by Bea Paige
“This is all I have left of her, us, Stefan.”
My heart beats loudly in my chest as I realise who’s just entered the house. Why are they here? I leap up, looking for somewhere to hide. If they find me, I’m in deep shit. Tiptoeing over to the window, I open the latch and climb out. My feet hit the soft earth and I crouch down, listening, my heart racing in my chest. I’m still holding the knife in my hand, the cut on my wrist bleeding. Fuck it hurts.
“This is ridiculous, Clara. You should’ve burnt those years ago.”
“It’s all I have left of us, Stefan!” she repeats, her voice laced with the tinge of madness.
I can hear them moving around, but my heart is pumping so hard, I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to hear it if they get too close. So I remain where I am, teeth chattering from cold and fear.
“I’ve built a new life, Clara. You are still a part of it, be thankful for that. But hiding the evidence risks everything. My wife, my sons, they must never know the truth. There is too much at stake. My wife’s family are not the forgiving type and I need their money to keep my business going. This is foolish, crazy.”
“Wanting to remember our love, that is not crazy, Stefan. I may not be able to have you the way I want, but I will have this!” she shouts.
“You got what you wanted when she died, Clara. You have your son and we have each other.”
“He’s your son, not mine. Barren and worthless, I could never give you what you wanted,” she responds, her voice cracking.
“Yes, he is my first born son and will always hold a special place in my heart. Frankly, he’s worth ten of his younger brother who’s way too much like his mother for his own good. But for all intents and purposes he’s your son, Clara. I cannot be his father. Not now, not ever.”
“You chose her, Stefan. She bore you a son. You grieved when she died, would you do the same for me?”
“Of course, I would. I love you, Clara.”
“That’s a lie,” she spits, real pain in her voice now. “I was never good enough. Even then, you chose her and now I have to live a separate life whilst you’re married to another woman.”
“I was wrong back then. I should’ve chosen you. She was weak, pathetic, but I made the right choice in the end. I chose you. I still choose you. Clara, you are my heart,” he cajoles, his voice soothing and laced in the kind of darkness everyone should fear. There’s truth in it, but there are also lies. Lies so hurtful it’s a wonder she doesn’t feel the darkness of them too.
“I loved her,” she says, a sob filling her voice. “She was my best friend.”
“She’s dead. You have what you want.”
“I have her son, but I never wanted…”
“What? For her to die? Don’t pretend to be innocent in all of this, Clara. We did what we had to do. If it comes out about who his real parents are, then her death will be questioned too. Don’t fuck this up now,” he retorts angrily, a little of the façade slipping. When she doesn’t try to correct him, he continues.
“It’s time to put the past behind us. Leave this place once and for all.” His voice is cold with no feeling. But hers, she cries bitter, painful tears that surprise me. Sobs fill up the derelict house and burst out of the window until they’re swallowed by the wind.
Who is she crying for? What did he mean that she wasn’t innocent? What had they done? All I have are questions that I know I may never find the answers to.
“Hush now,” he says, trying to soothe her. “Let it go, Clara. Be the mother she could never be. Forget about her, come home.”
Silence falls and even though I know it’s stupid, I peek through the window. In the shadows, the two people I’ve come to loathe are wrapped in each other’s arms kissing passionately.
I feel sick. Too absorbed in each other they don’t notice me watching them. My fingers grip the knife tightly. They don’t deserve to be happy, to love each other this way when they’ve destroyed everything. But what can I do? I’m just a kid.
Eventually they part, and I watch as she bends down, pulling back a loose floorboard, tucking something inside. He stands watching her but says nothing further.
“Let’s go home,” he insists, taking her hand as they walk from the room.
I wait outside, still crouched beneath the window until I hear a car pull away. Once I’m certain they’re gone, I climb back in. With my heart in my mouth, I creep towards the spot they’ve hidden their secret. A huge part of me doesn’t want to look, whilst another more determined part needs to know what the fuck they’re hiding. Bending down, I use my knife to pull back the loose floorboard then reach inside the darkened hole.
