by Tawna Fenske
When Jonathan covers my hand with his, I’m sure the words are coming.
“It all sounds great,” he says. “I’d need to clear it with my doctor first.”
I stare at him, not sure I’ve heard right. His doctor? That’s the only person he’d need to clear it with before leaving the country for twenty-four months?
I take a sip of water, willing myself to stay calm as I address Jon in my most reasonable tone. “You’re—leaving?” My voice cracks, brittle and sharp, and I order myself to take a few more breaths before speaking again. “Just like that?”
Jon squeezes my hand and smiles. “It would only be for a couple years,” he says. “And you’d be able to visit.”
I nod, unsure whether I’m more annoyed with him or with myself. What did I expect? “I see.”
He must realize I’m not embracing this idea with enthusiasm. His smile dims, and he leans closer with his hand still covering mine. “It’s a really good opportunity, Blanka.”
“I understand.” I don’t, though. Not at all. I don’t understand how he can go from “I’m not letting you go” to “see you in a couple years” in a snap of his fingers. Did I miss something?
Jon’s deep in conversation with my dad again, the two of them hammering out the logistics. Flight schedules and budgets and the goals of the mission. Chuck chimes in with some Coast Guard tidbits about the type of vessel they’ll be using in Dovlano, his pride in Jonathan shining through with every word. Their conversation becomes a dull buzz in my ears, and I shovel pie into my face to make the sound go away.
When I glance up, my mother is eyeing me with pity. Jon’s mother, too. They’re studying me, wordless, as I fight to hold back tears.
I need air.
I set my fork down with a clatter, fumbling in my brain for an excuse. “You know what?” The moms are the only ones who hear me, so I address my words to them in a wobbly voice that’s not mine. “I just remembered I need to check the kittens.”
My mom’s eyes widen. “You have kittens?”
“Um, yes. Well, Jonathan does.” I push in my chair as my napkin flutters to the floor. I bend down to pick it up, annoyed by the salty prick of tears behind my eyelids. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I just need to be sure they’re okay.”
Or get myself together, which could take more than a few minutes. Twenty. Eighty. Maybe the rest of the night.
I need to stop my heart from splatting itself against my chest like a water balloon threatening to burst. I have to get my breathing under control, to smooth things back into place and readjust. This shouldn’t be a surprise to me. I’ve always known the importance of service to Jonathan.
My mistake was thinking I might be important, too.
You’re being selfish.
The little voice in my head has a point. At the same time, I’m the one who urged Jon to be selfish. To put on his air mask before helping others.
There’s not enough air in this room.
I’m still standing by the table, frozen like a glob of spit on the sidewalk when Jon looks up. He frowns when he sees me out of my chair. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” My face feels flushed, and I wonder if I should fake an illness. “I just—I need to check on Jessica. Remember what Jade said about massaging her nipples?”
My voice comes out too loud, doubly embarrassing since I’m lying through my teeth. I force a smile to show everything’s okay. “I’m good,” I assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Everything’s great.”
But he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s already gone back to talking with my father, asking questions about sanitation and water quality in rural parts of Dovlano. Chuck reaches across the table to ruffle Jon’s hair, fatherly pride glowing in his eyes.
I drop my hand from Jon’s shoulder like I’ve been punched. I need to get out of here before everyone sees what a fool I’ve been. How stupid I was to think this could be different. That I could be the chosen one, the sort of woman a guy would give up his dreams for.
I would never ask that. Never.
But was it too much to hope he might choose me anyway?
Yes. Yes, it was.
I see that now, and at least it’s not too late to save face. With as much of my mother’s stoic dignity as I can muster, I turn and walk away.
I feel eyes following me, but I know they’re not Jon’s.
As I run for the exit, I count my footsteps to the doorway, ignoring the thunder of my own heart. I’m better off on my own. I’ve always known this, even if I forgot for a few weeks.
