“As I said, wife and mother. Wife when other wives would be around—birthdays, holidays, and the like. Mother, full time. Other than that, you are free to do as you wish.”
It still sounds too easy. But there are bigger concerns. “And my mother?”
“She comes,” he says, like the question is insulting. “If that is what you want. I will set up an account for her, as well. You will want for nothing.”
“All of this sounds neat when you say it,” I tell him. “Then I think about putting my babies in a car with strangers, and neat disappears.”
“They won’t be strangers,” he says. He looks at Tanner and the other man. “Names.”
“Tanner,” the hulking one by the door says.
“Marcus,” says the other. He’s older than Tanner, hair too short, eyes steady.
“My men will escort us in my bullet-proof SUV to the compound.” He says it as fact, like there aren’t a thousand questions in my head.
My mother is watching him over the rim of her cup like she watched a contractor once when he said a repair would only take a day. She sets the cup down and stands. “If we go, we pack ourselves. No one rummages through drawers. We hand you what you carry.”
“Agreed,” Roman says immediately. He looks back to his men. “Do not touch anything unless asked. Help when asked.”
Tanner nods. Marcus nods. My shoulders loosen a fraction. Then they tighten again. “You don’t get todecidethis and have me say thank you like a good girl,” I tell Roman, because I’m not about to roll over for this. “You didn’t ask. You told.”
“I told because the time for asking is long past. I wasted that time. I won’t waste another night.”
Silence stretches, thin as a wire. Then Xander fusses, a small complaint with a big voice behind it. The sound snaps something in me back into place. The part that gets formula measured correctly and bottles rinsed and sleep found even when the world refuses.
“What do I pack?” I ask, because anger is a luxury and I don’t have time for luxuries.
“Three days of everything you can’t find in a store,” Roman says. “Documents. Medicine. Comfort things. The rest we will replace tomorrow.”
I move. My mother moves with me because we’ve done this before in other times—evictions, hospital bags, the kind of nightsthat sort people into those who panic and those who work. I go to the boys’ drawers and start with the ridiculous quantity of onesies small bodies require. Socks. The hat Yuri refuses and the one Xander tolerates. The soft blanket that calms them both. My mother grabs diapers because she knows how fast a day eats them.
“Bottles,” she says, and I’m already at the sink. The drying rack is full. I pack the clean ones and the brush. Formula goes in next. I toss in the baby wash because unfamiliar soap can start a rash and I don’t want to discover that at two in the morning in a new bathroom. My hands are steady.
My heart is not.
I stop long enough to text the office:Family emergency. Out tomorrow and likely the week. I’ll confirm as soon as I can.I could add details. I don’t. Mr. Kerr will bluster and then enjoy telling someone else to adjust a calendar. Work will survive without me.
I’m not sure about Roman’s “wife and mother” thing. Having no money of my own sounds like a recipe for disaster. No matter how appealing the thought is. Money with no strings attached sounds too good to be true.
Back in the main room, Roman has taken one step closer to the door like he’s holding a wall up with his shoulder. He watches without interfering. He doesn’t ask where anything is. He doesn’t tell me I’m packing wrong. It makes the packing easier to bear.
“Birth certificates?” he asks. “Insurance?”
“In the drawer,” I say, and I go to the narrow dresser by the door and pull the accordion folder that holds our lives. The paper feels thin in my hands. I slide the folder into my bag.
“What about the crib?” my mother asks, practical to the bone even now.
“You’ll have one there,” Roman says. “Two, actually.” He says it without looking at a phone, like he assumed we were coming the second he walked in and set men moving.
“And the stroller?” she asks.
“Marcus will carry it,” he says. “Or we can buy a second.”
“We’re not rich,” she says automatically.
“I am,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a boast. Just a simple statement of fact.
I pick up Yuri and he quiets. I turn back to Roman. “Ground rules.”
