by Lucy Score
Emma felt herself pulling away, tightening up. “Oh, it was fine. Nice actually.” Really nice, she reminded herself. “But I think it was too big for just me.”
“I seem to recall you being worried about that before,” Niko teased.
“You’re an ass,” Emma gasped.
“That wasn’t the body part I was talking about.”
––—
Niko’s apartment was everything Emma had fantasized it would be from the concrete floors to the soaring ceilings. It was an industrial space, made more comfortable with leather couches, colorful area rugs, and spectacular art on the brick walls.
“Wow,” she murmured, admiring the view from the windows. “Judging from this space and that view, you’re a bigger deal than I gave you credit for.”
He came up behind her and tugged her hips back against him. “Baby, I’m the biggest deal,” he joked.
She felt his steel-hard length of his erection at the small of her back. “I already know exactly how big your deal is. What I need to know is do we have time to enjoy your deal before dinner tonight?”
They had time and made good use of it. Staring up at the ceiling from the acre of bed, Emma stretched her sated body. She’d declined to join him in the shower, knowing full well it would lead to another round and then they’d be late. He was nervous about reconnecting with his father, and she thought it was incredibly sweet. Did it mean something that he’d brought her to meet his father? He was bringing her with him for a very personal, very private reconciliation? It felt important.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. And now she was nervous. Emma skimmed a hand over her belly. This was a big deal and quite possibly a misstep. She’d met Mason’s parents, but, at the time, that had made sense. The way their relationship had carefully progressed in the right direction, meeting them was proper timing.
She’d packed carefully for this trip, planning for each outing and adjusting according to the weather report. Yet, she’d failed to actually consider the significance of the trip. Niko was introducing her to family and work associates and friends. Didn’t he understand how serious that was? How could she not take it seriously?
They were just seeing where things went. There were no future plans, no team goals. This wasn’t the step they should be taking at this stage.
The water in the shower shut off and a naked, wet Niko appeared in the doorway. “Stop panicking.”
“What makes you think—”
“I could hear your brain working all the way in here,” he said, giving her that crooked half grin. “You’re worrying about what this means and what happens next.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she argued, trying not to be dazzled. But it was impossible. Naked Niko was just that. Dazzling.
He crossed to her, and sank down in front of her. “I want you here because you’ve been, among many other things, a good friend. Reconnecting with my dad, jumping into a shoot? It’s a lot. And I need you there to remind me that I can do it.”
Great, now she felt like an ass for making it about her.
She pasted on a bright smile. “I’m happy to be here for you, Nikolai.”
He cupped her chin and made her look him in the eye. “I want you here.”
“I want to be here.”
“Good. Now go get dressed and be ready to help me repair fifteen years of shitty relationship.”
No pressure.
––—
The driver eased up to the curb of a quiet street in front of Vadim Vulkov’s Brooklyn townhouse. They’d moved out of Niko’s childhood home shortly after marrying, and Niko realized he’d never been to his father’s new home.
He had no emotional connections to the three stories of yellow brick, and he wondered if he’d find an emotional connection with the man that lived within those walls. There had been no argument, no irreparable rending, just a son’s disappointment and a father’s disinterest.
“Ready?” Emma asked, squeezing his hand.
“Maybe we should just go out tonight?”
She squeezed harder. “Nice try. Now slide your perfect ass out of the car,” she ordered.
Niko did as instructed and helped Emma out after him before leading her up the concrete steps to the front door. It had been a year since he’d last seen his father in person. A hurried lunch in Manhattan with lingering silences that had highlighted the gaps in their relationship. A whole year, yet the Vadim Vulkov who answered the door looked somehow younger.
“Nikolai!” His greeting was large and warm, just like the man. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, Vadim looked more like a barroom brawler than a civil engineer. He’d grown a mustache, thick and dark and yet to show the silver that the rest of his hair was sporting.
“Dad.” Niko extended a hand and, when his father took it, pulled him in to slap him on the back. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s been too long,” Vadim agreed. “Now, who is this beauty you’re hiding from me?”
Thirty-three years in the country had mellowed the Russian from his accent, but it was still detectable.
Niko reached for Emma, pulling her into the fold. “Dad, this is Emma.”
His father’s hand engulfed Emma’s. “Emma, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you know you’re the only girl Nikolai has ever brought home?”
“I have a feeling he may have snuck a few past you into his room earlier in life, Mr. Vulkov,” Emma quipped.
His father chuckled and clapped a hand on their joined ones. “Please, call me Vadim. And you clearly know my son well.”
He ushered them inside, and Niko got his first good look around his father’s home. The living room was organized around a small marble fireplace. The furnishings were worn, comfortable. There was a basket of kids’ toys next to an overstuffed chair and its mismatched ottoman.
His father noticed the direction of his gaze. “Toys for the grandchildren when they visit Papa and Oma.”
“You have grandkids?”
“Greta’s oldest has two. Her youngest is unmarried like you.” He turned and bellowed in the direction of the back of the house. “Greta! Our guests have arrived.”