I just wish the reminder didn’t hurt so much.
Chapter 13
Jonathan
I’m trying hard to pay attention to what Blanka’s father is saying. He’s making great points about the economy in Dovlano and the disparity between rich and poor. I feel the warmth of Chuck’s pride shining across the table. I feel respect radiating from Blanka’s father in big, pulsing heatwaves.
But more than anything, I feel Blanka’s absence deep in my gut.
“Don’t you agree, Jon?”
I jerk my attention back to Thomas and give a quick, decisive nod.
“Good.” He smiles. “Excellent.”
Crap, what did I agree to? Not just now, but in the last twenty minutes.
I’ll admit it, I may have responded in haste when Thomas fucking Kushnir Kramer asked me to head up his new mission in Dovlano.
Dovlano, Isabella’s home country where her mother is a Duchess and her father—the guy who raised her, just like Chuck raised me—is a goddamn Grand Duke. And this new mission, it’s all about helping impoverished people in medical crisis, transporting them by boat to facilities that can help them. Is it any wonder I got swept away?
I glance at Chuck, who smiles at me across the table. “Proud of you, Sea Dog.”
My gut clenches as I turn back to Blanka’s father. This is what I’ve always wanted. Chuck’s approval, a mission that lets me do good in the world while proving I’m not Cort Bracelyn. I should be thrilled. I should be elated.
I should be with Blanka.
Her father’s still talking, and I wonder how long he’ll keep going. At what point I’ll get a word in edgewise.
“I’m delighted you’ll be joining us,” Thomas continues, taking a sip from his water glass. “Being on the ground twenty-four/seven at the command center is a vital part of having your finger on the pulse of operations.”
“Right.” I glance toward the door where Blanka disappeared. What the hell was she talking about with the cat nipples?
I turn back to her father and clear my throat. “I wonder if Blanka needs help with Jessica?”
Thomas grunts. “Blanka’s fully capable of holding down the fort alone.” He nods at his wife, and Galyna sits up straighter. “Just like her mother. She understands it’s a team effort to make the world a better place. That there’s always sacrifice involved.”
I know that to be true. But I also know the flip side. “It’s important to put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others.”
Thomas stares at me like I’ve gone nuts. Maybe I have. “Is this about the cat?” he asks. “It’s on some kind of medical oxygen? Because I’m sure Blanka can handle it. Cats are resilient like that. It’ll be fine.”
I don’t even know what to do with that, and I’m not sure I can force words past the churning in my gut. Five minutes ago, I mistook it for the butterflies of new adventure. The prospect of sailing off to save some new corner of the world.
But these damn butterflies have grown fangs and are gnawing the inside of my stomach. Something’s not right here.
I remind myself that Blanka is fiercely independent. That she values her time alone, that she’s made it clear she doesn’t need a man to complete her. Constant togetherness, the smothering blanket of a relationship—those are things she doesn’t want.
But I can’t shake the memory of that flash in her eyes, the flicker of hope that day on my front porch. The way
she looked at me when I said those words to her.
I want to be with you.
I’m not letting you go.
What the hell am I doing going to Dovlano?
“Dovlano, huh?” Chuck’s voice slides into my thoughts, bringing me back to the conversation. “That’s right between Italy and Slovenia?”
“Correct,” Thomas says, only half paying attention as he slides his phone out of his pocket. “A lovely nation, apart from its medical crisis.”
Chuck nods and picks up his water glass. “I always wanted to visit that part of the world.”
My mother dabs her mouth with a napkin. “You never mentioned that.”
Chuck looks at her. “What’s that?”
“Dovlano,” she says. “Or Italy or Greece or any part of Europe at all. You never mentioned an interest in that part of the world.”
Chuck glances at Blanka’s father, like he’s looking for the answer to a trick question. “I’m just now figuring it out, I guess,” he says. “Retirement’s opening up a whole new world.”
