More staring.
And Sam’s heart actually skipped a few beats, her own gaze hopelessly locked onto his. To the point that it felt like he was letting her go when he finally broke the stare off with a stretch of his heavily muscled arms.
“I will take my exercise, and you can take shower.” He smirked at her. “But zhena, do not fall like woman in rom com. This could hurt our baby.”
“I’ll try to stay upright,” was the best she could come up with under the him-very-naked-on-the-bed circumstances.
She disappeared into the bathroom for a long shower and pondered his parting words, “Do not fall...” Sam was fairly certain he meant it literally. But she chose to read between the lines. Do not fall… in love. Especially not with him.
And as she washed him off her body, she was haunted once again by a remembered conversation, this one much more recent, having only taken place less than two months ago.
“Love. Love is a silly custom you don’t believe in? You seriously just said that? How can you not believe in love?”
“Trust me, you do not have to believe in silly custom to give woman much pleasure. Come upstairs. I will show you.”
And show her, he had. Twice.
* * *
Luckily there was nothing like a hectic morning of getting a little boy through his yoga practice and off to school, followed by an oh-so-sexy bout of depositing the rich food she’d eaten at her wedding dinner into one of the downstairs toilets, to clear her mind. By the time she got over the dry heaves enough to drive herself to work, she was more than ready to think about anything other than Nikolai Rustanov and the morning sickness-inducing baby he’d put inside of her, courtesy of the last time she’d let a kiss with him go too far.
However, her Don’t Think About Nikolai plan hit a bump soon after she arrived at Ruth’s House. An Asian man was waiting on the front steps, a very handsome Asian man in an expensive-looking suit.
Sam was perplexed. He looked way too wealthy to be a social worker and way too classy to be a lawyer. And she seriously doubted he was the abusive husband or boyfriend of one of the women at the shelter. Not that Asians were immune to abusive relationships, but in her many years of working with abused women, she’d discovered some cultures were simply more private about their relationship troubles than others and, as a result, a lot less likely to call attention to themselves when the shit hit the fan.
“Hello?” It came out more a question than a greeting.
“Hello,” he replied, coming down the steps to meet her on the sidewalk. Upon closer inspection, she was pretty sure his suit had been hand tailored to his body’s specifications. And he walked with a slight limp. An old injury, she guessed, one that for whatever reason hadn’t set right.
“I’m Suro Nakamura,” he said with a bow. Unlike Nikolai, he spoke perfect English with only the slightest accent to indicate he wasn’t from the States. He came to a stop a few feet beside her, turning his body sideways between the house and the road so she was forced to do the same if she wanted to address him.
“Okay, Mr. Nakamura,” she said, feeling all sorts of unsettled as she noticed how his eyes did a continuous slow back and forth between the house and road, like a tracking light scanning the perimeter. “What can I help you with?”
Suro arched an eyebrow at her. “This is actually about how I can help you. I’m here in regards to your security needs.”
“Oh,” she said, her mouth falling open with surprise. “You’re here about the security guard position?”
She could hear the skepticism in her voice and she didn’t want to be rude, but this guy looked nothing like the usual rent-a-cops she’d met before. He didn’t have the build of an ex-high school football player whose muscle had turned mostly to fat. And he was simply too young to be a retired police officer like Danny had been.
An aura of cool remove surrounded him, one that put her in mind of—well, of Nikolai. Nikolai at his worst, when he was doing his “no feelings, no feelings at all” thing.
“I thought the agency wouldn’t be sending anyone over until tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m not here with an agency, but as a favor to Nikolai Rustanov.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Nikolai sent you?”
“Yes, he’s asked me to assess your security needs, so I’ll need to take a look around your shelter.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, her brain still trying to catch up with the fact that Nikolai had sent someone to her shelter to assess her security needs, like… like he had anything to say about it. “First of all men aren’t allowed in the shelter and second of all, I think your suit might cost more than we normally pay our guards in a year. As capable as I’m sure you are, we can’t afford you.”
A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he conceded, “No, you probably cannot. But I won’t be the one serving your needs, only finding four men who can.”
She blinked. “Four men?” she repeated. Ruth’s House had never had more than one day or night guard on duty at any given time.
“Mr. Rustanov was very clear about wanting your shelter to have twenty-four hour protection. Front and back.”
“Yes, but… we get by with what we already have. And twenty-four hour security protection isn’t exactly in the budget.”
“Consider it a gift from Mr. Rustanov. A security endowment.”
Sam opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. Then closed it, truly frustrated because… yeah, it was a gift she hadn’t asked for and no, she didn’t like having decisions forced upon her.
But unfortunately, Nikolai had hit her right in her weak spot. She didn’t want to give in, but she had a duty to her shelter. If anyone else had given them a “security endowment,” she would have thanked them with a handwritten letter, then again in person with a plaque, and then yet again with a mention in their bi-annual donor newsletter.
She also would have called Josie in a fit of delight to tell her the good news. The only reason she didn’t now, and knew she wouldn’t later, was because this generous gift came via Nikolai Rustanov, who was apparently trying to—actually she wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to do with this extreme gesture.
