by Lana Sky
“So, you did hear,” he says softly. “I don’t know if it’s her. But… She wasn’t well back then—” He frowns at the memory as his grip on my hand grows firmer by the second, tightening to the point of pain. It takes everything I have not to pull away, for his sake. Lost among the shadows of his past, I sense he needs physical contact now more than ever.
“I wasn’t either. You don’t understand what it’s like. I can’t explain. But, if this is her, she isn’t hiding out of shame I can tell you that. The girl I knew, she was broken. In her world, everything was a game. She needed that mindset, but I indulged her. Too much, I indulged her. If I had the choice, I’d pray to whatever God would listen that Magda isn’t hers.”
I swallow thickly. There goes my jealousy, at least, though I’m not sure if I like the emotion that replaces it. Fear? I listen to him ramble, hopelessly confused—but I don’t have the heart to prod for more. This seems to be the only way he can explain this at all—in disjointed bursts of information with little context sprinkled in between.
“Could it be her?” He shakes his head slowly. “Who knows.”
“But why not come see her? Why not visit her first? And if they aren’t her mother, who would be so cruel?”
“I don’t know,” Vadim insists. “But one thing could strengthen my claim over her, biological mother or not.”
“You mean claim that you’re her father to the courts?”
“No. Something even better.” He draws my hand to his mouth, planting a kiss over the knuckles. His eyes practically glow as they meet mine, brimming with conviction. Alarm bells go off at the back of my mind, even as my body heats in response to the naked passion conveyed in that one, searing glance.
Damn. I half-expect my clothing to melt, reduced to ashes by his desire alone.
“If I can prove that I can provide a stable home for her, no one could take her away,” he says carefully. “And, if you join my adoption petition. Marry me for real...”
Mental overload. It’s too much seriousness at one time. My brain can’t cope. All I can do is laugh, pulling my hand away as I lurch to my feet.
“We could ask Maxim to make his wedding a double,” I suggest, laughing. “His fiancée said they haven’t planned much. I’m sure they’d be down for it.”
I’m smiling, but as the seconds tick by, he doesn’t return it.
“I would marry you in tandem with whoever you wanted,” he swears in a voice that robs my lungs of air. “As long as you said yes.”
I sway, stunned. He sounds too damn serious. Too convinced in the madness of his plan.
“Vadim… You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough to know I’m not making a rash decision,” he insists, rising to his height, stepping into me. “I know that you care for Magda already. I know she’s warming to you more than she ever might to me. I know I need you. And…I know that you care for me as well.”
My cheeks flame. I can’t even deny it. My only course of action is to parry his passion with logic. “So, you railroad me into another marriage without even feigning the guise of love first? At least Jim gave me that.” I don’t know why I’m so angry. Because I am. Angry and hurt and torn by his dilemma. Could I even refuse him in these circumstances? That’s the scary part. I’m not sure I can. “You should have told me what was going on sooner,” I insist, changing tact to something I feel more comfortable punishing him over. “I could have comforted you. I could have understood why you left, and I could have helped you smooth things over with Magdalene.”
“I’m telling you now.” His voice is sin, soothing through my frustration like a salve. Too fast. I’m melting into him before he even touches me, his hands finding my breasts, kneading them possessively. “And I am not looking to ‘railroad’ you. As always, when it comes to you, I’m being greedy. Shameless. You want love? What about need? I always need more of you.”
“Smooth talker,” I rasp. It’s alarming how he always manages to say the right thing. Even as my brain struggles to counter him with logic. The more he touches me, the less my fears make sense. The world narrows to this—him and me. My body heats, my hips writhing shamelessly to soothe the ache building between my legs. A heat that catches fire as my piercing remains rigid against swelling flesh, applying incredible pressure.
“Will you kick me out of your bed tonight as punishment for aggravating you?” he wonders. His lips find the crook of my throat, pressing there in a teasing kiss. Then a harder, teasing bite. “Or can I find some way to make it up to you?”