Niko, struggling to absorb the fact that his father was a grandpa, started to turn in the direction of his father’s call when his gaze pinned to the mantel of the fireplace. He blinked, not understanding. It was a picture of his mother, one of the few. She stood en pointe in a spotlight graceful as the long neck of a swan, her arms stretched overhead. A single white rose in a delicate bud vase sat next to the heavy gold frame.
He was still staring at the picture when Greta bustled into the room. She was a sturdy sort of woman. Taller and softer than his mother, but her smile was just as warm. Her hair was a soft, fluffy blonde that was beginning to streak silver. She had a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder that she tossed in Vadim’s direction.
“No drinks for our guests, Vadim?” she teased. “They’ll never want to come back!”
Her voice was louder, more boisterous, than the soft whisper of his mother’s and held notes of Germany, her country of birth.
“Where are my manners? I must have been so distracted by the beauty of the girl Nikolai brought with him or the smell of your cooking,” Vadim said, raising a flirtatious eyebrow.
“Oh, I can see why you are the way you are.” Emma raised her eyebrows at Niko, and Greta laughed.
She offered Emma her hand. “I am Greta, married to this incorrigible flirt.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Greta. I’m Emma, and I’m dating incorrigible flirt junior.”
Niko surprised Greta by swooping in and offering her a peck on the cheek. “It’s nice to see you again, Greta.”
“You, too, Nikolai. I will get you a vodka,” she winked. “Emma, would you like a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one. We brought a bottle with us if you’d like to open it.” She offered the raffia bag to Greta.
“Wonderful. We shall drink, and we sha
ll dine.”
The doorbell buzzed, and Greta clapped her hands. “They’re here!” She rushed to the door.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we invited Greta’s daughters,” Vadim said, looking at his feet.
Niko felt Emma slide her arm through his. “The more the merrier,” she insisted. “Right, Niko?” Her smile, slow and sweet, soothed the rough edges, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“The more the merrier,” he agreed.
––—
And merrier it was. Greta’s oldest daughter, Adele, brought her husband, Tony, and their two kids, London, age six, and his sister Maria, age four. The presence of the kids made it impossible for awkward pauses. Katrina, Greta’s younger daughter, was the only ice cube of the evening in Niko’s mind. Katrina had her mother’s blonde hair cut in a short nearly platinum cap.
She had no qualms about being up front. When Greta called them all to the table for dinner, Katrina stepped in front of Niko.
“I don’t like anyone who doesn’t like my mother.”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she brought her wine glass to her mouth.
Niko looked her way for help, but Emma shook her head. He was on his own.
“I don’t not like your mother,” he argued.
“They’ve been married almost two years, and this is the first time you come to their house. That doesn’t exactly scream supportive son.”
She hit her target with that one. Just because his father hadn’t been extending invitations didn’t mean Niko shouldn’t have been putting forth the effort.
“I’m here now,” he said evenly.
“Good. Now try not to fuck it up,” she warned before filing into the dining room behind her brother-in-law.
Emma let out a breath. “She’s scary. I like her.”
Niko guided her in front of him like a human shield. “You would,” he murmured.
“Don’t worry, Nikolai. I won’t let her hurt you.”
They dined on chicken Parmesan in honor of Emma and blini and spätzle to round out the international representation. The bottle of wine Emma chose had been opened and emptied as had two more that Greta produced from the kitchen. Watching his father’s interaction with Greta’s family made Niko feel as if he’d been absent for years. It was an easy dynamic, one that he and Emma were welcomed into—with the exception of Katrina.
The conversation never lagged, not with so many mouths around the table. Greta was a research scientist in plant sciences. She and his father enjoyed animated if technical discussions with Adele, who was a biochemist. Tony was in finance. Katrina ran a salon and was a bit prickly about it, but Niko got it. She was from a family of science and logic. Growing up, he’d had his mother to support and understand his creative hobbies.
Emma entertained them all with stories of dinner shifts gone horrifically wrong, and the kids gave a running commentary on their day in school and daycare.
When London and Marie, now dressed in pajamas, demanded Papa read them a bedtime story, everyone crowded into the living room to listen to Vadim voice the characters. It hit him then. Niko realized he could have been part of this family—one that shared striking similarities to the Pierces—had he bothered to put forth an effort.
Yet his father hadn’t welcomed him into his new life. Was Niko just a painful reminder to him of the woman they no longer shared? Was his mother the glue? Could there be a father-son relationship without her?
Niko wasn’t sure, but he wanted to try. His time in Blue Moon had shown him what family could be, and it was something he knew he wanted in his life now. He rose with his father when Adele and Tony said their goodbyes.
Katrina was the next to bow out with the excuse of an early morning appointment. She kissed his father and then her mother on both cheeks, offered Emma a sincere “nice to meet you,” and then coolly shook his hand.
“No longer a full house,” Greta sighed, shutting the front door behind Katrina. “Always bittersweet.”
“Bitter because we miss them when they’re not here,” Vadim said.
“And sweet because now we can put our feet up and enjoy the quiet,” Greta supplied, winking a blue eye at her husband.
