"I didn't." Igor spread his hands. "I just suggested that a savvy businessman wouldn't pass up an excellent partner."
"Igor."
"Your designs are excellent," he said earnestly. "I just helped him see the truth."
"But—"
"Elena." He moved to my desk, planting his hands on it and leaning in, effectively caging me. "You can be angry with me. Call me overbearing. But don't doubt your own abilities. Your work deserves the highest recognition."
My throat tightened. Damn it, why did he always know exactly how to hit my soft spots with just a few words?
"Thanks," I said finally, my voice a bit rough. "You remember what Stella said—tomorrow you're taking her to the amusement park."
Last night, Igor came over and cooked us a great dinner. When Stella called him Daddy, I saw his eyes mist over. She asked for Mom and Dad to take her to the amusement park this weekend. If it was reasonable, I wouldn't say no to Stella. Igor agreed right away, saying he'd be at the apartment bright and early.
"Of course I remember." Igor looked at me. "Honestly, I didn't expect Stella to accept me so quickly, to call me Daddy."
"Maybe it's the blood connection," I admitted. "But if you mess up down the line, Stella and I can kick you to the curb anytime."
"Then I'll have to be on my best behavior." He straightened up, a softness flashing in his eyes. He glanced at the time. "It's time to pick up Stella from school. Want to come?"
"Sure." I gathered my things. "But promise you won't intimidate the other parents. Last time you went, Stella's teacher said several single moms were asking about you."
"Jealous?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Shut up." I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, but I couldn't help smiling.
The next morning, I woke to Stella's cries.
"Mommy! Daddy ruined my hair!"
I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of the bedroom, only to see the funniest sight of my life.
Igor stood behind Stella, comb and hair ties in hand, staring intently at a video tutorial on his phone. My daughter's hair—oh God, it wasn't a braid at all. It looked more like a bird's nest ravaged by a tornado.
"This damn tutorial is useless," Igor muttered in Russian, then noticed me. "Good morning, Elena."
"Morning." I stifled a laugh as I approached. "What happened?"
"I wanted to braid Stella's hair," he said matter-of-factly. "It looked simple in the video."
Stella's hair stuck out like antennae, her lips in a pout. "It's not like the video, Mommy."
"It looks like a little monster." I took in the mess andfinally burst out laughing. Then I turned to Igor. "What tutorial were you following?"
"French braid," he said, handing me the comb with a serious expression. "It seemed elegant."
I laughed again. This man could disassemble a gun in five minutes, yet he was defeated by a child's hair.
"Alright, I'll take over." I knelt behind Stella and started undoing the pitiful ties. "You go make breakfast."
"I want to learn," Igor said, crouching down beside me, his eyes fixed on my hands. "So I can do it myself next time."
"Igor, it takes practice."
"I'll practice," he insisted. "Teach me."
So for the next twenty minutes, as I braided Stella's hair, I gave lessons to this over-six-foot mafia boss. He absorbed it all with utter seriousness.
