Page 12 of The Promise

He wasn’t sure how much about Karine’s disorder he was willing to share with even Demyan. Not now. It was too soon. Superficially—it would obviously look like a bad idea. Nobody else seemed to get Karine the way he did, and even he knew this was a mistake.

Roman took in a deep breath and continued to speak. His father wiped his vodka laden mouth with the back of his forearm.

“Maxim has been hiding his daughter from the world. She is...troubled, and has not received the proper care she needs.”

“What do you mean, troubled?”

Roman shrugged. That was as much as he was willing to tell.

“Let’s just say Maxim has no patience for a daughter like her. A girl who never fit the bill. Instead of nurturing her as a parent, he agreed to marry her off to Leonid’s son. Dima. You know Dima. We all know Dima here.”

Demyan grunted under his breath.

Yeah.

How could they forget?

“I still don’t get what any of this has to do with you.”

“I wanted to help her—or shit, just figure it out, what was wrong there because something clearly was,” Roman said, waiting for his father to comment on that. When he didn’t, he decided to continue, but he couldn’t meet Demyan’s gaze when he admitted, “And so, I kept digging.”

“And you found something you shouldn’t have?”

Roman let out a slow, aching exhale before saying, “As one does.”

“Jesus, son. Jesus Christ.”

That was enough to make Demyan roll his eyes, and rake a hand through his hair. The frustration was written in every action, but he had news for his father. That wasn’t even the best part of the story. Already, it wasn’t headed in a favorable direction for Roman.

“I stumbled on a plot against Maxim’s life. Leonid was directly involved. When I informed Maxim about it, he decided he was going to let me come home. Can’t remember if he used the words spare my life or not.”

“Spare your—what do you mean spare your fucking life?” his father asked, each word getting progressively louder until he was just roaring it. “For what?”

Roman’s throat bobbed with a swallow—that line he’d been walking just got a hell of a lot smaller. It didn’t matter that he was a grown man, he wasn’t so disassociated with his shitty behavior and lack of self-control that he didn’t know when he truly crossed a line. This was definitely that.

“What the fuck did you do, Roman?”

“I slept with Karine,” he said, the truth coming out easy even if it was hard.

Demyan stood like a statue, glaring at his son. The silence coated the room until he reached for the bottle of vodka again, the liquor sloshing against the glass. He tipped two shot glasses on the silver tray where the bottle had also been sitting over and poured them both a drink.

Roman took the shot and drank it, never once breaking his father’s heavy stare. Demyan did the same, but he thought that was more so his father could consider his next words. He was good at doing that—making sure not a single word was wasted when he wanted every one of them heard.

“So, to be clear, you fucked the young woman who has been promised to Dima?”

Roman didn’t bother defending himself, knowing he didn’t have one for that. His actions against Dima were always selfish, and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise. Those were the facts.

He did, however, correct his father with, “Was promised.”

“Is, Roman,” Demyan countered swiftly. “Until all parties agree otherwise in one way or another. When an arrangement is made for a marriage, it is not over until it’s over.”

Well, those were semantics.

Right?

Roman never did well with those.

Demyan started filling in the blanks all on his own which made things easier for Roman. “Let me guess, Maxim was about to make you answer for sleeping with his spoken-for daughter—that’s how you earned your proper beating. And then, you told him about the plot, so he let you live.”