Damn…
“I think you’re heading in the right direction,” I gasp as his hands skim down my hips, finding my thighs. I spread my legs, encouraging him to travel lower. A gasp rips from my throat as his fingers slip between my legs, teasing the very edge of my piercing. My eyelids flutter, and I’m leaning into him, relying on his support just to stay upright.
“Mmm, my beauty. Don’t tell me you’ve neglected yourself while I’ve been gone?”
Neglected… My brain spins, dizzy at the thought of fingering myself thinking of him. I hadn’t. Why? “You didn’t leave your toy for me,” I confess. “I don’t like to tease myself when I know waiting for the real deal will feel so much better.”
He murmurs his approval, sliding a finger between my folds, tempting me with the promise of fullness. I spin around to face him, snatching at his collar. Logic can wait. He’s right—I need this. Him. All of him.
Desperate, I rub my hips shamelessly against his thigh, teasing a groan from his throat.
“Still so insatiable…” He guides me backward, letting me fall onto the mattress. I spread my legs for him, gasping as he cups me, encouraging me rock against his palm.
“You find pleasure in this?” he whispers as my eyes threaten to roll.
His voice does something to me, triggering an avalanche of emotions, too overwhelming to resist. My lips part, the truth spilling out before I can stop myself, “I find pleasure in you.”
“Prove it,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck, nipping intermittently with his teeth. “Show me how badly you crave this.”
He bucks his hips, letting his cock graze my inner thigh.
How much do I crave him? Enough to lose my mind. Enough to forget my boundaries.
Enough to lose myself.
Enough to drown.
Chapter Seventeen
I wake up utterly content. Rolling onto my back, I open my eyes to a room filled with sunshine and the pleasant weight of Vadim’s arm over my waist. I nestle into him, so relaxed that I almost miss the tiny figure standing at the end of our bed, watching us.
Puzzled, I blink, but the intruder doesn’t disappear. In fact…
As my brain wakes up, more of her expression comes into painfully sharp focus.
“M-Magda!” I lurch upright, clutching the sheet over my front. Beside me, Vadim stirs, still asleep. “What is it, honey?”
She frowns, crossing her arms over her nightgown, her glare accusatory. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“Huh?” I glance at the clock, surprised to find that it’s nearly noon. Though, after last night, it honestly is no shock. Even Vadim’s still out. Turning to Magda, I can’t escape a wave of guilt as every real-world concern comes slamming back to the forefront. Her supposed mother. Her father’s demands. The fact that I’m naked.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?” I ask her, clutching the sheet even tighter.
She shakes her head, and I scramble to the edge of the mattress. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
The second she leaves, I dart into the bathroom and change in record time. When I scramble into Magda’s room, she’s still wearing her pajamas. After muscling her into the bathroom, I lay out a fresh set of clothing on her bed. Only then do I stop to realize what I’m doing.
Coddling her? Or maybe there’s a worse word for it in this context…
Mothering her.
Mrs. Robinson eat your heart out. It seems the
busybody was wrong about Magdalene in more ways than one. Though…she was independent her first few days here, dressing without prompting. I sense this new insistence on having me assist her has nothing to do with laziness. Oh God, I think it’s deeper than that. More terrifying than that.
Did the Robinsons ever attempt to do this for her? Did the mother even try to tuck her in and lay out her clothing? Something tells me no. Am I making a huge mistake by letting her get accustomed to this? To me?
“I can’t wear that without pants,” Magda says from the doorway of her bathroom, seemingly amused by the fact that I’ve only placed a yellow cashmere sweater on her bed and nothing else. She giggles—a sound so rare and fleeting that I promptly squash my doubts and force a grin.
“Right you are, smarty pants. But let’s try a skirt today instead?” I pick out a tan tweed one and a baby blue headband. Once dressed, she hops onto the end of the bed, and I heed my cue, settling in to brush and braid her hair, securing it with a length of yellow ribbon.
