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“No. I just wanted to check in. I haven’t heard from you in over a week.”
“You’ve become needier. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Funny.”
Silence falls.
I don’t want to discuss Lyla and Leo with anyone, I’m learning. And it’s not because I’m embarrassed they’re American or ashamed I had a child outside of marriage. It’s because I’m protective and possessive of both of them.
I’ve been too busy—actually busy, not avoiding busy—to spend much time around them since the other night when I brought Leo to the warehouse.
But the few moments have felt different from the ones when they first arrived. They’ve been altered byare you my dadand the sway of Lyla’s body when she leaned into me instead of away.
Lyla is hell-bent on leaving as soon as she can. And I have no intention of asking her to stay. Both are excellent reasons for why I should be checking in on one of my other businesses or meeting Viktor to check the latest heroin shipment personally. Instead, I’m racing home.
“I’ll give you a call next week,” I tell Alex. “I tried Bianchi again, and he’s holding firm. I need to talk to him in person and straighten things out.”
“He’ll be offended you’re waiting.”
“He won’t respect groveling.”
“Fine. We’ll talk soon.” There’s more Alex wants to say, but he doesn’t.
We hang up right as I park in front of the house.
Ivan is waiting for me in the front hall when I walk inside. “Your mother is here.”
Apparently, this is what I get for racing home instead of attending to the dozen other things I should have done today.
I nod in acknowledgment. “Where is Lyla?”
“She’s out walking.”
That doesn’t tell me what I really want to know—if my mother saw her—but I don’t press Ivan for details before I head down the hall that leads to the east wing.
There’s already a lit cigarette dangling from my mother’s mouth when I walk into my office.
No surprise there. My childhood is filled with memories of her puffing like a chimney. It’s how she handles stress. Life married to my father was very stressful. And old habits are hard to break.
I greet her with a kiss on the cheek and then continue around to the opposite side of my desk.
“AnAmerican, Nikolaj?” She scoffs before blowing out a stream of smoke. “If you were going to bring back a souvenir from New York, it should have been designer.”
I exhale—loudly—as I take a seat in my desk chair. The expensive leather creaks as I lean back. I guess that answers the question of whether my mother saw Lyla. And explains why Lyla went out walking later than usual.
“The woman was wearingjeans,” she continues, tone dripping with disdain. “If Anastasia hears about this, she’ll throw a fit.”
My irritation rises at the mention of the name. “Are you questioning my decisions, Mother?”
“There’s too much at stake to make mistakes, Nikolaj.”
“I knowexactlywhat’s at stake.”
“Then, you should be more careful. No one expects you to be faithful to the Popov girl. But another woman—an American—stayinghere? It’s insulting.” She shakes her head before taking another puff from her cigarette, muttering something under her breath as she exhales. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
“Wait.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the edge of the desk. “There’s…” I hesitate. She’s going to take this terribly. “There’s a reason Lyla is here.”
Another scoff. “Lyla? Common name.”