My fingers wrap around some paper, and I pull it out. I find a letter, and a photo. On the photo is a younger version of the two people who were wrapped in each other’s arms, and a woman I don’t recognise holding a baby.
Flipping the photo over I read the back. ‘Clara, Stefan, Isabelle and Erik – 1980’
Erik?
With shaking hands, I open the letter, only it isn’t a letter, it’s a birth certificate and on it the truth of Erik’s heritage. He wasn’t left on the steps of a hospital like Ms Hadley had told him. He wasn’t abandoned at all…
His mother was Isabelle Ricci. His father, Viktor Stefan Sachov.
They’d lied to him.
And I’m pretty sure they’d murdered his real mother too.
Chapter 14
Rose
Three things happen simultaneously. Erik lets go of me, stumbling backwards with a pained cry. Anton stands, reaching for the letter on the table, snatching it up and Ivan swears loudly striding towards Emmie who is cowering a little now. She looks between each of us, her hand rushing to cover her mouth, then bursts into tears realising the gravity of her confession and its effect on us all.
“I’m so sorry,” she mouths, her words lost between Erik’s cries and Anton’s rage as he rips the letter out of the envelope.
“Where the fuck is it!” he screams, his eyes scanning over the letter as he looks for the birth certificate and photograph. Anton steps towards Emmie, Ivan holds him back. Both of them are shaking.
Emmie reaches for her bag with trembling hands and pulls out another envelope. Anton grabs it from her, pulling out two items. I watch as his eyes scan both.
“Bastard,” he whispers, then stumbles backwards onto the sofa clasping his head in his hands, the birth certificate and photo falling to the floor.
For long seconds I stand unable to move, not sure who to go to first. I’m torn between the two. Both Erik and Anton are falling apart, and I’m helpless to do anything about it.
Ivan is the first to act. He wraps an arm around Anton’s shoulders, pulling him into his side.
“Rose, deal with Erik,” he says to me, shock widening his eyes. But beneath the shock I see a layer of rage that’s apoplectic. I know that because I feel it too. God, how I feel it. I want to rip the world to shreds for all the pain these men have had to suffer.
There’s a sick kind of all-consuming anguish opening up within me. It burns me from the inside out. How fucking could they? How could they keep this secret for so fucking long?
Viktor Stefan Sachov. ‘S’ from the letters. He’s Erik’s father and he and Ms Hadley killed Isabelle.
Motherfuckers.
All this time and they never revealed the truth of Erik’s heritage, and of course now we know why. He only ever wanted to feel loved, to know he wasn’t alone. Ms Hadley had let him believe he was abandoned like he was a worthless piece of trash. All his life he searched for love, only ever feeling betrayed by everyone he dared care about.
“He fucking never loved me and I always wondered why… now I know,” Anton wails, curling his fingers into his hair, pulling at it.
“Shh, Ant,” Ivan cajoles, trying to comfort him.
My god, Anton. How must this feel for him? Finding out from a stranger that not only is Erik his brother, but that his father thinks so little of him, reaffirming his p
oor sense of self-worth. Anton has been ridiculed and loathed his whole life, not realising that he lived in the shadow of Erik, never good enough for his father. One way or another, they’ve both been punished for existing, neither knowing the truth about each other or the real monster in their father’s heart and Ms Hadley’s.
My fingers curl into my palms as my hate for both Viktor and that witch grows to epic proportions. I want to scream until my lungs are raw. But I can’t let that rage go. Not now.
Now they need me to be strong, but I’m struggling. I really am.
Twisting on my feet, I hobble towards Erik. He’s slumped against the wall, his legs spread out before him, head hanging forward.
“Erik,” I whisper, approaching him carefully. He’s trembling so hard I’m afraid he’s having an episode. If that’s the case, then we’re all in danger. “Erik, can you hear me?”
Ignoring the ache in my knee, I crouch down, reaching out to touch his arm gently. When he doesn’t flinch or react badly, I squeeze his arm. “Erik, I’m so sorry. Let me help you up. Come with me, please.”