“May I show you something?” Suro asked, interrupting her conflicted thoughts. His face had gentled, she noticed. Less all-business mode, and more sensitivity than she would have guessed him capable of possessing at first sight.
He pulled out his phone and came to stand beside her. Then he swiped a picture on to the phone’s rectangular screen. A little girl with creamy brown skin, a bubbly expression and chubby legs and cheeks appeared. She looked to be about two, on the thin edge between baby and toddler, and she was nothing less than completely adorable.
“This is my daughter, Gracie,” Suro said with a smile in his voice. He swiped the screen again to the picture of a little black boy. This one was definitely a toddler, standing up strong and confident with a dinosaur toy raised above his head. “And this is our adopted son, Spidey.”
Before Sam could ask if he’d really named his adopted child, Spidey, Suro swiped again. This time to a picture of two young teenagers, one Asian, one black, sitting at a piano together with intent expressions on their faces. “We call these two the twins, but they’re technically my son and stepdaughter. They formally introduced me to my wife.”
He swiped the phone to reveal one last picture: a pretty woman with dreadlocks, smiling sleepily up at the camera as a newborn Gracie slept on top of her, her small head nestled into the woman’s shoulder. “And this is my wife, Tasha.”
He gave the picture a thoughtful smile before tucking the phone back in his inside pocket. “I’d do anything to keep my family safe and if Tasha were working at a place like this, I’d make sure she had security I could trust. Let Mr. Rustanov do this for you.”
The slideshow had been cute. Too cute. It had left a sweet ache in Sam’s heart that made her rub a hand over her chest for the second time that morning.
Suro was probably right about Nikolai doing this because he wanted to protect his family. But he was wrong about Nikolai doing it for her. He’d hired a security guard for Pavel, and she supposed this was his way of making sure the baby inside her womb received the same standard of protection.
Nonetheless, the fact remained: she’d be an idiot to turn down such a gift. She’d always put the Ruth’s House shelters first, and she was prepared to downshift her pride if it meant the women who came to her would benefit from Nikolai’s commitment to providing security for their baby.
She forced a smile onto her face and asked Suro, “Since we’re going all out on security, do you think it’s possible to get four women guards in here? I’ve been asking the agency we use here and in Alabama to provide us with women for years now, but it’s kind of a “take what you can get situation” at the wages we’ve been paying.”
Suro nodded, family man gone and all business now that she had agreed to let him assess Ruth’s House Indiana’s security needs.
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he answered.
28
“CAN you pass me the salt, Pavel?”
Nikolai watched his nephew pass his wife the salt shaker sitting in front of his own plate. So close, in fact, that the obvious thing would have been for her to ask Nikolai for the salt. But his wife had been using Pavel as a go-between all night. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to Nikolai, beyond hello, since he walked in the door.
Nikolai added a bit of pepper to the lemon chicken his wife had made with a tight jaw. It was Monday, technically the night after their disastrous wedding dinner, but despite what had taken place between he and his wife that morning, nothing had changed. She barely looked at him throughout the meal. And just like every other night they’d had dinner together so far, she and Pavel did most of the talking, leaving him to sit there with a strange emptiness in his stomach, wondering if he’d ever be able to do the things that came to her and Pavel so naturally. Wondering if he’d ever be able to act like he was a member of a normal family.
If Pavel had wanted to talk about the best gun for killing a man quietly, Nikolai could have held forth on that topic all night. But for most of the meal, his nephew and his wife talked about some TV series that sounded both inane and complicated. A show called Avatar, which Pavel loved, even though it wasn’t based in any way whatsoever on the James Cameron movie of the same name. At least not so far as Nikolai could tell.
In any case, his wife and nephew had yet to choose a topic he could feel comfortable talking about. But he was no longer a little boy, forced to exist on the periphery of the Rustanov family, he reminded himself.
His father was dead. And his Russian relatives for the most part were proud to have a famous hockey player in their family tree now. He had a big house and more money than he knew what to do with. He owned a professional hockey team, he thought to himself, biting down fiercely on a piece of chicken. He refused to be intimidated by the small talk of one small woman and one even smaller boy. Also, he’d be damned if he was going to let Samantha avoid him by talking to Pavel all night.
When their conversation about the boy avatar versus the girl avatar came to a close, he forced himself to jump in.
“Pavel, how is your schooling?” he asked, his voice terse.
Pavel’s eyes widened as if a statue had suddenly come to life at the table. “How is my schooling?” he repeated carefully. “It’s cool, I guess. I’m still behind in math. But Mama’s a good tutor. She’s been helping me.”
“Good,” Nikolai said. The one word landed like a stone in the middle of the table, and he looked from side to side, having no idea what to say next.
But then Pavel asked, “Were you good at math when you was in school, Uncle?”
“’Were in school’, Pavel,” corrected Samantha from the other side of the table.
“Were you good at math when you were in school, Uncle?” Pavel repeated dutifully.
Nikolai answered with a slight shrug. “When I was your age I was already on hockey team. Maybe it did not matter so much how good I am with numbers.”
Pavel gaped at him. “You and my dad was-,” he darted a guilty look at Samantha, “I mean, you and my dad were already playing hockey when you were my age? Like professionally?”
