44. Daphne
44
Pasha cages me in against the kitchen island. “What have you been up to today?”
“Oh, nothing much.” I continue stirring the honey in my tea. “Went to work, ran some errands, humiliated my parents in front of everyone they’ve ever met and guaranteed they’ll never be able to show their faces in town again… The usual.”
Pasha’s hands pause on my hips. “Did you now?” he breathes at last.
“Is that going to be a problem?”
He turns me around to face him. His face is all I can see. Calm as ever, impassive, unflappable. Then he leans forward and kisses me. By his standards, it’s chaste.
That doesn’t stop me from melting into him.
When he pulls away, his tongue darts out to taste me on his lips. “Not at all. You’ve earned this victory a thousand times over. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He kisses me again. “Now, I need to jump in the shower. You should come join me so I can show you just how proud I am…”
“Nuh-uh!” Asya interrupts with a playful smack to his arm. “I just got Tatyanna down for her nap, and this is the first I’ve seen of my Daphne in a while. We’re having tea. You’re taking a cold shower—alone.” Asya hip-checks him out of the way. “Come, malyshka, before this man steals you away and we never get our tea.”
Pasha growls in faux irritation before he pecks her cheek and winks at me, then leaves us to it.
I hand Asya the cup I poured for her a few minutes ago. “Thanks for getting her down, by the way. Naps can be like battles with her sometimes.”
“Her father was the same way. Stubborn and willful.” Asya takes her cup with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Just wait for when she starts talking. Then you’ll really be in for it.”
We go out to the living room and settle ourselves on the comfy couch. The tea is sweet and warm and it’s easy to let it turn me into a contended puddle.
What’s not easy is broaching a subject that’s been on my mind, but probably isn’t any of my business.
Actually, it’s definitely none of my business. I just can’t stop scratching the itch in my brain.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”
Asya sets her tea on the end table and tucks her bare feet up beneath her. “Of course, malyshka. What’s up?”
“It’s about Arlo. And… well, I don’t know. He just said a few things in passing that have me wondering.”
“Things like what?”
“I know I’m overstepping here. I don’t have to?—”
“It’s okay, Daphne. Truly.” Her voice softens like she knows exactly where this is heading. “Ask me anything.”
I could beat around the bush. My heart is racing; I should just play it safe and see if we can string it all together via a series of hints and references.
“Is Arlo Pasha’s father?”
Or I could do that.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as soon as my idiot mouth has gone right ahead and blurted it in the bluntest fashion possible. “I shouldn’t have just?—”
“Yes.”
I pause. “Huh?”
Asya smiles. “Yes, Arlo is Pasha’s father. His real father.”
I don’t know what to say. Should I say anything at all? Do I leave it alone?
Do I go get Pasha?
“I’m guessing you started doing the math.” Asya sighs and stares at her teacup. “I haven’t known how to tell Pasha. Arlo doesn’t know, either. So we just… We figured dropping little hints would lead to some sort of conversation.”
“No one’s asked?”
She shakes her head. “No. Except you. So to answer your question, Arlo and I had…” Tears well in her eyes just as her voice catches. She clears her throat. “We planned to marry, yes? Before everything. It was only a matter of time. And then we found out I was pregnant, so we wanted to do it as soon as possible.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Terrible timing, mostly. Kostya saw me and wanted me; his father wanted the alliance; Arlo’s father wanted the power. I begged my own parents to spare me the arrangement, but once I told them of my condition…”
Things start making sense. Pieces of the biggest puzzle falling together. “Your father pushed it. Pushed for the marriage to Kostya.”
She mutters something in Russian I’m too much of a beginner-level learner to understand. But then she looks at me and translates. “‘Better a premature weakling than a bastard child.’”
“Good God.”
She nods sadly. “Kostya whisked me away and Arlo never got to see me grow with our child. But then Pasha was born and Kostya couldn’t stop bragging about his new son and heir. He kept inviting every Bratva to come see the future pakhan of the Chekhov line.” A faint blush creeps over her cheeks. “So of course, Arlo came to the States as the Fedorov representative. He was, after all, Kostya’s friend.”
So many of Arlo’s comments make more sense now.
… There is something special about your firstborn that gives them an eternal space in your heart…
“That must have been difficult.” I feel my heart clench at the thought of not being with Pasha. Or worse, being married to someone else—like Conrad—while the man I truly love is forced to stand in the sidelines.
I could never.
I’m amazed Asya made it through.
“It was bad enough to begin with.” She nods. “But then… I don’t know for certain, but I think Kostya started to suspect there was something… off. About Pasha.”
“They didn’t look alike?”
“Something like that. He could never put his finger on it, but he swore I was unfaithful to him and that Pasha wasn’t his. So he took it out on me.”
I don’t ask for her to elaborate. I don’t need her to.
“Do you think…?” I rub a hand over my mouth. I feel like I’m poking and prodding into secrets I should not be looking at. No matter how open and welcoming she’s being about it all. “Will you ever tell Pasha? Or anyone else?”
Asya rubs her temples. “I don’t know how. I want to. I’ve always wanted to. My Pasha… he always fears becoming his father. For so long, I’ve wanted to just tell him he shouldn’t fear it at all. His father, his real father, is a good man.”
“Pasha is a good man, too.”
I feel less crazy now. Less like I’m just seeing things, similarities that aren’t actually there. If Kostya was such a terrible person, how else could Pasha have turned out as well as he did?
“Need some more tea?” I pluck my cup and saucer from the coffee table. “There’s more in the pot.”
“No, thank you. I’m still working on my first.”
I sidestep the furniture and round the corner leading to the kitchen. As I do, I see…
Pasha’s standing there.
Shit.
“Pasha!” I don’t shout his name, but I say it loud enough to warn his mother. “I thought you were in the shower.”
“I forgot something. In my office.”
Double shit. He’s pissed.
Which means…
“You heard.” I only need to see the flicker in his eyes to know it’s true. Immediately, my heart slams inside my chest.
I shouldn’t have asked.
I shouldn’t have looked where I wasn’t meant to.
I’m so sorry…
“Pasha, I?—”
He silences me with a kiss to my brow, his hands cupping my face. “I’ll be back later. I love you.”
It’s a millisecond of calm. Something to ease my worries that he might be angry with me.
He’s not. He’s pissed, yes—but not at me.
I hear Asya try to talk to him, but there’s no response from him. The front door opens, then closes, all but slamming shut behind him.
No words come to mind. Nothing I can say to comfort Asya, who I find standing next to the couch…
Terrified.