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Charleigh and I turn. “Yes, Dimitri?” I ask with a huge smile.
He just smiles back. Without saying a word.
* * *
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Niko
When Charleigh and I get to my office, she exhales a deep breath. “That guy was creepy,” she says. “I mean, there are lots of creeps here, but that one—” She glances up at me, realizing she just stuck her foot in her mouth, talking about club members.
I burst out laughing. Charleigh is puzzled for a moment, horrified by her slip-up, until it dawns on her I’m not onlynotinsulted, but that I also think what she said is freaking hilarious. So raw. So innocent. So impulsive.
That’s what feels nice. The impulsivity. I’ve not been around her for more than a few days and can already tell she doesn’t worry about choosing her words carefully like most people I know. She’s not of that world, where people say the wrong thing and end up on the wrong end of a gun. She has no idea anything like that even exists.
Another reason I’m drawn to her.
She’s so… fresh.
“Here, Charleigh, have a seat,” I say, gesturing toward a leather sofa once we’re in my office.
I take the chair opposite. I want her to relax, maybe have a drink. Kick back and chat. I am guessing she’s been on edge since my brothers and I showed up at her dad’s place last week. We’ve tried to make her comfortable with lush accommodations and chef-prepared meals. But she’d rather not be here. I can’t blame her. She’s in a difficult position, having to save her father. I get it.
If Vadik or Kir find out I have such compassionate thoughts on my mind, they’ll shit. They will not be happy.
Charleigh takes a long draw on the Perrier I gave her, after turning down something harder. “Niko,” she says, “you’re blond but your brothers are dark-haired.”
She doesn’t ask a question. She just states the obvious in a way that an answer is expected. Or at least hoped for.
To most people who bring this up, I offer nothing. It’s not their business. I don’t give a shit how curious they are. But Charleigh is a different story. I’ve lived betrayal, like she has. Maybe not on the same level, but it sticks with you. I can see it in her the same I see it in myself.
I start slowly. I am not accustomed to sharing my story. “The guys and I don’t all have… the same father.”
I take a deep breath. Fuck me. It’s hard enough to spit those few words out. How the hell will I continue with the rest of the story?
“I see.”
I nod, staring down at my fingers, now spread over my thighs.
I consider stopping. Sending Charleigh away to go do whatever she has to do, and getting back to work. Not thinking about anything else.
But I want to talk. I want her to know me just like I want to know her.
“For most of my childhood,” I start, “I thought Grigory Alekseev was my father. But when I got to be twelve or so, my mother sat me down and told me I had a different dad than Vadik and Kir. A dad who wasnotGrigory Alekseev.”
“Whoa,” Charleigh says.
“It turned out,” I continued, “my mother had an affair with… well, it doesn’t matter who. Anyway, I am the result of that. My real father wanted nothing to do with me, so Grigory adopted me.”
I glance over at her, anticipating pity or disgust, that I’m the product of an illicit relationship. That I’m walking, living proof that my mother did not stay faithful to her husband, despite her marriage vows. That I’m a reminder to my family every day of my mother’s fuck up.
Even though my philandering father deserved every bit of betrayal that came from her. And then some.
But double standards and all that.
Charleigh’s look contains none of these things. She nods evenly. Without judgment. She knows there’s nothing to gain from throwing sympathy at me. Nothing to be gained by trying to placate me.
She’s a person with her own problems and knows everyone else has them too.