“He’s my fucking dad, Rose.” Erik’s voice cracks as he raises his head and looks at me. His amber eyes are swimming with shock and tears. One leaks from his eye and slides down his cheek. More pain.
My heart weeps with him.
“That fucking bastard is my dad!”
He stands abruptly, swiping at his face and strides away from me. For one awful moment I think he’s going to hurt Emmie. Instead he sits down next to Anton and pulls him into his arms.
“Brother,” he says with a trembling voice, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Anton collapses against him, a pained sob escaping his throat.
Ivan folds both men in his arms, holding onto them as they all come to terms with this revelation and the other truths that have come out over the past few weeks. All I can do is stand and watch the three men who’ve taken my heart and made it beat again, weep in each other’s arms. Too much has happened. There’s been too much hurt, too much betrayal, that it’s impossible for any of them to hold back the flood of their grief. If Viktor saw them now, I know what he’d think; he’d think them weak, pathetic.
But a crying man isn’t weak. There is strength in showing your vulnerabilities, your heart. They’ve all taught me that.
Emmie is watching them with wide eyes. She’s shaking violently now. Not knowing what to do next she turns to look at me, and I see the panic in her eyes. She’s come into our home and dropped this bombshell. She’s confirmed what we’ve all thought from the beginning and she’s revealed a secret that has detonated their last ounce of strength. I’m scared for them, for us. I almost feel like an outsider watching their grief and pain bleed into the room, so Christ knows how Emmie must feel.
“Will you come with me?” I ask softly, not wanting to disturb my men as they come to terms with what has just been revealed.
“Of course,” she responds, sniffing. Her own face is wet with tears, and I can’t summon up any hate for this woman. She was brave coming here today, even after all this time. Yes, she might be twenty years too late, but I don’t blame her for leaving it that long. It was never her responsibility to tell Erik. She’d been a scared child. Blackmailed into keeping the secret by two very dangerous people. She’s lived with the knowledge and her guilt for a long time, that’s punishment enough.
I usher her out of the room, only to find Fran approaching us.
“I should go,” Emmie says, pulling on her wet coat. “I’m sorry if I hurt you all.”
“No, you’re not going anywhere in this weather,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “You’ll stay here tonight. Please don’t worry about Erik, about any of us. You did the right thing in coming here.”
She chews on her lip, her brows creasing together in concern. “I was a coward…”
“No,” I respond squeezing her hand. “You were a child, a scared, confused child at that. This isn’t on you.”
“I slept with Layton. I hurt Erik…”
“You made a mistake, and you’ve paid for it. Thank you for coming. Thank you for telling the truth. They needed to hear it, no matter how hard it was to do so.” I let go of her hand and turn to Fran who is looking more than a little confused. “Fran, please take Emmie to the guest room. She’ll be staying with us tonight.”
“Of course, Rose. Can I get you anything? Do you need any help?” she asks me, her gaze flicking to my leg. I’m standing awkwardly, holding my weight on my good leg and using the wall for support.
“No, I’ll manage. When you’ve settled Emmie in, can you tell them I’ve gone to bed? I think they need some time alone together,” I say.
Maybe it’s cowardly to leave them alone like this, but right now I need to gather myself. I’m not sure I can be the woman they all need right now. I just need a bit of time to absorb everything. To think. To find the strength I’ll need to pull them through. I promised to weather the storm with them, and I will do that. I just need a moment first.
Fran nods. “I’ll take care of it,” she says, before ushering Emmie down the hall.
Chapter 15
Rose
Stripping out of my clothes, I get into bed feeling exhausted but unable to sleep with a million thoughts plaguing me. With each revelation a picture has begun to build. Ms Hadley, Isabelle and Viktor had once been lovers, or at least Viktor had slept with them both at the same time. Ms Hadley had loved her best friend it would seem, but her love for Viktor and jealousy had fucked that up, turning that bond into something ugly and tainted. Either she killed Isabelle, or Viktor had. Either way, they’re both responsible for her murder and all the lies that followed it.
