Page 38 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

“No, I answered truthfully. I might sell it—or I might not. I don’t know, and it’s not on top of my list of priorities now. I have other things to worry about.”

And handle, she thought.

Demyan nodded and turned to peer back over the front drive and the towering birch trees that leaned hard with the strength of the wind. It was only the deep set of the alcove leading into the front door, that Vaslav had recently repainted a fresh maroon, by the looks of the paint strokes on the framing, that keep them far enough away from the wind that it didn’t carry their words away with it.

“Right,” he eventually replied. “You’re going to have a busy few weeks. Planning a wedding and whatnot, huh?”

His almost clipped tone made Vera pause.

“Amongst other things.”

Demyan sighed. “I will be back for the wedding.”

“Good. Someone needs to walk me down the aisle.”

She couldn’t imagine doing so without her father.

“I wish you weren’t so indifferent—”

“Who’s indifferent here?” she asked.

Demyan’s gaze turned on her, then. “You sound like him—do you realize that?”

Vera blinked. “No.”

“You do, and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not. You talk like you know exactly what you want, and you don’t give me any room to wiggle in an argument. It just is what it is, and you’re not even stopping long enough to ask if I care.”

Was that what he wanted?

Would it make him feel better?

“Do you not want me to get married?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Do you not want me to get married to him?”

Demyan’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. “Vera, you’re not being fair.”

“How so?”

“For one, because instead of having an actual conversation, you just keep asking questions to keep this going in circles. I never said that I didn’t want you to get married. You should do what you want to do the same way you always have. No, I don’t expect you to consider my feelings or wants when you make decisions about your life because frankly, you never have. Some people might call it a selfish streak, but I never thought so.”

“Why not? Isn’t it?”

She’d never been good with that factoring in others to the paths she chose for herself. After all, they weren’t the ones who had to walk it. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t affect them in some way. She was more than aware how that attitude could be taken as selfishness.

“Maybe because I love you,” her father replied, “so any of those faults inside of you, I just ... didn't see them that way. And there was a time, that first year after Gia died was hard, but as long as I was holding you, things were better. I don’t think you realize that you saved my life a long time ago. For months and months, you were the only reason I didn’t shove a gun down my throat and pull the trigger every single night after they took your mother from me.”

A sharp breath burned in her lungs. In the week that her father spent at the Pashkov property, they mostly kept to safe conversations with only the occasional trip into dangerous waters. She had thought he didn’t want to overstep his bounds, not with her, or Vas, but it wasn’t like the week had been a good example for her father of what her life would be like.

Never mind, if she even wanted it.

“And so I decided back then, after things got better, and I didn’t need to hold you at night just to keep from finding my gun, that no matter what, Vera, I was going to let you live. You weren’t even supposed to. You should have died with your mother. The lack of oxygen during your birth should have killed you.”

“I’m still here,” she whispered.

“It’s your life,” Demyan murmured, “and I want you to do anything, everything, with it.”