“Greta, let me help clean up,” Emma offered.
“We can enjoy another glass of wine and talk about how handsome and stubborn these two are,” Greta said, slipping her arm through Emma’s guiding her out of the room.
The silence they left in their wake was immediately awkward. Vadim slipped his hands in his pockets and jingled the change he found.
“Do you still like brandy?” Niko asked, eyes again returning to his mother’s photo.
“I do. Though I don’t have any in the house. It seems to evaporate right out of the bottle,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“I thought that might be the case,” Niko said, digging into the bag they’d brought and producing a bottle. “I brought a spare, just in case.”
Vadim looked at the label, and his caterpillar eyebrows lifted. “Very nice. Very nice, indeed.” He opened a cabinet built into the corner of the living room and produced two snifters.
They sat, his father in an ancient recliner and Niko on the couch, and he poured the amber liquid into the glasses.
They sipped in silence, listening to the sounds of running water and laughing women floating from the kitchen. It was a homey scene, yet Niko felt wildly uncomfortable. Words needed to be said, questions asked, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ease them both into it.
“You and Greta seem happy,” he said. It was the truth. He’d been used to thinking of his father as two men, one headily in love with his mother, the other darkly mourning her loss. But this Vadim was different. He and Greta shared common ground, mutual interests. They weren’t held together by passion. They were fortified by commonality.
“Yes. Very happy,” Vadim said gruffly. “I enjoy her company very much.”
“A good match,” Niko said, thinking of Willa and her boots.
“Do you think so?” Vadim asked, and Niko thought he heard a hopeful note in the question.
“I do. I’m glad you’re not alone, that you’re not still mourning.”
“I still mourn,” Vadim said, staring into the brandy. “I will always mourn. Your mother was one of a kind.”
“And Greta?”
The corners of his father’s mouth lifted under his moustache. “Greta is one of a kind, too. I am a lucky man.”
“Why aren’t we better, Dad?”
Vadim didn’t pretend not to understand the question. His pause was thoughtful. “It started with a mistake I made. I thought if I gave you space, you’d come around willingly rather than me forcing you to accept things you were not yet ready to accept.”
“Giving me that space made me feel like you’d not only moved on from Mom, you’d moved on from me. New wife, new home, new family.” Niko looked around the living room, shelves stuffed with relics of two lives combined into one. His senior picture, his college graduation, his moments were tucked in with the rest of their highlights. Greta and Vadim’s wedding, Adele and Tony’s wedding, London’s first day of school, Maria’s first birthday, Katrina at her salon looking fierce.
His father looked down at his hands, and for the first time, Niko recognized their resemblance to his own.
“I am sorry for that. We Vulkov men are not good with feelings. Perhaps that’s why we lean so heavily on our partners. Greta’s been demanding that I drag you back here since before the wedding, but I was stubborn.”
“I don’t know if I’m mad at you or disappointed in myself. I didn’t know you had grandchildren. I’ve never been to your house. I didn’t know Greta was a research scientist.” Niko shook his head, bitter at the time lost the two would never get back.
“Perhaps you can be mad and disappointed. Neither of us is innocent.”
“You have Mom’s picture on the mantel.” Niko finally got the words out. “Why?”
“Just because she is gone does
n’t mean she never was. Greta believes in honoring the past. And she does not mind when I remember fondly your mother.”
“Greta sounds like a good woman.” Niko raised his glass to drink.
“So was your mother,” Vadim told him. “And so is Emma.”
“We have excellent taste.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The driver closed the town car’s door after them and Emma snuggled into Niko’s side. “I’m the teensiest bit drunk,” she whispered her confession. “Your stepmother has an incredible tolerance for alcohol.”
Niko smiled at the slur of her words and brushed his lips over her hair.
“Thank you for being there with me,” he told her, watching the lights of Brooklyn neighborhoods pass by his window.
“Thank you for asking me,” she yawned. “Did you and your father talk?”
“We did. It’s a start. He and Greta are coming to the show at the gallery.”
Emma lifted her head, smiled. “Really?”
Niko nodded. “I can’t believe I waited this long.”
Emma snuggled in against his neck. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You both are stubborn, distracted men.”
“Drunk Emma is a little too honest,” Niko teased.
“Sober Emma is honester,” she insisted.
––—
Emma considered the dull headache she carried with her the next morning worth it. They’d tumbled into bed the night before exhausted from good alcohol and the rebuilding of family. It had been the first time Emma had spent the night with Niko without sex, and she had to admit, falling asleep curled around him somehow took their intimacy to a new level.
She felt a little off-balance as if things had somehow shifted between them last night. But the breakfast Niko had delivered, the easy conversation over coffee and crepes, put her back on mostly even ground. Niko seemed pleased with the way dinner with his family had gone the night before, but he was distracted. And Emma could see he was shifting gears into professional photographer mode. She was just as excited about today as she had been about last night. It was another glimpse into Nikolai Vulkov’s life. And she was honest enough to admit that she wanted more than just glimpses.