“No, not as professional, but maybe, how you say, potential to become professional. Our coaches put us on path to become star hockey players. Math was not so important.”
Pavel thought about that. Then he asked Sam, “Mama, since I’m going to be a professional hockey player, too, can I stop doing my math homework?”
“No,” he and his wife answered at the same time.
Nikolai added, “You like your dream, like telling everyone you will be hockey player like me,” he told the boy with a sniff. “But you cannot think yourself into becoming professional hockey player. You do not have what it takes to make this happen.”
Pavel’s eyebrows squished together, his mouth turning downward into a sad frown, and Nikolai could feel his wife’s eyes on him, harsh and judging.
“But Papa told me I was going to be a great hockey player cuz it was in my blood,” Pavel said with a voice that was half tremble, half whimper, as if Nikolai had just dashed the biggest dream he’d ever had. “And he wasn’t lying about you, so I thought for sure he wasn’t lying about this.”
“Fedya did not lie, but he did not tell you truth either,” Nikolai informed his nephew. “You should not want to be like Fedya. Talent but no discipline. You should want better for yourself, but you want easy dream.”
Pavel didn’t answer, but his eyes were bright with unchecked anger even as his bottom lip quivered. Nikolai could tell the boy was working hard not to cry… or punch his uncle.
“Pavel,” his wife said quietly. “Breathe. Breathe slowly, until your ready to look at what your feeling right now. It’s just a feeling in your body. One you can just observe without acting on it.”
Nikolai had no idea what that meant, but apparently Pavel did. The little boy took several deep breaths. And then his eyes shuttered, as if he’d come to some sort of conclusion.
“Uncle doesn’t think I’ll be a hockey star like him,” he said to Samantha with a quiver in his voice. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough because I’m not a Rustanov like him. Because Papa was an addict.”
Before his wife could chime in with one of her nonsensical suggestions, Nikolai slammed his hand on the table, forcing the boy’s attention back to him.
“Do not put false words in my mouth, Pavel. You are child. Your job right now is to listen to adults, not say we say what we don’t say.”
Now Pavel shook his head. “But I don’t understand. You said—”
“I said you do not have what it takes. Yet. Pavel, have you ever played hockey?”
“You mean on ice?” Pavel asked.
“Da.”
“No, just in the living room with Papa,” Pavel admitted with a frown, as if just now considering that having never actually learned how to properly play or skate might be an impediment to the bright future his father had promised him. “So that means I can’t be a good hockey player like you?”
Nikolai glanced at his wife. Her hands were clenched tight around her silverware, her body slightly leaned forward as if she was primed to physically jump between him and Pavel if Nikolai said the wrong thing.
“No, I’m saying you are not good hockey player yet,” Nikolai answered his nephew. Then he heard himself say, “I must teach you, and then you will be great hockey player like your papa.”
Pavel’s eyes lit up like Nikolai had just given him the best Christmas gift ever. “Seriously? You, Mount Nik, are going to teach me to play hockey?”
“Da,” Nikolai answered, his voice gruff. He looked across the island at Samantha and said, “Starting tomorrow, Dirk will bring him to me after school. I will make him work hard, so he can have his dream and not lose it.”
“But what about homework?” his
wife asked. “His math…”
“We can do it after dinner!” Pavel all but yelled. “I promise I’ll do my homework after dinner every day, no complaining, if you let me play with Mount Nik. Please, Mama, please!”
Pavel actually had his hands clasped together, and he shook them like a supplicant at the feet of a Mary statue. “It’d be me practicing with Mount Nik! Mount. Nik.”
Sam’s nose wrinkled and Nikolai could tell she didn’t quite understand why this was so important to Pavel, but eventually she caved with, “Okay, but if you ever don’t do your homework, I reserve the right to cancel your next practice.”
“If he doesn’t do homework, I will cancel all of his practices for week, so lesson is learned,” Nikolai assured her.
Pavel came out of his seat as if he hadn’t heard either of their caveats.
“This is the best day of my life!” he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. “Thank you, Uncle. Thank you!”
Back Up loped over, licking at Nikolai’s shoes as if to say she approved of this arrangement.
Nikolai answered Pavel’s enthusiastic thank you with a stiff, “You’re welcome, Pavel.” Then he picked up his fork to finish his dinner. Maybe, he thought to himself, maybe this wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
He’d been afraid to spend too much time with the boy before. He looked too much like Fedya, and it still caused an uneasy sensation inside of him when he let himself look at Pavel too long.
But perhaps this would be a good thing. Maybe spending more time with the boy would… help with the other things he didn’t like to think about too much. The things that made it feel like the ice rink inside his chest was cracking apart when he thought too much about the demons that had led his brother down the path of addiction.
But maybe this would help with that—inoculate him, so he could look at the boy without thinking of his doomed brother. He eyed Pavel, still waving his skinny arms in the air as he informed Samantha that he was going to be the best hockey player ever because Mount Nik would be his coach. In any case, practicing would put some muscle on the boy, Nikolai thought to himself. He’d need those if he truly wanted to make his NHL dreams come true.
His Pretend Baby Page 74
