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“Oh, I have no doubt.”
“I thought you had meetings to get to today.”
Mikhail presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I need a day off every now and then.”
I laugh softly. “I guess that’s fair.”
“Besides, I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?”
He nods. “Join me in the office.”
I grab the baby monitor before leaving the room, allowing him to guide me by the hand to our shared office at the end of the hall. Downstairs, I can hear the house staff going about their business. I can already smell the dinner the chef making, and I can hear our maids chatting about the weather while they dust the living room top to bottom. Outside, I can hear the radio chatter of the guards talking to one another over a private frequency.
A year ago, I would have thought all this so strange. Now it’s a part of my everyday life. I appreciate the lengths Mikhail has gone to make my life as comfortable and secure as possible. He does his best not to bring work home with him. Once he’s through those front doors, he’s no longer in charge of the Antonov Bratva. He rarely discusses what he gets up to in the run of the day. When he’s here, he’s husband and father only—just the way I like.
Though it seems today he’s made an exception.
Sitting on the center of my work desk is a thick yellow envelope. It’s sealed. I give Mikhail a curious glance.
“Did you write me a book of poetry?” I tease him.
“No.”
“Would you, if I asked?”
“Believe me, my love. The world would be a better place without my attempts at flowery language.”
I pick up the envelope, tracing my fingers around the edges. It’s surprisingly heavy. “What is it?”
He takes a seat in his office chair. He has his own desk set up across from mine. That way, when we both have work to do, we can still be in full view of each other.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he says. “I went ahead and hired a private investigator.”
I furrow my brow, my heart skipping a beat. “What for?When?”
“When we were still in New York.”
“That wasagesago. Why didn’t you say anything?”
He nods. “Because I didn’t know if I was overstepping. But, now that we’re married, I figured…” Mikhail gestures toward the envelope. “When you told me about your father, I had him looked into. Turns out, it’s really hard finding a man with one of the most generic names in North America.”
I take a deep breath, my hands suddenly clammy. “So… You know what’s in here? You know what it says?”
My husband shakes his head. “No. I told the PI to seal his findings. It’s not my place to know before you.”
A sticky lump lodges in the back of my throat. In complete honesty, I’ve been so busy getting used to my life in Russia and my new role as a mother that finding my father has become an afterthought. Once upon a time, finding him was all that mattered to me. Now my priorities have shifted. If I’m being honest with myself, I’mhappywith the way things are.
I stare at the envelope, almost as if I’m trying to x-ray straight through it. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been curious about him. John Foster. A mysterious figure, practically a myth. This envelope ishefty. I have to wonder if my mother had good reason for not telling me more about him.
What if he’s got a rap sheet that’s a mile long? What if he’s dead? What if the PI Mikhail hired got the wrong guy? John Fosterisa generic name, and I literally have no other information about him. At this point, I have two options: I can open this envelope and finally know the truth, or I can toss it and live the rest of my life not knowing. There’s a reason people say ignorance is bliss. Can I make peace with never knowing?
“What should I do?” I ask Mikhail.
“It is your choice to make, my love. Not mine.”
“Okay. But what would you do if you were in my shoes? You know, hypothetically.”
