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“I think being around his family will do him some good,” I say. “Father’s been isolated for far too long. Getting him used to being around people might help his condition to improve.”
“What? Suddenly you’re a doctor now?”
I want to argue, but Catherina has a way of wearing you down. Overly critical, never has anything nice to say, always dissatisfied. I know she loves us in her own fucked up way, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get on my nerves.
“I’ll pick him up in two weeks,” Catherina says. “Until then, I’ll be in France.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“I was referred to a cognitive specialist based out of Paris. I’m hoping to get him into a rehabilitation program. Cutting edge stuff—or total bullshit. I want to see the facilities in person before I make any decisions.”
While I’m obviously happy about the thought of getting her out of my hair, I’m still concerned. “Are you sure that’s wise? My car blew up not even two hours ago.”
“That wasyou?” I take it to heart that she sounds mildly concerned for my wellbeing, but Catherina promptly scoffs. “I have my bodyguards,” is all she says before turning on her heels to leave.
Such a pleasant woman. I’m grateful this apple fellfarfrom the tree.
Behind me, Dahlia shifts her attention to Lev. “I’ve opened the curtains in the tearoom for him, sir,” she informs. “I thought he might like a little sunshine.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” I reply.
“I’ll check in on Mr. Antonov as often as I can, but between house chores and conducting interviews, my hands are a little tied.”
My ears prick. “Interviews?”
“For a new housemaid, sir. You gave me permission last week to bring someone on to give a helping hand.”
This jogs a memory. That’s right. I’d noticed how much Dahlia has on her plate. While I make sure to compensate her well for her work, I didn’t think it was fair to shove all this responsibility onto her. She sure as hell didn’t sign up to be part-caretaker and part-maid. Besides, it’s not like I’m exactly hurting for cash. I can afford the extra help.
The car bomb incident this morning is the only reason for my hesitancy. The timing isn’t ideal. My gut reaction is to cancel all interviews until I can ensure the safety of the household. The last thing I want to deal with is strangers in my home. Whoever targeted me got too close for comfort. What are the chances they’ll walk straight through my door to try and finish the job?
It’s too late to object, however, as the doorbell rings.
“Ah, that must be the first interviewee,” Dahlia says.
My gut tells me to send them away, but my housekeeper is surprisingly nimble. She slips past me and goes to the front door, prying it open. All potential candidates would have been vetted by my security team before their appointment was scheduled, but I don’t think anyone can blame me for being uneasy.
I follow Dahlia into the foyer, about to tell her to have a guard accompany her at all times when—
“Tatiana?” I breathe.
I haven’t seen the woman in almost two years. I’m blindsided. We dated very briefly, introduced to one another at a party through a mutual business contact. It was a brief affair lasting no more than a few weeks. We parted on good terms, though we didn’t bother keeping up with the pretense of staying friends. Her unexpected presence isn’t what troubles me, however.
What troubles me most is the child she’s carrying in her arms.
And he looks just like me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you get past my guards?”
I can practically smell my brain frying as I stare at the boy. He has my dark brown eyes and even darker brown hair. There’s no mistaking the Antonov genes running through his veins.
“I’m sorry,” Tatiana rasps. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
“What—”
Tatiana holds the boy out. I have no choice but to take him in my arms clumsily. “His name is Simon. He’s a year old. He’s yours.”
My head spins. Holy shit, I think I need to sit down. This is all too much for me to process.
