“A few days.”
“And your husband? The children? Will they be joining you? Will I finally get to meet them?”
“So many questions, Hildie.” I chuckled. “Just a quick solo trip. Flynn is at home in Dornoch. The children are spending time with their great aunt and uncle in Ireland, and then we’ll have a quiet Christmas together.”
I headed for the staircase. Hildie meant well, but I was attempting to be evasive about my reason for being alone and I could tell she knew.
“How was Monaco?”
“Wonderful. We break ground on the new hotel in the spring.”
She shook her head. “Where do you find the energy to travel the way you do? I’d prefer to spend my time next to a roaring fire with a good book.”
It had been a long time since I’d sat and enjoyed something so simple. I wasn’t even sure I knew how to live in the stillness, preferring instead to stay busy. It didn’t stop me from thinking, though. Nothing ever did.
“I’m going to take a bath and then I’ll eat in the dining room.”
“There are fresh sheets on the bed, and I’ve had your cashmere pressed.”
“What would I do without you, Hildie?” I asked.
“You never have to find out, Mrs. Campbell.”
Grinning, I took the stairs, my hand gliding along the wooden bannister. It was like no time had passed since I’d last been to this place. Sasha had bought Dolinsky’s home years ago, but he never came here. I had full run of the house and the grounds. I was the one who kept in contact with Hildie.
It was strange. I knew it was. My relationship with Sasha. Our connection to this home. The fact that Flynn didn’t know.
The door to my room was open and the four-poster bed had already been turned down. I walked to the ornate armoire and pulled out a gray sweater and black trousers. In the chest of drawers, I found undergarments and a pair of warm woolen socks.
I placed them all on the bed and then stripped on my way to the bathroom. The drapes were pulled back to reveal the heavy, fat snowflakes that had begun falling halfway through my drive. After slowing to a crawl on the icy road, I was glad to have arrived safe and sound. It had been far too long since I’d driven myself. It wasn’t as easy, now. Not with the limp.
My hip and knee were sore. I drew a bath and sprinkled my favorite bath salts and effervescent pods into the water. I tied up my hair, wishing I had the hairpin that Flynn had given me. But I’d left it in Dornoch.
My soak in the tub was leisurely and I thought of the people I loved back home. They swirled in my head like the steam from my bath. They were never far from my mind, even when I attempted to push them away. Guilt swarmed my insides, feasting on the blackened part of me that had long ago been my heart.
No doubt Flynn was going insane, wondering where I’d gone. To leave him like that, without a word… What must he be thinking? But I couldn’t—didn’t—have anything left in me to give him at that moment. Maybe it was selfish. Fuck, Iknewit was selfish, but I just couldn’t bring myself to contact him.
It wasn’t about the baby. It wasn’t about him denying me. I could’ve pushed harder, demanded it from him. But that wasn’t my way with Flynn. He rarely denied me a thing. We had a beautiful life together.
For days, weeks, I’d felt like I was moving through a fog. And then I’d woken up in the middle of the night after being with him and it was so clear what I had to do.
I had to come here.
“You’re a cruel, beautiful woman,” Igor Dolinsky’s ghost said to me.
“I’m aware,” I replied.
His brown eyes delved into mine as he leaned against the sink, standing there like a monument to what he once was. Honesty pierced the moment. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you.” His English was accented with Russian. He was cultured, dapper. Old world. A monster that had turned me violent, ruthless, and lethal.
Even now, years later, my feelings for Igor were complicated. When he was alive, he’d brought my baser instincts to the surface. I’d learned to manipulate emotions, exploiting the weakness of lust. And in the end, I’d killed him. His death by my hand didn’t weigh me down. It was everything that had come before it. I’d told myself time and time again that I’d been pretending he was Flynn when I kissed him. But it hadn’t been the truth. I’d found pleasure in Igor’s arms, and for that, I’d never forgive myself.
Igor smile was pained. “Moya krasotka.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
“Why? Does it remind you of what could’ve been? If you’d chosen me?” He took a step toward me and crouched down next to the tub so that we were eye level. Igor reached out and trailed his finger across my collar bone.
I slapped his hand away, but his words made me tremble. They rearranged my heart, split apart my soul, and opened it, revealing an avalanche of grief, desire, and guilt.
