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“Oh, so itishis baby.” She nods thoughtfully. “Good to know.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “Who else would it be?! I’m not that kind of girl!”
“I don’t know! Girl, I’ve been there. I’ve seen his collection of broody hunks walking around all hot and muscled and… Well, you do have your pick. And after Martin? That’s like swimming in a candy jar.”
I snort. I absolutely donothave my pick. And honestly? I kind of don’t mind that at all. “I’ve only slept with Demyen the entiretime I’ve been there. He’s actually the only man I’ve slept with since leaving Martin.”
Which is a giant relief no one will ever fully understand the true depths of.
“Yeah, well, you could do worse. The guy has great hair. And he’s decent-looking.”
“He’s built like a Greek god.”
Roxy cocks a brow. “I thought he was Russian?”
“I don’t know any Russian gods.”
“Except Demyen, apparently.”
We giggle and go back to ravaging the pastry box. It’s the most food I’ve eaten in one sitting since returning from The Ordeal, and somehow, Roxy just knew it was exactly what I needed.
The next morning, I’m up before Willow and I’m the one to help her greet the dawn. The way her face lights up when she sees me at her side… It’s like a soothing balm to the open psychic wounds I’m still nursing. She grins, wraps her arms around my neck, and happily lets me drag her out of bed and into a big bear hug.
I don’t know if any morning will ever feel “normal” again, but each one that arrives is a reminder that I’m here. This is real.
I’m safe, Willow is safe, and we have each other.
We’re sitting in the dining room, working on the puzzles on the back of the cereal box together while munching onthe cinnamon-sugary goodness, when Demyen darkens the doorway.
“Demmy!” Willow happily hops up out of her chair and runs over to him. He sweeps her up into a hug and gives her a playful growl as he nuzzles her with his scruffy chin.
“How’s my little cub this morning?” He kisses her cheek and they rub noses together.
Bunny kisses.Demyen Zakrevsky, big bad Bratva boss, the king of the Las Vegas underworld… is giving my five year-old daughterbunny kisses.
And… and she’s giving them right back.
I might actually need to pinch myself.
Then again, something’s already pinching me. In my heart. In a way that both thrills me and terrifies me.
I knew from Day One that I was attracted to this man. How could I not be? He’s breathtakingly handsome, devilishly charming, has a great sense of humor, and despite every logical cell in my brain screamingrun away,the dangerous edge to him is something that makes me bite my bottom lip and curl my toes.
But he hurt me.
He betrayed my trust.
He offered me the world and then ripped it all away.
And then… came back? Which, I guess, counts for something? I just can’t throw myself at him like I used to. Or like I used to want to.
Except now, he’s not just doting on my daughter—he’s acting like she’s his. Like she’salwaysbeen his.
That does things to a mother’s heart. Things I really don’t need him to be doing, not while the wounds are still so fresh.
Unless… could this mean they’re healing? Just a little bit?
I don’t know. Shit, I don’t know anything anymore.
