Page 19 of The Breath Before Forever

Vaslav didn’t care to play that game. “First of all, nothing. How did you even know where my mother was?”

“Mira mentioned something that made me curious.”

Of course.

Vaslav didn’t give away how the news landed unceremoniously at his feet. Besides, what Vera said next was far more interesting.

“But I found papers for a wire transfer in the den—”

“On my desk,” Vaslav interjected, knowing already what she had to have found because it would be the only related thing in the house to the Roseville facility housing his unwell mother. That also explained how she had a number to call for the facility as it was listed at the top of the paperwork. “Were you looking for it?”

He wanted to clarify that point.

For his own reasons.

Vera let out weak, but still annoyed, laugh. “What difference does it make? And I didn’t make a bunch of calls. Certainly not on her behalf,” she spat over her shoulder at him. “It wasn’t like that. I called the reception, and was put through elsewhere where I left a damn message.”

“For her doctor.”

“It’s a psychiatric facility, Vaslav,” Vera said.

His brow shot up. “Yes, that’s usually where the mentally unwell find themselves when no one else can care for them, isn’t it?”

“Is she?”

“What?”

“Mentally unwell,” Vera returned. “Or did you just shove her there to keep her out of sight, and out of mind?”

Ah.

There it was.

All the little details that he didn’t have to answer the whys in his mind. Those same questions that had plagued him since that morning when the doctor handling his mother’s patient file at Roseville decided to call and inform him that a woman proclaiming to be his wife had left a message on his assistant’s phone requesting a call back about Natalia Pashkova.

“The woman is where she needs to be,” Vaslav settled on saying.

Vera’s brow furrowed, but she kept watching him over her shoulder, seemingly determined not to drop his gaze. No matter the topic of conversation, or how she felt about it. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“I didn’t realize you were owed one. She isn’t your mother, after all.”

“Good thing—right?” Vera asked quietly. “That’s what everyone’s told me who knows anything at all about her. You. Mira. Even Igor, although to his credit, he outright told me to be grateful I didn’t know her face in a crowd.”

“He’s right.”

“But is she unwell, or are you punishing her for what she did to you?”

Wouldn’t that be poetic?

Wouldn’t it feel so fucking good?

“Isn’t that what she deserves?” he asked back. “If I did?”

“I was only curious,” Vera said, opting not to answer his question, but he didn’t mind. “About her, mostly. I know things about her, stuff she’s done to you, but I don’t have a person to put a face to the name and deed. You know?”

“So ask for a fucking picture, kisska.”

“Ask you,” Vera hedged, “about her? History tells me I know better, thanks.”