Downstairs, I make her a bowl of cereal and warm up a piece of toast for Vadim, who stumbles downstairs not long after. I can tell that he showered, throwing on a pair of sweats in lieu of a suit. Looking beautifully dazed, he rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and once again, his thoughts are easier to read than ever. Like the fact that he’s alarmed for one, unnerved at having slept for so long.
“Your food, good sir.” I place a plate in front of him and feel my toes curl at the gracious look he shoots me. Damn. Boundaries are important—if only he didn’t make domestic life so damn appealing to imitate.
But weddings can’t be faked as easily as marriages can.
“Tiffany,” Magda says after a bite of cereal. “Can we play Monopoly?”
“Yes, honey,” I reply absently as I return to the counter and grab myself a croissant from Ena’s customary breakfast basket.
“And can we go see my pony?”
“Yes, honey.”
“And can we go in the boat?”
I frown at the prospect. “Only if Mr. Ena agrees to take us.”
“I can take you,” Vadim pitches in, his tone cautious. I glance over my shoulder and discover that his wariness is for a good reason. Magda’s pleasant expression promptly sours.
“I don’t want to go on the boat anymore,” she declares, her tone an icy imitation of his cruelest drawl. Embodying his standoffish talent, she pushes back from the table and grabs It by his head, letting him dangle from her hand as she marches from the kitchen, presumably upstairs.
“Give her time,” I warn him. Sure enough, when I turn around, he’s frowning, his gaze distant.
“How could I be so foolish?”
“You were still worried about her,” I point out. “She’ll get over it. And…” I weigh my next words carefully and decide that they’re relevant. “If you let her play with Ainsley again, she’ll forgive you a lot faster.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting bribery?”
I shrug and hold up my hands defensively. “What you call bribery, I call ‘attending to her needs.’ She’s lonely. What will a little playdate hurt?”
“Try telling that to Maxim,” he counters gruffly. “I’m sure he’s convinced himself that I am Magdalene, playing dress-up in a child suit by now.”
I have to snort at that, seriousness aside. “Save your feud with your brother for another day. As for now, give Magda time. You can start with not letting her scare you off. Take us on the water today.”
“Will I be rewarded for being a good captain?” he wonders, his voice husky.
My cheeks catch fire, and it takes everything I have not to retort with something equally suggestive. “No sex talk around innocent ears,” I warn, waggling my finger. “And we really need to come up with some kind of schedule or safe word if Magda is in the house. I’d rather not be startled awake in post-coital bliss by a seven-year-old again.”
“Point taken. You go grab her, and I’ll get the boat ready.”
Vadim has an expert poker face when he wants to. His invisible wall can seem insurmountable, and I never want to taste a fraction of the wrath he directs Maxim’s way.
Magda inherited all of his skills of icy brooding and then some.
She scowls during the entire boat ride, letting her guise slack only in the rare moments when she thinks no one is watching. Only then does awe peek through her icy exterior, triggered by some aspect of the scenery or another. The property itself really is beautiful—a paradise nestled in the shadow of the sprawling metropolis that is Fair Haven. There are so many ways for Vadim to enhance the place, creating an oasis for Magda to thrive in.
That is, if she’ll let him.
She maintains her stony silence when we return to the house for dinner. When I grab the Monopoly box, she crosses her arms and storms upstairs once it’s clear that Vadim plans to participate.
“I’ll go get her,” I volunteer with a sigh. But Vadim rises to his feet, passing me.
“No. I will.”
I swallow hard and follow him up to her room. She’s stewing on the bed, and her glare darkens when she sees him.
“We should talk,” he says, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. I promised you I would take you riding. I should have upheld that promise. You have every right to be upset with me.”
“Why?” Magda demands. I flinch at the venom in her tone.
“Because I want you to trust me,” Vadim says firmly.
“Trust you?” she scoffs, her tiny body radiating with increasing fury. “I hate you!”
“Magda!” I step forward, but Vadim raises his hand, and I stop short.
