“Thrown him into the ocean,” he said darkly.
“And what about you?” I asked with unease. I didn’t want to know, but I also needed to know. “Have you been with someone else?”
“No. You’ve truly fucked with my head.”
The relief soaked in and warmed my heart. “Always so romantic.”
“Any more stipulations?”
I sawed my lip between my teeth in consideration. “What about my papa? I’ve only gotten a text from him, but other than that, we aren’t in contact. But I could find him if I wanted to, and I don’t ever want you to ask me to do that.”
“I had a great dialogue lined up for this, kotyonok, but you ruined it by throwing yourself at me again.”
“You’re the one who flew to me,” I returned.
He smiled, then sobered and ran a thumb across my cheek. “I won’t ever use you again. I regret ever doing it in the first place. As far as I’m concerned, Alexei can live his life ruling some sad Siberian city. Are we done talking now?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Then let’s go home.”
He collected my box and interlinked his fingers with mine on the way to the car, with Khaos at our heels. I knew then I’d follow this man to the fiery gates of hell if he just held my hand.
scintilla
(n.) a tiny brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; a barely visible trace
Eight hours later, I glanced out the window of the private jet.
“Ronan . . . did Moscow get an Eiffel Tower of its own recently?”
“I would never allow that kind of romantic tourism in my city.”
“Huh,” I mused. “So why am I seeing the Eiffel Tower right now?”
“We’re in Paris,” he said indifferently.
And that had been his attitude the entire flight: indifferent. He and those stupid “Delicious!” sounds coming from his phone were driving me crazy. Albert wasn’t any better company. He was flipping through a Cosmo in the row of seats at the front of the plane.
I hadn’t seen Ronan in four months. I’d been burning up for eight hours waiting for him to touch me, kiss me, and drag me to the convenient bed in the back. But he hadn’t done any of that. When I got tired of waiting, I’d straddled his lap, ran my lips down his neck, and cupped his erection as it grew harder beneath my hand.
I thought I was finally going to get what I wanted, but then he shoved me off him to the couch and said, “I’m saving myself for marriage, kotyonok.”
I glared at him.
He thought it was funny.
Frustrated, I got up and sat on the couch across from him. I’d just keep Khaos company. He looked bored with me too, but at least he tolerated my presence.
“You’re cute when you’re pouting,” Ronan said.
I raised a brow. “You’re annoying when you’re pretending to be a gentleman.”
He gave me a heavy look that expressed so much but nothing I could understand.
We hadn’t said a word to each other after that until I noticed we weren’t in Moscow, where I thought we were going. I wanted to know why we were in Paris, though I held in my questions knowing Ronan would probably tell me we were here to see the tourist sites.
A car waited for us after we exited the plane. Khaos jumped into the front seat as soon as Ronan opened the door.
I stifled a laugh. “Looks like you’re in the back with me. I hope it doesn’t tempt your vow of celibacy.”
Ronan gave me a dark look, but he got into the back seat without complaint. While Albert drove us to a top-secret location, I ignored Ronan like he had me, though it became a much harder venture when he rested his hand on my bare thigh and slowly pushed up my dress to see what I wore beneath it. I guessed he’d been paying more attention to me than I thought. He knew what he would find.
Nothing.
Everyone knew thin material equaled panty lines.
Ronan made a rough noise and squeezed my upper thigh before pulling my dress back down. “You’d better pray there isn’t a strong wind nearby.”
“We’re in Paris. I’ll fit right in.”
He wasn’t impressed, so I kissed the annoyance off his lips.
As we drove through the streets of Paris, I sat on the edge of my seat to take in the sights. I’d never been to the city before, and while I was excited to return to Moscow, Paris was an experience I wouldn’t turn down.
A restaurant wasn’t exactly the destination I was expecting. Sure, I was hungry, but I didn’t want to sit and eat without knowing why we were here. Albert stayed in the car with Khaos while I followed Ronan inside. The impatient question was about to slip off my lips, though a woman drew my attention to a seat near the window.
She stared at me, her face as pale as snow. She was beautiful, even pushing into her late sixties and dressed in a drab white uniform that told me she was probably a maid. She watched me as tears spilled down her cheeks.
With an uneasy sensation filling me, I said, “Ronan . . .”
He grabbed my hand and walked us to her table.
“Mon Dieu,” she breathed before getting to her feet and placing her hands on my face. “Si belle. Tellement comme ma Tatianna . . . So much like my Tatianna.”
My chest twisted as the knowledge sank in.
She was Tatianna’s mother.
My grandmother.
She pulled me into her arms and sobbed. The shock faded beneath her soft embrace. All those times I’d dreamed, wanted, needed this familial affection flashed through my mind like still shots, each picture fading away as my chest was sewn back together with a needle and thread. I didn’t even know this woman, but tears fell at the pain of the past and the relief of letting it go.
She pulled back to look at me, wonder glistening in her wet eyes. “You are probably shocked right now.”
Throat tight, I nodded.
“Me too.” She exhaled deeply to compose herself. “Please, sit down with me. I would love to get to know you and answer any questions you have.”
