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Tanya couldn’t help bristling at the way her son looked at her. How dare he? Had he forgotten that his father had been nothing but a Russian peasant, a lowly immigrant without even a college education to speak for while Tanya was a Darby?
“I’m your family, too, darling,” she chided him. “And no matter how much you deny it, my blood also runs in your veins.”
Sergei’s expression remained aloof at the reminder. “If, for whatever reason, you have a need to speak to me again, you will do so by contacting my lawyer from here on. I’ve already informed him of our arrangement, and he will be here tomorrow to have you sign a contract.”
“Don’t you trust my word?”
“No.” He came to his feet, effectively putting an end to the discussion.
When her son turned away, something in Tanya wanted to lash out at him, and she called out, “You don’t have to worry, you know.” All these years, she had chafed at how unfair life was, with the way all her sons appeared devoted to Fyodor’s trashy second wife and her equally trashy daughter. She was their mother, damn them, and they should have been loyal to her.
But instead all of them had treated her as if she didn’t even exist, and she had never forgiven them for that.
She watched Sergei pause as he reached the door. “You don’t worry me.”
Liar,Tanya thought. She might have no love for her sons, but it didn’t mean she didn’t know them the way only a mother could. Of the three, Sergei had always been the too-responsible one, the son who had willingly burdened himself with worries even at a young age.
“I just wanted to ease your mind in case you did,” Tanya said lightly. “You boys were just my insurance policies,” she revealed with a soft, cruel laugh. “And now it’s paying off, so why would I even consider ruining it?”
Sergei didn’t bother to answer, but his mother’s words stayed with him, the way Tanya had meant for it to.
When the billionaire made it home, he found Fredericka asleep, curled up in the living room sofa. Misha was also there, reading quietly on the couch opposite, his gaze focused on his iPad.
Having heard his older brother’s footsteps, Misha took his glasses off and stood up, murmuring wryly, “She insisted on waiting up for you.”
“And she failed,” Sergei observed, amused.
“I bet her she would,” Misha said with a grin, “and now she has to pay up by drinking cucumber shakes every morning for one week straight. You owe me, big brother.”
When his brother left, Sergei crouched down, and just looking at her made the sick feeling in his stomach disappear.
She was his life, his reason for happiness, and she didn’t even know it. No one knew how much she had changed him, and even his own father wasn’t aware of how much it meant that Sergei could actually smile just at the thought of her.
The day he had found his mother fucking another man, he had initially thought that he had only lost the ability to trust a woman. But gradually, he had come to realize that the impact of his mother’s gross betrayal had been worse. It had also destroyed his ability to be happy for himself.
He had been happy when Fyodor had found true love with his stepmother Marianna. He had been happy when Misha received another award for his groundbreaking work, when Vassi achieved recognition in his profession, or whenever Seri had been selected for a project.
All these things had made Sergei happy as a son and as a brother.
But that had been it.
It was as if the child in him had blamed himself for what happened, and even growing up to adulthood, Sergei had been unable to shake off the guilt. He had been the eldest child, and he should have done something. He should have spent more time with his mother. He should have seen the signs early on and warned his father. He should have done something, but he hadn’t, and it had destroyed his family.
How could he allow himself to feel happy knowing that?
In front of him, Fredericka started to stir, and her eyes slowly drifted open. “You’re back,” she said groggily.
“I am.” And because he couldn’t help it, he caught her lips with his, not letting up even though she had squeaked in surprise and tried to push him away.
When he finally lifted his head, she half-wailed, “I hadn’t brushed my teeth!”
Sergei only laughed as he swept her up in his arms.
“I’m too heavy,” she protested as he headed towards the stairs. She was already in her fourth month, and she had gained enough weight that all of her jeans no longer fit.
“I am no weakling,pchelka,” the billionaire murmured mildly. “You weight is nothing to me.”
“Let’s see if you can keep saying that,” she mumbled under breath, “when I’m in my third trimester.” When they reached their room, Sergei took her straight to the bed and began undressing her. She finally noticed the strange, drawn look on his beautiful face, and she asked worriedly, “Sergei?”
