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The ride home is silent, even though it’s a comfortable silence. Her hand squeezes mine, her fingers interlaced between my own, as she steals glances at me that she doesn’t think I notice. But I do. I notice everything about her. What she does, how she dresses, the way she looks at me when she’s vulnerable, sad, happy, angry. I notice it all.
And right now?
Her eyes tell me one thing: she loves me.
I pull up to the apartment complex and park the car, already committed to stripping her bare and fucking her on our couch, when I see my father’s car a few down from mine.
What the fuck is he doing here?
“Camilla,” I whisper, and she stares at me wide-eyed. “When we leave this car, I need you to go inside and lock the doors. I will give you my key. Don’t let me in unless I knock seven times.”
“Why?”
“How many times, Camilla?”
“Seven…” she mutters. “Now tell me why.”
My stomach flips at the thought of how this is going to go tonight. “Because my father is here.”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly,” I admit. “Let’s go inside.”
This time, she opens her door and I rush to her side, escorting her to our apartment. There’s no sign of him, thankfully. By the grace of the universe, he’s not waiting in front of my door. What I’d like to know is how he found this place. It’s secret, it’s my sanctuary. How could he figure it out this easily? Is he having me followed? For how long now? Does he know about Camilla?
I open the front door and grab my box of coins, holding them in one hand while I kiss Camilla. “It’s okay,” I assure her. “I’ll be right back.”
“If it’s okay, then why do I need to wait for you to knock seven times?”
“Because I don’t want him to come into my house uninvited.” I sigh. “I don’t know how he’s going to take the news of us.”
Camilla nods slowly, seemingly understanding. I’m sure she does, considering her dad is going to lose his shit once he finds out what we’ve done. Which will more than likely be from my father, if I’m guessing correctly. Oleg would never keep this to himself; he’d never shield me.
“Okay, baby,” she replies.
“Lock the door.”
I close the door behind me and walk towards my father’s car. He’s absolutely waiting for me, because when I get closer he’s already peering in my direction with a cold smile on his face that resembles a sneer more than anything. Ever since I shunned him, showed him I hated him and didn’t want anything to do with him, he has returned the sentiment. Since I was ten years old, he has treated me like garbage and with disdain. I should’ve never expected more from him, but he could’ve at least tried to improve things. He has no remorse and thinks what he did was excusable. That he did nothing wrong, even. That it was his right to end her life.
He lowers his window before I barely get close enough and says, “Get in.”
“Father,” I begin as I shut the door behind me and get comfortable in the passenger seat. This might take a while, but hopefully not. “What do you want?”
“Did you finish your fifty?”
“Here’s my coins.”
We sit in silence while he counts them, and then he nods. “Good work.”
Did he just praise me?
“Thanks,” I reply. “Now, if that’s all, I should leave.”
“Right.”
“By the way,” I tell him as I exit the car. “I have a wife now.”
His eyes widen in the darkness of the car and he turns on a light. “You have a what?”
