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On anyone else’s lips, that line would make me roll my eyes. Who could call a gift like this “nothing”? But Timofey genuinely means it. To him, this gift is a drop in the bucket. God knows he has more than enough money for a fleet of motorcycles.
The thing is, the money isn’t the problem for me.
It’s the time he put into it. The effort.
Whether he admits it or not, he had a plan. A plan that went into place well before we had sex last night.
“But you cleared out the parking garage. Akim is upstairs.” I dab at my eyes, grateful I didn’t bother putting on any mascara before we left. It would be pouring down my cheeks in thick black streaks. “You went to this trouble for me, and I… I…”
“You what?” Timofey grabs my face, his thumbs brushing the tears from my cheeks. “If your answer is anything other than ‘I love and accept it,’ then shut up.”
“I love it. So much. It’s the most beautiful bike I’ve ever seen.” The champagne paint sparkles in the sunlight, and I can already imagine the wind through my hair. The freedom. I look back to him and shake my head. “But I can’t accept it. I don’t know how.”
He narrows his eyes, searching my face for an answer that I’m not even sure I can give. “Explain.”
“No one has ever given me something like this without wanting something in return.” I’m finding the answer as I go, stumbling through the truth in hopes we’ll end up at some explanation for why I’m weeping instead of doing wheelies in this parking garage. “I’m usually the one giving people what they need. My dad, Gram, Ashley, even Noelle. I just… I don’t know how to accept something this big.”
Timofey scowls, his hands curling around my neck and tangling in my hair. “Those leeches have sucked the life out of you, Piper. You give everything you have to everyone—your family, your friends, the kids you work with. But there has to be something left for you at the end of the day.”
The words are simple, but they bring a fresh wave of tears.
“Stop crying,” he orders, a hopeless kind of laugh laced in his words.
“Stop saying that,” I counter. “You’re making it worse.”
My dad typically took me crying as a sign of success. Once I was in tears, he had what he wanted. The fact Timofey wants me to stop only makes me like him more.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should figure out how to pull back on all the assistance I offer the people in my life.
Timofey throws up his hands. “You are a fucking mystery, woman. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if I grew up with a parent who made sure someone was around to watch me when they left the house,” I say, gesturing up to where Benjamin is happily playing with Akim many floors above our heads, “or a parent who gave me even one thoughtful gift in my entire life that I didn’t have to work tooth and nail to earn… that maybe things would have turned out differently for me.”
“Are you saying I’m like the father you never had?”
I pretend to gag and he laughs.
“No! God no. Absolutely not. But if I had even one person in my life who loved me the way—”The way you do.“The way you love Benjamin,” I say instead. “Or took care of me the way you have… Well, things could have been different.”
Timofey’s blue eyes peer into my soul, and I’m positive he can see the vulnerable words tucked away there. The ones I’m trying to save for myself, because I’m afraid that they’ll shatter like dropped porcelain if I give them to him.
“Instead,” I continue, “here I am, crying in the face of a lovely gift because I have no experience receiving something like this. I’m overwhelmed.”
“In a good way,” Timofey says, confirming what he already knows.
I wipe at my eyes again and nod. “In a very good way.”
He smiles in satisfaction. “Okay. Good. Now, if I explain myself, will you promise not to burst into tears again?”
“I can’t make any guarantees.”
He guides me over to the bike again and places my hand on the handlebars. The grip is supple against my palms. The speedometer and other gauges are ringed in rose gold.
“I wanted to get you a pretty motorcycle because it was enjoyable for me to design it. And why the fuck should I have all this money if I’m not going to spend it?” he says. “But more than that, I wanted you to have this motorcycle for your own safety.”
“Most people would say motorcycles are less safe.”
He nods. “For most people, yeah. But you aren’t most people. I can’t have you depending on your pedal bike to outrun enemies.”
