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In answer, she pushes a tissue paper-wrapped bundle into my hands. I peel the paper back carefully and reveal a gorgeous, blush-colored scarf. “Oh, Nessa… It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a pashmina shawl,” she explains. I smile blankly, and she chuckles. “It’s cashmere. Very nice cashmere. It’ll keep you warm, and it has the added benefit of looking absolutely stunning.”
I run my fingers over the soft fabric, marveling at how luxurious it is. Like petting a cloud. “Thank you so much, Nessa. But really, you shouldn’t have. You’ve gotten me so many gifts already.”
“You deserve them.” Her expression darkens. “After everything you’ve been through.”
I blush and my gaze falls down. “Don’t worry about me; it was just a few bruises and scratches. Dr. Mathers said the babies are fine, too.”
“Oh, I know.” Nessa takes the pashmina and folds it carefully so she can drape it across my lap. “I wasn’t talking about the explosion. I was talking about my son.”
Nessa has always been honest with me, but we’ve never discussed Misha quite so candidly. I smooth my hands along the shawl, trying to decide what to say. “What do you mean?”
“A mother always knows when her child is going through a hard time,” she says cryptically.
I snort. “My mother didn’t know anything. She would’ve stepped over my cold, dead body to get to her cigarettes.”
Nessa gives me a sad smile. “Not everyone was meant to be a parent, Paige. But you are.”
I can’t help but laugh again, though it’s not a particularly happy sound. “I’m glad you think that, because lately, I’m not so sure. I always thought I’d have a child one day, especially when I was with Anthony. But then the doctor said we couldn’t have children, and… And I figured it wasn’t in the cards for me. Which is why it was easy to think of motherhood as this idyllic, magical time that would never be mine.”
“It is,” Nessa insists. “It is idyllic. But it can also be difficult and exhausting and painful. Motherhood is very human in that way. It’s everything all at once.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“It’s not for the weak of heart, that’s for certain.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “But you, Paige, are certainly not weak of heart. You love fiercely. You take care of people.”
Misha’s accusation echoes in my mind. I’ve worked hard to forget it, but I can’t.
She’s fucking dead.
“I’m not so sure you’re right about that. The only person I was responsible for in my entire life… I lost.” Tears clog my throat, making my voice shaky.
“Oh, darling,” Nessa pats my leg. “All we can ever do in this world is try.”
I look down at my small stomach. “But these babies—”
“Those babies are going to arrive innocent and sweet and pink-faced. You’ll be responsible for clothing them, feeding them, and raising them, yes. But they’ll grow up and form their own opinions. They’ll make their own decisions. How can you be responsible for that?” She lets out a sigh that sounds surprisingly weary for someone who’s normally so upbeat. “I raised three children, Paige. I lost one to death and another to the Bratva. And Nikita is... well, you know her. She's wonderful, but she’s her own person. Truth be told, I’m not sure I ever had control over her. All we can do as mothers is our best."
Her words are comforting and kind and wise.
Deep down, I don’t believe I deserve them.
“I wish I had a mother like you growing up,” I mumble. “I would have turned out so much better. Half my life was spent wishing my parents would just show up. I didn’t even care if they were drunk or high. I just wanted themthere.”
“There you go,” Nessa says pointedly. “You’ve stumbled across the bottom line of parenting: just show up.”
“It sounds easy when you say it like that.”
She winks. “You got my son to fall in love with you. If you can do that, you can do anything.”
10
MISHA
I arrive home, deflated and exhausted.
Konstantin’s inquiries into the Babai have all come up blank. That means another day of searching. Another day further from my goal.
