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His own mother had had no interest in him or Alexei once they’d been born—happily handing over their care to a string of nannies and governesses so she could spend as much of their father’s fortune as was humanly possible before her untimely death in a light aircraft crash a few days before their fifth birthdays.
He could still remember the nanny informing them of the news—and both him and Alexei wondering why the usually stern woman had looked so upset.
He hadn’t felt the loss then and he still didn’t now. He had cut off the need to be nurtured as a child. Had forced himself to become emotionally self-sufficient and he considered that a strength. Because he knew how weak it could make you when those needs weren’t met. But, even so, he was glad Alexei’s son wasn’t having to struggle through this difficult time in his life alone.
‘But he’s just a little boy, and he’s dealing with so much already,’ Bronte pleaded. Noticing the dark bruises under her eyes—not for the first time—Lukas acknowledged it wasn’t just the boy who had been through the wars of late. She looked exhausted. And while he still felt a certain anger towards her—because she’d kept the boy’s existence a secret—he had to give her credit for doing it for the right reasons. Unfortunately, rightly or wrongly, Nico was now in the eye of the hurricane, which meant he needed protection—something Bronte couldn’t possibly understand or provide. He, on the other hand, knew only too well how vulnerable the boy was.
The scar throbbed, the brutal reminder of the ripping pain threatening to surface. He shoved it back.
This is not about you. This is about Alexei’s son.
While he had no desire to have a relationship with the boy, the necessary protection was something he could and would provide, whether Bronte liked it or not.
‘Couldn’t we just pretend he’s not your heir?’ she added. ‘Tell the press a story? I don’t want his life disrupted even more.’
‘It’s too late for that—the story’s already out,’ he said, astonished at her naïveté. ‘My PR people have arranged for me to give a press conference tomorrow to try and contain it. The statement will be brief. I’ll announce Nico as my heir, give details of his illness and then request privacy at this difficult time.’
‘Will that work?’ Bronte asked, the desperate hope in her eyes making him think of a puppy who was used to being kicked but still believed things would work out okay.
He almost felt bad telling her the truth. ‘It’ll keep the more reputable journalists at bay and should help to deaden the story faster. Cold hard facts never sell as well as lurid speculation. But you still won’t be able to return to your apartment, or your former life. Because the press aren’t the only threat,’ he finished, choosing not to elaborate. She might be young and naïve, but she had been alone with a young child surviving on her wits for four years; she had to know the depths of depravity some people would go to when it came to money.
‘I see,’ she said, sounding dejected, and he could see she did know. ‘I’m sorry for complaining. You’re just trying to do the right thing, and I’m making things more difficult. But it just all feels so overwhelming.’
Her honesty floored him a little.
‘Surely it can’t be that tough knowing you’ll never have to scrub another john?’ he said, the desire to lift some of the heavy burden she seemed to be carrying as unprecedented as his reaction to her.
Her eyes flickered with surprise, then suspicion. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to have her investigated. Yet more evidence of her naïveté—which he was starting to find far too appealing.
She drew herself up to her full height and stuck out that stubborn chin. ‘There’s nothing wrong with scrubbing toilets!’ she announced, looking like a pint-sized Valkyrie. ‘Someone has to do it and it’s honest work. You probably pay someone to scrub yours.’
‘No doubt,’ he said. ‘But, whoever they are, I’m sure they would rather be doing something else, if they could.’
The fact that she had been working so hard, in such a menial job, when she seemed to be an intelligent and resourceful woman struck him again as above and beyond the call of duty for an aunt. According to the interim report he’d received from his security team, she’d taken over the care of her nephew—their nephew—when she was only eighteen, and had worked like a dog in a series of dead-end jobs to make ends meet. She should have contacted him about Nico long before now. But the fact that she hadn’t seemed like an act of selflessness now. And a surprising one at that. She could have used the child as a bargaining chip and she hadn’t.
‘I suppose,’ she said, but her shoulders slumped and she looked more dejected than ever. ‘I’ll be honest it’s not the john-scrubbing I’ll miss, but the anonymity. I guess I didn’t really think this through. All I cared about when I came to Manhattan to confront you was making Nico bette
r. I wish I hadn’t blurted out the truth in front of all those people. This is all my fault.’
Unable to resist the urge to touch her a moment longer, he tucked a knuckle under her chin and lifted that bright emerald gaze to his.
‘It’s not your fault. Once Nico’s relationship to Alexei was confirmed, the press would have gotten hold of the story eventually.’
‘But you’ve been calm and practical and I’ve been a basket case.’
Only because he wasn’t as emotionally invested in the outcome, he thought dispassionately. But the urge to comfort her and take the regret out of her eyes wouldn’t abate.
‘This is a difficult situation for both of us,’ he said, surprising himself with the desire to meet her honesty with at least some of his own. ‘I hadn’t expected to become an uncle out of the blue, or to discover at the exact same moment that I may be my nephew’s only chance of survival.’
Her head tilted back, dislodging his finger, but the sheen of moisture in her eyes announced the depth of her feelings, and her vulnerability. She really was an open book.
‘You’re right—of course you’re right,’ she said and, even though he could hear the strain in her voice, the apology a shot to what he suspected was a phenomenal amount of pride, he could also tell she meant it. ‘I haven’t given enough thought to what you’re going through,’ she added. ‘I’ll try to be more cooperative. And I really do appreciate everything you’re doing. You’ve been amazing and I’ve been rude.’
The forthright statement made him feel like a fraud—he wasn’t going through that much. After all, he barely knew the boy, and he’d never truly grieved for Alexei. As adults they hadn’t been that close because he’d never been able to get that close to anyone, not since... He cut off the thought and tucked his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to touch her again.
‘So you’ll move into the house in Regent’s Park without an argument?’ He forced himself to make it sound like a question instead of a demand.
He could see the momentary struggle she waged before she nodded. ‘Yes. If you’re sure it’s necessary.’