“Why?” he asks. “You have every right to hate me, but I would like to know why.” His tone is so unnervingly gentle. She can’t resist it.
“Why? Because you’re a liar!” She lurches to her feet. Even while standing on the bed, she barely manages to tower above him. “I’m not stupid!” she shrieks, her voice losing any aspect of maturity. In this moment, she is all of seven. A hurt, brooding, wounded seven.
“I’m not stupid! I’m not!” She brandishes It by his floppy head, his body jerking wildly.
“Of course, you’re not,” Vadim murmurs. “I know that—”
“No, you don’t!” She grasps It’s body in one hand and brutally rips off his head with the other. The violence is tempered only by the tears spilling down her cheeks. She throws the bear’s head aside and plunges her hand into its limp body—but rather than stuffing, she withdraws a folded slip of paper. “I know who you are,” she says, sobbing openly. “I know! I saw papers in Mr. Robinson’s office. Money that he got from some stupid company. I googled it, and I saw your picture.” She throws the slip of paper at Vadim.
His fingers shake as he unfurls it, revealing a faded printed photo of him in business attire.
“I waited for you,” Magda snarls, her body heaving, her voice hitching. “I waited and waited and waited! You never came! You left me there! You left me with those people!” She puffs up, her face red, her expression so broken an answering tear falls down my cheek before I can wipe it away. “You didn’t want me,” she wails, pointing at him. “You didn’t want me—”
“I wanted you.” Vadim’s tone is so fierce she falls silent in the face of it, her tiny shoulders slumping. I don’t know who initiates the contact, but the next second, she’s in his arms, her face in his chest, his fingers in her hair, loosening her braid. “More than anything,” he grates against her scalp. “I wanted you...”
I back away the second Magda’s tiny hands clutch him in return, sensing the need to make my exit. Downstairs I try to distract myself by cleaning up the table and the dirty dishes. Eventually, I wind up nursing a glass of wine, contemplating running.
This is best for everyone, right? A father and daughter reunited—no more need for an interloper…
After over an hour, I risk creeping up the stairs. A soothing, deep hum drifts from Magda’s room. Sing
ing? Yes. God, I recognize the rasping, haunting voice as Vadim’s. He has her sleeping in his arms, rocking her as he sings the same song he must have while she was in the hospital.
My heart aches as I leave them be and crawl into bed alone.
If I were a better woman, I would gather my things and leave now. Let them rebuild their bond in peace. It might hurt in the short-term, but in the long-term, they’d be better off. They belonged together—without me.
But as the minutes tick by, I don’t get up.
I never pack my things.
I never leave.
Chapter Eighteen
I wake up, alarmed to realize that Vadim isn’t beside me. Judging from the state of the sheets, he never came to bed during the entire night, either. When I venture down the hall, my alarm eases. I find him still in Magda’s room, in the same position I’d left them in last night.
His eyes meet mine tiredly as she slumbers in his arms, her head propped against his shoulder.
Again, I retreat and shower, taking my time. I get dressed, and when I finally reemerge, Magda’s room is empty. I head downstairs, but they aren’t in the kitchen either. Or on the terrace.
Confused, I wander the rest of the downstairs level, only to run into a scowling Ena when I reach the front door.
“Horse,” he grunts, though I sense he regrets telling me even that much.
I head out to the stables. Sure enough, the beautiful Zzazza is in one of the fenced-in pastures, looking like something out of a fairytale. Riding her is Vadim, still in his rumpled sweats. Seated before him, in her riding outfit, helmet in place, is Magda. She sits stiffly as he murmurs instructions into her ear, explaining various aspects of riding.
But bit by bit, she obeys his gentle suggestions, adjusting her grip on the reigns. And every now again, her eyes dart to him for approval—which she finds every single time.
My chest aches as I creep to the fence and watch them. It’s a night and day contrast to yesterday. They both look relaxed, for one, their expressions neutral. Still hesitant in some ways, but it’s progress.