Nervously, I glanced at Ronan, who asked, “Ty khochesh’, chtoby ya ostalsya?” Do you want me to stay?
I wasn’t sure why he was using Russian or if he even realized he’d done it. Reservation flared behind his eyes, and I had the feeling he might think I would no longer need him now I was reconnected with my family. He was wrong. But this was something I needed to do alone, so I shook my head and spoke in Russian, hoping it would reassure him. “Ne ukhodi daleko.” Don’t go far.
He gave me a long look before walking over to the bar.
After I took a seat across from my estranged grandmother, she stared at me for a long time, another one of her tears escaping. “I’m sorry. You look so much like Tatianna, it’s shocking.”
“I understand.”
“You’ve probably figured out by now I am—was—Tatianna’s mother. My name is Estelle.”
All I could manage was, “I’m Mila.”
“I know. That man”—she looked toward the bar at Ronan—“got ahold of me and told me a little about you. I did not know you existed until recently.” Nervously, she played with her napkin. “I am angry I have missed so much of your life, but also so blessed to finally find you.”
“Tatianna never told you about me?”
She frowned. “No. My daughter left home when she was sixteen in search of better things, I suppose. I never saw her again . . . Well, that is not true. I saw her in a few magazines.” She gave me a sad smile. “But I am curious about why you speak of her as if you didn’t know her.”
I swallowed. “I didn’t. I saw her visit my papa sometimes when I was little, but I never did meet her.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Tatianna. Comment as-tu pu faire ça à ta fille?” How could you do that to your daughter? “There is something you should know about your mother. She looked healthy on the outside, but on the inside . . . she was not well.” She dabbed her tears with the napkin. “Tatianna . . . lacked something inside her. She didn’t love in the
same way others do . . . In fact, I’m not sure she loved at all. She may not have been in your life, but I promise you, her choice had nothing to do with you.”
I thought I’d gotten along fine without knowing much about my mother, but now, I realized I needed to hear this. It sounded like my mother really was a psychopath. I didn’t know how to process all the information, so I stared out the window at the passersby.
“You look so much like Tatianna, I thought it was her when you walked in. But I can see now, you are so much different than your mother.”
I pulled my gaze back to her. “How so?”
“Well, for starters, I never saw Tatianna cry. Not even as a child when she hurt herself.”
“I’ve been told I’m a faucet.”
She laughed. “You get that from me. I can cry at the drop of a hat.”
I smiled.
“Do you have a good relationship with your father?” she asked.
I shifted in my seat, my chest tightening. She couldn’t know my papa was the one who murdered her pregnant daughter. If she knew, would she despise me? My stomach churned.
I chewed my lip. “He always treated me well, but . . .”
“You don’t have to say anymore.”
I raised a brow.
“Those magazines showed me a lot more than just Tatianna’s pictures. I knew the people she involved herself with were not the best.” She added hesitantly, “Your papa in particular.”
I wondered if she knew the man I came here with was D’yavol himself. She could say whatever she wanted about my papa, but I knew I would defend Ronan even if it meant losing this new connection.
The secret inside felt like it would strangle me if I didn’t get it out. “I’m not sure how her death was reported, but it wasn’t suicide.”
She gave me a solemn look. “I know, dear. The moment Tatianna left home, I knew she wouldn’t come back.” Alive was the unsaid word. “If you know more than I do about her death, you don’t have to explain. In fact, I don’t want you to explain. I’ve had a long time to grieve. I’ve come to terms with her passing, and I don’t want to relive it.”
I exhaled as relief overwhelmed me. Maybe she already had an idea of what happened. Maybe those gossip magazines were right on the money.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve mentally recited French for years, and now it all makes sense.”
“Of course it does. You are half-French.” She laughed, her eyes sliding to the bar. “So tell me about this man you came here with.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Ronan leaning against the bar, his eyes on mine. A woman was trying to talk to him, but I didn’t think it was going well for her. I turned back to Estelle.
“I think we’re getting married.”
“You think?” she chuckled. “Shouldn’t you know?”
“I don’t know. It’s . . . complicated.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t a better word to describe our situation. “It’s all moving really fast.”
“You know, when I saw your grandfather for the first time, I knew I would marry him instantly.” Her eyes lit with a smile. “He was the new repairman at the hotel I still work at. I know it sounds silly, but that first glance at him, he looked ethereal—almost like he was too perfect to be real.” Her gaze fell. “He passed away a few years ago from cancer, and all I wish now was that I would have approached him sooner. We wasted so much time dancing around each other. If you feel that way for this man, don’t waste any more time. It can’t be brought back.” Seeing her tears made a few of mine fall.
“I’m so sorry about your husband.”
She laughed. “I expect lots of tears in our future. But let’s make them happy ones.”
“I like that idea.”
She stood. “I’m going to be late getting back to work, but promise me we’ll keep in contact. My apartment may be small, but there will always be a room for you if you need it.”
I got to my feet and accepted her tight hug. “Thank you so much.”
She pulled back, ran her fingers across my cheek, and whispered, “Ma petite fille.” My granddaughter. “Your mother might not have been able to love you the way she should have, but I always will.” She kissed each of my cheeks. “Je t’aime, Mila.”