Tension squares my mother’s shoulders. She stares at Chuck, eyes glittering in candlelight.
“I’ve waited our whole married life to spend time with you.” Her voice is low, soft enough I’m pretty sure Blanka’s dad can’t hear. “It’s just funny,” she says in a tone completely devoid of humor. “Because I’ve mentioned travel again and again since you retired. And you’ve never been interested.”
Chuck’s got a deer-in-the-headlights look about him, but his isn’t the only face I’m watching. At the other end of the table, Blanka’s mother sits with hands folded in front of her. She’s watching me, not them, and her blue eyes bore into me with something I can’t read.
It suddenly feels very hot in this room. Across from me, my mother’s voice gets louder. “I thought we wanted the same things,” she says. “To wake up together every morning. But you’re out of bed at the crack of dawn teaching free classes at the Boys and Girls Club. And when I mention travel, you tell me later. Always later. When, Chuck? When is later?”
Chuck scrubs a hand over his chin, looking helpless. “I don’t know. I want those things, too.”
My mother looks more sad than angry. She’s close to tears but holding it together like a boss. “We’re entering our golden years. But lately it’s like we’re ships passing in the night.” She clears her throat, looking down at her hands. “I don’t want to be your afterthought.”
I don’t want to be your afterthought.
My mother’s words echo in my brain, ping-ponging off my cerebral cortex and smacking me square between the eyes. Is that how I’ve made Blanka feel? I thought space was what she wanted. Independence, a chance to carry her own canoe.
Maybe I’ve read this wrong.
“Baby.” Chuck’s frowning, holding my mother’s hand. “You were the one who always urged me to follow my dreams.”
“I know that,” she says softly. “But your dreams used to include me.”
There’s no anger in her voice. That’s the worst part. Just resignation. She stands up and sets her napkin on her plate, offering a weak smile to the rest of it. “I’m going to help Blanka with the cat.”
Chuck frowns after her, then turns to meet Galyna’s knowing stare. “She was a nurse for years,” he offers weakly. “Knows a lot about nipples.”
His frown deepens as my mother vanishes around the corner. With a look of utter confusion, he turns back to me. “What the hell just happened?”
“I’m not positive.” I glance at Blanka’s father, wondering if he has the answers. The guy has two Nobel prizes.
And right now, he’s glued to his phone. “Yeah, I found the guy to head up our nautical operations,” he’s saying to whoever’s on the other end of the line. “It’s going to be great.”
What have I done?
My gaze shifts back to Blanka’s mother. She’s watching me with eyes the exact shade of Blanka’s, bright and sharp. I realize I haven’t seen her smile once this whole dinner. My throat clenches tight.
“Right, yes,” Thomas says into the phone. “We should be able to get him over there within a few weeks. Yes, he’ll be a perfect fit.”
I’m not so sure.
Movement on the far side of the room catches my eye, and I look toward the hallway by the bathrooms. There stands Izzy, rosy-cheeked in a green sweater dress with her hair up in a fancy braid. She’s staring at me across the crowd, green gaze bright and wide.
We lock eyes and she mouths one word.
Help.
I’m out of my seat in an instant, adrenaline pumping through me. Does she look paler? Oh, God, what are the signs of organ rejection?
By the time I reach her side, I’m sweating. I fight like hell to hold it together, needing to stay strong for her. “Izzy, what’s wrong? Are you feeling—ouch, ow!—where are we going?”
“Come with me.” She’s got my arm in a vise grip, offering no room for argument as she drags me into one of the unisex restrooms. For a woman a foot shorter than me who may be rejecting a kidney, she’s pretty damn strong.
Iz pushes the door shut behind us and flips the lock. Then she turns to face me. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
I sweep my gaze over her from head to toe, still trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’re rescuing me? By asking for help and then pinching the crap out of my arm?”
She shrugs and folds her arms over her chest. “I knew the only way you’d accept help is if you thought you were coming to my aid.”