Erik had grown up believing he’d been abandoned by his mother. Anton had grown up not knowing he had an older brother but constantly living in his shadow, nonetheless.
Out of all this, one thing remains abundantly clear; jealousy has ruined lives.
Jealousy…
It’s the kind of emotion that will change a good person into a bad one. It’s the kind of emotion that can lead to murder. Ms Hadley is filled with jealousy and bitterness. It seeps through her veins poisoning her thoughts and twisting her love into something that is suffocating, oppressive, destructive.
There is no doubt in my mind that Ivan’s love for Svetlana, no matter how screwed up that might’ve been, drew out Ms Hadley’s jealous tendencies. Erik’s love for me did the same, and she’d wanted to kill me for it too. I’m betting Amber would’ve had a similar fate had Anton actually loved her. As it was, he did Ms Hadley’s work for her, sending Amber into a spiral of madness she’s not been able to claw her way out of.
Now, here we are. Cast adrift and drowning in the repercussions of such a toxic emotion. And the worse thing? I’ve felt that same jealousy too. Yesterday when Ivan had told me that Emmie had called, that she was coming to visit, I had been blind with jealousy. I’d felt sick with worry that he would remember why he loved her, that he would cast me aside the moment he set eyes on her. Murderous thoughts had entered my head.
It’s fucked up, but it’s true.
Then, this morning when Erik had admitted he was curious to see how Emmie turned out, I’d wanted to do real fucking damage. Fortunately for me, I’d believed Erik when he had told me that I was the one for him. I still believe him, but that doesn’t mean to say that I wouldn’t have hurt Emmie if I thought for one second that she’d come back for him.
So what makes me any different from Ms Hadley? Can I honestly say that if Emmie had tried to get Erik back that I wouldn’t have wanted to murder her, tried to? I’d watched my father die out of hate, bitterness and jealousy because my mum had loved him more than she’d loved me. That’s the cold hard truth. That’s who I am.
I’m no better than Ms Hadley, than Viktor.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, slamming my palm against the bedspread. Sleep isn’t going to come anytime soon, so I pull back the sheets and get out of bed. It’s not even that late, and even thou
gh I’m exhausted I know sleep won’t come whilst I’m in this state.
So I do the only thing that helps. I get up and practice the five ballet positions. Alicia will kill me if she finds out, but I need to do something to distract me. Even if I’m not completely healed, I’m a damn sight better than I was five weeks ago. Besides I need the pain to centre me, to show me that I can bleed like all the rest. That I’m fragile. Human, breakable. That I feel. Somehow that keeps me sane.
Standing by my chest of drawers, I place my palm against the smooth surface of wood and turn my feet out before bending at the knees. Pain explodes. I inhale a breath, letting the pain wash over me. My racing heart calms a little more. Minutes pass as I move through the exercise, so absorbed by the movements and the pain that I don’t hear the door open behind me.
“Rose, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It’s Anton.
“I needed the distraction,” I respond, turning to face him.
He grits his jaw, running a hand over his beard. Behind him, Ivan and Erik walk into the room. They look like they’ve just returned from war. All three are pale, and in a state of shock. Much like me.
“Do you want to end up in the fucking wheelchair?” Erik bites out.
“Yes, that’s the plan,” I snap back, folding my hands over my chest.
“Jesus, Rose. What the fuck?”
It’s Ivan now. He strides over to me, stopping short a few feet away. He reaches for me, his fingers hovering a few centimetres from my skin. I can feel the warmth of them as the electricity between us sparks and cracks like lightning on wet grass. A look passes between us; it’s filled with need, with understanding and desire. Reaching for him, my fingers stroke the dark stubble of his jaw, the pad of my thumb running over his lips. I know what I must do.
“Take your clothes off and wait for my command,” I order, my voice lowering.
Relief washes over Ivan’s features as he begins to remove his clothes. Watching us closely are Erik and Anton. Anton has already taken a seat on the armchair in the corner of the room. He sits with his pad open, a pencil hovering over the paper. He looks at me, asking for my approval without saying a word.
