stalls.
I had assumed Madam Petrova was at the door, bringing my afternoon coffee and the day’s correspondence.
Instead, the sexy human female I have spent the last fifteen hours trying very hard not to think about stands in my doorway in a sweater the exact color of the summer sky.
The scent of her reaches me at the same instant, and my fangs lengthen.
My cock instantly thickens in my pants. Hell, will this exquisite torture ever end?
I step back, hold the door open, and say only, “Come in.”
She walks past me into the study.
I close the door behind her. Mistake. Then purposely move behind my desk, putting the heavy mahogany between us like a barrier.
She sets a small plate with a cookie on the side table just inside the door, without explanation. I recognize the plate. It is from the household’s good china, a thin gold rim, the House Draven crest at the edge. Madam Petrova, of course it was you.
Hazel stands in the middle of my study like she owns it.
I get a good look at her in full afternoon light. Kissable lips, small waist, long legs, her hair loose around her shoulders. A small smudge of something, jam, perhaps, from Lily’s breakfast, at the cuff of her left sleeve. She looks tired, resolute and breathtaking.
I want to put her on this desk and bite her.
I gesture to one of the leather chairs across from me. “Sit.”
She perches on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap.
I sit behind the desk and wait.
The female takes a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about dinner.”
I blink.Dinner?This is wholly unexpected. I had expected a complaint about her quarters. A renegotiation of her contract. Possibly a request to return to America. Some interpersonal disturbance with the household staff. “What about dinner?”
“Madam Petrova told me that you take dinner alone in your study every night.”
I nod.
“And that Lily takes dinner alone in the nursery. With her nanny. Every night. And these nannies have been different Krovenians because of staff changes.”
I grunt in agreement.
“And that this has been the arrangement for two years. Is that correct?”
A cold flare goes through me before I have even decided how to respond. I do not break her gaze. “That is correct.”
“Viktor.” A pause. She is choosing her words. “I would like that to change.”
My jaw clenches. “You are questioning how I parent my child.”
I expect her to flinch. She does not. I feel a hint of respect for this small female. Most humans are too terrified to even speak to me, let alone try and demand something from me.
Her chin lifts. “No, I am questioning the custom. There is a difference.”
I place both hands flat on the desk. My voice remains cold.
I lecture her as if she were a soldier under my command.
“This is how Krovenian royal children have been raised for a thousand years. My father took dinner separately from me. His father took dinner separately from him. I see Lily every day. I read to her at night. I facetime with her every evening when I am away. I am not absent from my daughter’s life. This is the way it is done.”
I expect the argument to end there. It does not.
Hazel reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and pulls out a small leather notebook. “With respect, Viktor, I have spent the last five days observing your daughter very closely. I have notes. I would be happy to share them with you. May I tell you what I have seen?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Lily is brilliant. Her language skills are intact and her memory is sharp. But she is also isolated. At four years old, she’s at a critical age, needing to develop reciprocal conversation — back-and-forth speaking with peers and with adults who model attentive listening.
Lily has been getting this intently, with me, for five days, and I can already see real progress but it’s not enough.
I’ve come to realize that your daughter has no cousins her own age living nearby, no children she plays with, no regular peer interaction at all.
I see a small child whose entire conversational world has been adults politely doing most of the talking for her. ”
I keep my face still. It is difficult, hearing this, no matter if it’s correct.
“Her mother is gone,” Hazel continues softly.
“You are often gone, by necessity. The staff adores her. I adore her. But she still spends most of her conversational hours with adults who finish her sentences for her, anticipate her needs before she has to ask, and gently shield her from any small social difficulty that might require her to speak through it. That isn’t going to grow her the way she needs to grow. ”
I nod and lean back in my chair. “What are you proposing?”
“Two things.” She straightens her shoulders.
“First. This custom of royal children eating separately, and I understand that it never occurred to you to break it, because this is simply how it has always been done…but, I would suggest that this is changed. When you are home, I think it would be good for you to take breakfast and dinner with Lily. Not as a permanent break with tradition, just as a present-moment choice for this four-year-old, who has lost her mother, and who needs more practice speaking with the parent she has left. As much practice as you can give her.”
“Second,” Hazel continues, “I would like your permission to organize a small playgroup for her. Two or three Krovenian children her own age, vetted carefully through Madam Petrova. Brought in two or three times a week for structured play and conversation. I would supervise and plan the activities.” She hesitates.
“And, um, they might not be from noble households. I think she needs children, just children to play with, who are easily accessible, living nearby.”
I stare quietly at this bold human in my study.
“Is that something you’d be open to?”
She is afraid I will say no.
I stand and walk to the tall windows and look out at the garden. The afternoon light is gold across the lawn. The fountain is running. A pair of birds quarrel on the hedge. I think of my daughter at a small table in the nursery, eating without me.
My brothers and I ate in the nursery at her age and we did not see our parents at meals until we were older and could be useful at the table. We did not question it. None of us did, not even Nikolai. It had not occurred to me, until this moment, that wecould have questioned it.
I exhale slowly then turn and look back at her.
Hazel sits where I left her, hands still folded over the notebook, watching me with an expression I cannot quite read. Her cheeks are flushed. She is bracing for an argument she has not yet had to give.
“You are not wrong,” I respond.
Her eyes widen.
“I have not thought about it the way you have just described,” I admit. “I should have.”
The beautiful, brave female lets out a breath she has clearly been holding for some time.
“Lily will take dinner and breakfast with me when I am home, from this evening forward. The playgroup is fine. Vet the families through Madam Petrova. She knows the children of our staff and the children of trusted households nearby. Begin as soon as you are ready.”
“Thank you,” she breathes. “Truly. Thank —”
I cut her off, gently. “On one condition.”
She tenses again. “Yes?”
“You will join us at the table. Every meal. Breakfast and dinner. When I am home.”
Her face does a small, confused thing. “I… what?”
“You will eat with us.”
“That is — that is very kind, Viktor, but the two of you should have your time together as a family. I don’t want to intrude on —”
“You are not intruding. Lily has bonded with you,” I say, selfishly trying my best to make sure this gorgeous female eats with me for all my meals.
“If I am suddenly at her table after two years of not being there, she will not know what to do. She will retreat into her composure. You are the bridge.”
“Okay,” she says. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
“And also, I expect you to be there with us for all meals, for this entire year. And if we need you to renew your contract you will do that too. There is no use in all of us eating together like this, if you’re just going to return to your boyfriend in America at the first chance you can get.”
Her brow furrows. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Relief floods through my veins. I give a curt nod. “Then you are staying.”
She licks her lips.
“Six o’clock,” I confirm. “The great dining room. Tonight.”
“Six o’clock,” she firmly repeats. Then she stands.
And that’s when I scent it. For a half-second I do not understand what I am smelling. It takes me another half-second to identify it.
Arousal.
Hers.
My fangs come further down. My pulse roars in my ears.
She wants me, as much as I want her. And I have just discovered that she is single, unmated.
There is much I want to say and do, but instead I manage to rasp, “Was there anything else, Hazel?”
Her mouth opens. Closes. “No.”
“Then I will see you at six.”
The door closes behind her.
Six o’clock, I think.
I sit back down at my desk.
I do not get any more work done that afternoon.