Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
IVAN
T o my shock, I look out of the window and see the astonishing sight of my father dancing with Lara. For one wild irrational second, I want to run to them and push his poisoned hands away, but a strange wave of emotion washes over me and I stare at them. The truth is I love my father. When I was growing up he was the person I most dearly loved and admired in the whole world. And even after we fell out and he tried to crush me and made my family choose between him and me, I still couldn’t bring myself to hate him.
It is a laughable idea to even think for a moment he will try to poison Lara or ask her to choose between him and me. I watch them curiously. My father is a good dancer and he leads her well. As for Lara, she carries herself brilliantly. A warm glow fills my chest. The dance ends. My father walks away and I see her head back towards the house.
My phone rings and I take the call. It’s only more bad news. It is almost certain now that the Americans will move next and it is too late to get my money out. Moving that much money around could raise a lot of red flags. I still have some in Russia. That is my only safety net for now. I call an old friend from Cambridge and ask him for a favor. He agrees readily.
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” he promises.
“Thanks, James. I won’t forget.”
“No, worries. You can count on me.”
“Good night.”
It’s late, I’m exhausted, and I have a headache as I make my way through the silent house up to the west wing. I open the door and there she is. Sitting by the lounge, her legs tucked beneath her, wearing a white silk nightdress that clings to her body in ways that send heat spiraling through me. Her eyes flick toward me as I enter, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.
In spite of everything that has happened, my desire for her burns brightly.
“Nikolai told me about your feud with your father and how bad he feels about not being close to you.”
She really ruined my mood with those words, but my voice is pleasant. “Did he now?”
“Yes, he did. He’s a nice guy, Ivan. And his family. Families should stay together,” she says.
I’d come in here wanting her, missing her, thinking I’d find sanctuary in her body, and instead, I find she has taken Nikolai’s word for gospel truth. After the horrendous day I’ve had, I lose it. I feel fury burn like fire through my body.
“Well, if he’s such a nice guy, go fuck him then,” I snarl.
Her face turns white as a sheet.
“What a horrible thing to say,” she gasps and leaps up. Moving toward the bed with purposeful steps, she grabs the blanket at the bottom of the bed. She’s going to sleep on the day bed. That... that just pisses me off.
“You’re really going to ignore me?” I ask, my voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in despite myself. My frustration from the entire night, the entire day, is bleeding into this moment, and I can’t stop it.
Still, no answer. She carries the blanket past me, and something snaps in me. I step forward and snatch it from her hands, my movements sharp.
“Lara,” I growl, my grip tightening on the blanket.
She jerks the blanket back, fire in her eyes. “Is this the part where you get violent?” she snaps, sarcasm dripping from every word. But I hear the undercurrent of fear beneath it. She is a woman in a foreign country with a man she doesn’t know much about.
I let go immediately. The anger drains from me in an instant, leaving behind something raw and aching. “I would never hurt you, Lara,” I say, my voice full of remorse. “I’d rather burn myself alive than hurt you.”
The words surprise even me, but they’re the truth. They spill out, raw and unfiltered, and she just stares at me in shock.
“I mean it,” I repeat, stepping closer, my hand reaching for her. I touch her face gently, cradling her cheek in my palm, my thumb brushing over her skin. “You’re the only good thing I have right now. The only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her expression softens, and the tight tension between us shifts. She reaches up, her fingers resting lightly on my hand. The simple touch sends a wave of warmth through me.
“I know you’re going through hell,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost don’t catch it. “I wish I knew how to help you.”
“You help just by being here,” I murmur, my other hand coming up to cup her face, pulling her closer.
I kiss her. Slow at first, but it deepens quickly, the old passion bubbling up to the surface. I kiss her like she’s my lifeline, like I need her more than air right now.
And God, I do.
I pull her into me, my arms wrapping around her waist, and her body fits perfectly against mine, like a key into a lock. The fury, the frustration, it all fades away, replaced by this need—this need to feel something real, something that isn’t slipping through my fingers.
But then the headache takes over.
The throbbing becomes so hard I can’t ignore it anymore. I pull back, collapsing onto the bed and rubbing my temples. I can’t even think straight.
“Hey,” she says, sitting beside me, silent for a moment. Then she offers me a glass of water. I down it in one go and lean back, closing my eyes. The silence stretches between us, but it’s a soothing silence.
“I’m sorry I made things worse for you, Ivan,” she says quietly, breaking the silence. “I feel so useless. What can I do for you?”
I reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not useless, Lara. You’re helping more than you know.”
She looks at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty, and I realize that for the first time in a long time, I want to tell someone everything. I need to tell someone everything.
So I do.
I tell her about the growing list of governments breathing down my neck, believing my wealth is tied to the Russian government. I tell her about the sanctions, about the lies someone’s feeding the authorities, about my connections to Russian money. I tell her about the yacht, the chateau, the properties in London and Paris, the Coutts bank account—all unfairly impounded. And I tell her how everything is falling apart faster than I can fix it.
And she listens. Really listens.
She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t push me to explain more than I want to. She lets me fall apart without judgment. She just listens, her eyes filling with compassion and becoming kinder with every word I say. The more silent she is, staring intently into my eyes, the faster the words roll off my tongue. I have never in my life spoken to anyone this way. Maybe it’s just because I want to tell someone, anyone. Maybe I can speak this freely because I know she will be gone from my life in a month. Or maybe it’s because I can no longer deny how I feel about her and I want to show her the real me, come what may.
“I wish I could do something,” she whispers almost to herself when I’m finished. “I want to help. I know I can.”
Her words linger in the air, hanging between us.
The exhaustion of the day pulls at my limbs, but something else—a raw, unspoken need—keeps me tethered to this moment. The vulnerability in her voice and the quiet confession of helplessness cuts deeper than I expect. I can see it in her eyes. She really wants to help me and that soothes me more than she will ever know.
I reach for her, pulling her closer, needing her warmth against me. I cup her face in my hands, the softness of her skin grounding me, calming the chaos inside me.
“Lara,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, “you’ve already done enough. Just being here… that’s everything.”
Her lips part as if to protest, but I stop her with a kiss, soft and slow, pouring every ounce of gratitude, every unspoken word of thanks, into it.
“Just lie next to me. I’ll face tomorrow when I wake up.”
Her arm curls around me. “Okay, my great, big white swan. Let’s sleep now. Together.”
A few minutes pass, and the drowsiness creeps in, thick and heavy. My eyelids grow heavier, the quiet peace of the moment sinking into me. With her pressed against me, I feel the pull of sleep stronger than ever before.
I didn’t expect this—I never thought I could fall asleep so easily with her in my arms. The world outside the room fades away, and all that remains is us.
Just Leda and me.