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“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. I’m better off without the stress of wondering how many men she risked getting STDs with. At least I’m still clean.”
I really was sorry to hear about Tolya’s divorce in the wake of his arrest. They’d only just been married a year before, young and in love—or so I thought.
Come to think of it, she did always give me weird vibes. Nothing I could put my finger on, so I never said anything.
I guess she was the gold-digging whore my gut whispered that she seemed to be.
No. No. Need to work on not thinking that way about women. Even if there is a fair point.
Because, biological or not, I’m Willow’s father now. I need to set a good example of the kind of behavior that’s acceptable in men so she doesn’t end up with assholes like…
Well, like me.
That starts with making things right with Clara and openly treating her like the queen she is and deserves to be. It continues with no longer objectifying the women around me.
Rome was not built in a day.
“She’s good for you.” Tolya is suddenly serious, but in a way I haven’t seen since we were kids. Since… before. “I can tell. You have this… this… glow about you.”
Now, it’s my turn to snort. “I’m not fucking pregnant.”
His brow twitches. “Is she?”
I damn near choke on my spit. “God, I hope not.”
I’ll be over the moon the day she becomes pregnant with my baby. But that’s an “in the future” thing, for when everything blows over and we’re finally in our happy little slice of paradise far, far away from all the bastards trying to tear us apart.
The thought of her being pregnant,with my child, during the auction and her enslavement and shit—or even before, when I was a total fucking idiot shunning her and Willow…
Fucking hell,that’s a sobering thought. I shudder.
Tolya is thoroughly entertained by the myriad of expressions I’m sure are flitting across my face. “I have no idea what panic-fueled train you just boarded, but relax, man. You’ll be a great father. She has a kid, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, hey, there you go. Practice. And don’t fuck it up.”
“Might be a bit too late for that.”
He shrugs. “Think of it this way: it’s literally impossible to be worse than the asshole we spawned from. So pull yourself back together and do the best you can for that kid. What’s her name?”
“Willow.”
“Willow.” He works the name in his mouth, then smiles. “I like it. Spunky, but elegant. She a good kid?”
I genuinely smile. “The best.”
“Look at you. Now, look at me.” He points two fingers at his own eyes and leans in close. “I mean it, Dem. Look at me.”
“I’m looking right at you,mudak.”
“Good.” He leans in even closer. “You fuck this up with her, with Clara and her sweet little girl, you better pray I stay here in prison. Because I will kick your ass to kingdom come, brother. And I’ve got nothing better to do than shadowbox six hours a day. You got that?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I got it.” I push my chair back, as does he, and we clasp hands across the table. “Thanks, bro.”
I don’t catch what he mutters in Russian, but I know it’s his way of cursing me with a blessing. The extremely rare times we ever got to meet our grandparents, our grandmother would do the same thing to us before we returned back to the States.