A tear slipped down my cheek. “Je t’aime.”
Holding Ronan’s hand, I walked out of the restaurant and sucked in a deep breath, feeling lighter than I had in years.
I turned and hugged Ronan. “Thank you for doing that for me.”
“You’re welcome, kotyonok.” He tipped my chin up to see my eyes. “How did it go?”
“Well, we have a high chance of having psychopathic children, but other than that, great.”
He chuckled. “Good. They’ll have a better chance of surviving Kat.”
Realizing we were causing a traffic jam, I pulled away from him and started walking down the sidewalk, ignoring the car sitting at the curb.
“Where are you going?”
“Sightseeing. Then maybe shopping.” Happiness bloomed in my chest, and I did a cliché twirl. “Wherever Paris takes me.”
His eyes narrowed on the flare of my dress. “Better not take you to Barbès.”
I assumed that was an area with a bad reputation. And since Ronan had ignored me for eight hours, it was time for a little payback.
I paused and pursed my lips. “Barbès has a nice ring to it. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up there?” I shrugged with an impish smile and continued down the sidewalk.
Ronan released a frustrated growl, said something to Albert, and then followed me. “You’re narcissistic I don’t just kidnap you again.”
“I’m preparing my fake screams and, ‘No, please don’t!’ as we speak.”
He laughed. “I’m more concerned about what our children are going to inherit from you than your mother.”
“You really want kids?” I asked.
He ran a thumb across his bottom lip. “Da.”
“Lots of them?”
“However many you want.”
I raised a brow. “I want a whole houseful.”
“I can take your IUD out in this alley, and we can get started right now.”
I pretended to think about it. “Tempting. But I’m going to leave that to the professionals.” I cocked my head. “And I thought you were ‘saving yourself for marriage’?”
He cast me an intense, thoughtful look, but didn’t respond. I frowned at him, not understanding his behavior since the flight. Maybe he really had lost his mind.
I stopped to peer through a store window. It was a handmade boutique, and all the colors inside beckoned me.
“Hey, Ronan?”
“Yes, Mila?”
“I want to go in there.”
He chuckled. “Is this a trauma-induced statement?”
I turned to face him. “I just don’t want you to get bored while I go shopping.”
“You’re enough entertainment for me alone. It’s like watching a circus.”
I shoved his chest playfully and drifted into the store.
The retailer and owner was a knowledgeable Indian woman who wasn’t shy about telling me what would or wouldn’t look good on me. Ronan even shook his head with her when I came out of the dressing room in a peach-colored dress.
I bought three bags of dresses, shoes, and handmade jewelry. A long argument ensued at the cash register, which the owner found highly amusing. Ronan forced a black credit card on me. I may love him, but I didn’t want to spend his dirty money. In the end, he won—only because he told me I could donate all my earnings from modeling to save baby humpbacks if he paid for everything else. How he knew I had a love for the animals didn’t surprise me.
He literally pushed me into the next store. I looked at all the lingerie on the shelves and gave him an unimpressed expression.
“Why do I need to be here if you’re saving yourself for marriage?”
“Because we’re getting married today.”
I stared at him. Blin
ked. Then collected myself. “But we’re in Paris . . . Aren’t you chafing at the romanticism of it all?”
He laughed. “Nyet. We’ll have a traditional Russian wedding when we get home.”
That was all he was going to say about this extremely crazy idea?
“Ronan . . .”
The shadows in his eyes took over. He collared my throat and pulled me in, his rough voice in my ear. “The next time I fuck you, I need to know you’re mine. And I need you tonight.”
I exhaled beneath his intensity. I guessed that explained the “saving himself” spiel. Estelle’s words returned. Ronan wasn’t as simple as an ordinary repairman, but nothing else seemed to matter when he was near. I wanted him in every way I could have him. But what I wanted more was to give him what he needed.
“Okay.”
His eyes lit with satisfaction, then he kissed me on the lips and released me just as the salesclerk sauntered up to us.
“Puis-je vous aider à trouver quelque chose?” Can I help you find something?
“Quelque chose de sexy et de jaune. Et pas de soie,” Ronan said. Something sexy and yellow. And no silk.
Of course Ronan spoke French.
Thirty minutes later, I left with more lingerie than I could ever wear. Laden with bags, we walked down the street before Ronan forced me to stop in front of a jewelry store.
“I don’t want a ring,” I said.
“You’re wearing a ring,” he returned. “It doesn’t have to be a diamond. It could be another stone.”
“No stone is one hundred percent conflict free.”
“Why are you such a hippie?”
“Why are you such a mobster?”
He was already halfway into the store, so, reluctantly, I followed him inside. While Ronan was practically being assaulted by two saleswomen, I peered into the glass cases, perusing the rings.
I pointed to a man’s black wedding band. “Celui-là s’il-vous-plaît.” That one, please.
The man behind the counter pulled it out of the case.
Ronan appeared beside me. “I don’t think that’s quite your style, Mila.”
“It’s not. It’s for you.”
The Darkest Temptation Page 41
