Not a single name jumped out at him, but recognition flickered—at some images more than others.He replaced the photos, confident these people were important to him.Bridget or the photographer must’ve followed him to snap these images.He glanced at the band on his ring finger.It was shiny and caught the light.It seemed new.If Bridget was his wife, why wasn’t she in his memory?Each figure in the photo was familiar, but not one of them was Bridget.
They weren’t sharing a room.The ring appeared new.The Smirnoff family members treated him like an interesting specimen.
He sat on the bed to wait for Bridget’s return.It was time for answers, and he hoped Bridget could help him.
Theskyhaddarkened,the clouds on the horizon turning black with the promise of a storm before Bridget arrived home.Mikhail had combed Bridget’s room and gone to his afternoon meeting with Smirnoff before returning to await his wife.
She’d told him she ran a business, so he doubted she’d spent the day shopping.Before he could build another head of steam, the bedroom door opened, and Bridget flicked on the light.She came to a dead halt on seeing him.
After a glance at the lock, she closed the door behind her.
“What do you mean by breaking into my room?My locked room.”Her brown eyes flashed as she glowered at him.Her gaze zapped to the folder of photos sitting on the bed at his side.“You’ve been poking around in my belongings.”
“Who are the people with me?”
Her chin lifted while defiance settled in her expression.
“Who is the woman?I know her but can’t remember her name.”
“I don’t know.”Honesty rang in her words.“Papa hasn’t learned her identity yet.”
“And the other people?”
“Gregory and Ivan—your school friends.The older gentleman is your grandfather, and the woman is your companion.Your mistress.”
Mikhail weighed her words, matching the names she mentioned with the photos.Her response struck him as true, but the information didn’t mean much to him.The knowledge didn’t stir a single memory from his sludgy brain.
His gaze swept her and settled on the sparkly engagement ring and wedding band.“We’re not truly married, are we?”
It was the only explanation that made sense.
The color fled her cheeks.“Yes, we are.”
“What date did we marry?”
“I told you we married six months ago.You could’ve asked anyone here.”
“The specific date,” he demanded.“Where is our marriage certificate?”He had a vague idea he’d seen one and recalled placing it in his pocket.Had that been six months ago?“Where was the ceremony held?Who married us?”
“Papa has the certificate in his office.”
“Why?”Mikhail fired back.“What date, Bridget?”
She stomped over to the bed and dropped the packages beside him.
“Bridget?”This time, he wanted answers.Definitive ones.
“I told Papa this wouldn’t work.”
“What wouldn’t work?”Mikhail demanded.
“Papa is determined that you’re the right person to take over from him.Pavel thinks it should be him.I wish Papa would consider me, but I’m a female, and my little brain can’t run a complicated business.”Bitterness coated her words, and a sense of hopelessness as if this were a sore subject.She sounded as if she’d given up on running the family business.
Mikhail pushed that aside.“What did you do to me?”
“I didn’t do anything except follow Papa’s orders.He’s convinced he can mold you into the son he has always wanted.”
“And that would be why Pavel keeps trying to kill me.”