It’s a fair point, but I’m still not sure what’s going on. I survey the urinal, the sink, the trash can brimming with damp paper towels. “You picked a weird place for an intervention.”
“It’s private, and this conversation requires privacy.”
“What conversation are we having?”
She leans back against the door like a warden blocking an escape attempt. “I was sitting at the table next to yours,” she says. “I heard everything.”
“Everything,” I repeat. “I take it we’re not talking about whether hazelnuts and filberts are the same thing.”
Iz doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even blink. “You’re planning to leave Blanka.”
The words stick in my chest like a thousand hot needles. “I wouldn’t be leaving her.” The words sound weak and watered down, and I barely believe them myself. “It’s a temporary mission.”
Izzy shakes her head. “Blanka loves you,” she says. “She wants a future with you.”
“I love her, too,” I say automatically. “We’ve already discussed having a future together.”
“Really?” My sister quirks an eyebrow. “Have you talked about what that future would actually look like? Or did you just assume, both of you—did you only think you knew what the other person wanted?”
I open my mouth to respond, then shut it again. She’s right. All this talk about relationships and futures, we never made sure we were on the same page. That we were speaking the same language. Not English and Ukranian, but the language of love and relationships and what we both want. We talked in abstract terms, but never specifics. What got lost in translation?
“She wants the romance novel,” Izzy says. “The happily ever after with the guy who sticks around and loves her more than anyone. A guy who puts her first, because he knows she’ll do the same for him. A guy who needs her as much as she needs him.”
“Of course I need her,” I say, even though a slow, cold sinking in my gut tells me I might have failed to make that clear. “Relationships don’t require constant proximity to one another.”
Again with the eyebrow lift from Izzy. “I hope you’re not basing that assumption on her parents,” she says. “I’ve seen icefish with warmer relationships than those two.”
I don’t bother asking what icefish are, or if that’s even a real animal. I can gather from context what she means. “My mother and stepfather had a great relationship.”
I catch the past-tense slip befor
e it’s even out of my mouth. Judging by her expression, so does Izzy.
“The Duke and Duchess of Dovlano—my parents—have spent nearly every living moment together,” she says. “From the time their marriage was arranged when they were four years old. They’ve been inseparable every moment.”
I don’t need to point out the obvious, but I do. “There might be a few moments unaccounted for in there.”
“You’re speaking of the moment in which your father—our biological father, Cort Bracelyn—managed to successfully impregnate my mother?”
Damn. I’ve never known Izzy to be so blunt. “You’ve grown a pair in the last couple months.”
“Perhaps this is the trait I’ve received from you, my kidney donor?” The smile she gives me is quite unlike the refined, ladylike smile I’ve come to expect from her. “In that case, would you care to have your testicles back so you can go after Blanka as you should?”
Ouch. “I’m not sure I like the mean version of Izzy.”
“Well, I do.”
So do I. Very much. “Me, too.” I take a shaky breath, needing to get back to the subject of Blanka. Of where I might have screwed things up. “Blanka’s always said how she admires her mother’s self-sufficiency. Her stoicism.”
Her tolerance for being alone, which I’m not realizing may not have been what Blanka admired at all.
“That doesn’t mean Blanka wants that life for herself,” Izzy says. “Have you asked her?”
I shake my head slowly, rewinding through my brain’s home videos for evidence to the contrary. “I don’t think so.”
Which is pretty damned dumb, now that I think of it.
Iz must read the shame on my face because she steps forward and puts a hand on my arm. “I never knew our father,” she says. “But he does not sound like an especially good man.”
I snort. “He once offered me one million in cash to join his yacht racing team instead of the Coast Guard.”
“And your response?”
“I had some colorful suggestions for where he could put that money.”
“Which means you are a good man,” she says. “Not because of your service, but because of your principles. You might look like the man who sired you, but you are nothing like him. Isn’t that obvious?”
