“That’s disturbing.”
He smiles at the gag my reply was delivered with before muttering, “It’s actually smart depending on which side of the law you’re on. If you were digging up a square burial site, and you stumbled upon a family pet, would you keep digging?”
“Uh, no,” I force out through a gag. “And I’m reasonably sure ninety-nine percent of the population wouldn’t, either.”
I wish he’d quit smiling. They’re making me all types of hot. “That’s my point. We’re not seeking an upstanding member of society, Roxanne. We want that one percent.”
Considering what we’re discussing, I shouldn’t relish how he says ‘we.’ However, I do.
After standing to his feet, Dimitri says, “We need to take another look at your grandparents’ farm.” Ignoring the loud gurgle of my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger, he gets straight down to business. “Smith… Smith…”
Before his third call for Smith can rumble out of his mouth, I place my hand over his balled one resting on his desk. “He’s probably sleeping.”
My reply was meant to calm him down, not rile him up. He’s more frustrated now than he was when I placed on my dressing gown. He’s pissed Smith isn’t at his beck and call, having no clue he’d be dead if he continued walking down the path he has the past eighty-plus hours.
“He barely slept the past three days, Dimi. He was a walking zombie.” When Dimitri’s eyes snap to mine, shocked at my unusual use of his nickname, I forcefully swallow the brick in my throat. “We’ll get the search done, but it will have to wait until the morning. You won’t find anything but raccoons at this hour.”
The jest in my tone adds the slightest furl to his top lip. It’s not a smile, but it isn’t a scowl either.
“Have you eaten?” When he jerks up his chin, I ask, “Was it better than this?”
His eyes stray in the direction my head is nudging. After drinking in my soggy sandwich I’m sure was super fresh six hours ago, he shakes his head.
“Do you want to risk death?” The unease I see in his eyes makes me smile. “I can whip up a mean batch of pancakes… I just have a bad habit of burning them.”
I can tell he wants to smile, he’s just riddled with too much guilt to allow himself to be happy. I can’t say I don’t understand his objection. I still haven’t laid my eyes on Fien, and I feel bad I’m standing across from her father instead of her.
“Come on. I’m sure your insurance will cover a kitchen fire. If not, I’m just as confident you have the dough to cover my mishaps.”
My thumping heart from barging him out of his comfort zone could be to blame for my poor hearing, but I swear he grumbles, “If only money could keep you safe.”
Two dozen burned pancakes and six salvable ones later, I prop my backside onto the counter Dimitri is seated behind before blurting out a question that hasn’t stopped bugging me the past hour. “Can I see a photo of Fien?” When Dimitri’s fork drops onto his plate with a clang, I talk faster. “I’m just curious if I’m picturing her right. Like you know how when you read a book, and you imagine the character one way, but when you jump onto the author’s Facebook page, you realize they look completely different than you were picturing. It’s like that for me with Fien.” I stop for a much-needed breath before raising my eyes to Dimitri’s. He’s as shocked by my ramble as I am. He has been inside of me. I should no longer be nervous around him, but for some reason, I am. “I just want to know if she looks like you.”
There he goes with his infamous half-smirk again. “The Petretti genes are strong.”
“I’m sure they are,” I say with a smile as blinding as his. “But I’m still curious. Does she have curly hair or straight? Blue eyes or brown? Dimples in her top lip like her daddy when he smiles, or did she inherit his elf ears instead?”
With the sentiment in the air thicker than lust, I’m anticipating for him to shut down my inquisitiveness with the cruelness he was raised by, so you can envision the dramatic drop of my jaw when he says, “Her eyes are blue, her hair is as straight as an arrow, and she got both my dimples and my elf ears.”
Tension cracks between us when he slips off his barstool to gather something out of the drawer next to my thigh. His fridge and fire mantel aren’t adorned with family snapshots and heirlooms. This is more a business premise than a home, so the last thing I anticipate for him to remove from a drawer full of cutlery is a palm-size photograph.
Upon spotting my shock, Dimitri mutters, “I have a photo in every drawer and cupboard as a reminder of why I’m here.”
After a quick breather, he hands me Fien’s photograph. It’s the fight of my life not to coo like an imbecile. She isn’t just cute, she’s downright adorable. Her nose is tiny, her eyes are wide, and she has the rosiest lips I’ve ever seen. And Dimitri was right, she did get both his elf ears and his dimple-blemished grin.
“She’s adorable.” I sound like a ditz, but it’s the most honest I’ve ever been. Seeing Fien’s chubby cheeks has brought everything into perspective. It’s also made me super mad. If it weren’t for me, she’d be standing across from her father instead of me.
I’d hate to think what my life would be like now if my mother hadn’t convinced my father to swap me with Audrey, but it’s just as horrid realizing you’re the cause of someone else’s unhappiness. I’m not solely referencing Fien, either. My pain centers around Dimitri and Audrey as well.
“Can I be a part of the search today?”
Dimitri doesn’t consider my offer for even a second. He immediately shakes his head.
“I lived there half of my life. I could see something important, stuff others may have missed.”
“No, Roxanne.” He snatches Fien’s photograph out of my hand before he places it back into the drawer. “Shit like that changes you.”
I don’t pause to consider the protectiveness in his tone. “Shit like thishaschanged me, Dimitri. I’m not the same woman I was when I walked into this house, and I won’t be the same when I walk out.”
