9
FYODOR
Noemi is lucky I let her walk out of my dining room earlier. I never let anyone speak to me like that, and I only stopped myself from restraining her longer because she has a point. The only reason she's here is to help my son adjust, and I will be the first person to tell everyone I have no clue how to handle a child. They're small and fragile and weak, and I detest anything weak. But I know I have to learn to love this strange, smaller version of myself.
I scrub a hand down over my face as I pace my study and wait for Lazar to bring her to me. She may know more about raising children or at least educating them, but she can't speak to me that way ever again, especially not in front of my son. If we get that squared away, I think I'm capable of learning the proper way to speak to him and meet his needs. I'm not heartless, but I have standards.
When the door to my study opens, I pause for a moment and watch Noemi stumble in as if shoved by Lazar. Then he nods at me from the door and shuts it. I have no interest in wasting timeon a huge conversation. I have to leave town soon and I just want to make sure she follows my rules while I'm out.
"We need to discuss the arrangements going forward," I tell her, as if she hasn't already figured out that I am a picky man with strict rules. "I haven't yet given you instructions for how this situation will work, and that needs to be addressed before things get out of hand."
"Instructions?" She repeats the word with obvious disdain. "You mean rules for how I'm supposed to behave while being held prisoner in your house against my will?" Noemi's tone is sharp, probably somewhat called for. But I don’t care for it.
"Call it what you want, but there are expectations that need to be clear." I walk to my desk and lean against it, crossing my arms over my chest to look down my nose at her. "I have business that requires me to leave this house periodically, sometimes for days at a time. When I'm gone, you'll be under guard, but I need to know you'll follow certain guidelines."
"Guidelines." Another bitter repetition again with a scoff and a head shake this time. "Let me guess, don't try to escape, don't call the police, don't tell anyone what's happening here?" The hostility in her expression makes her ugly, which is a shame because she's a striking woman, even disheveled and dirty.
"Those would be the basics, yes." I watch her face carefully, looking for any sign that she's actually listening beneath the anger. "But there are other things as well. Sasha needs structure and routine. He needs education and stability. That's your job while you're here."
Noemi sighs hard and says, "My job is to be a teacher at a school, not to be a captive governess for a man who doesn't know the first thing about compassion or basic human decency."
I hold back my anger that wants to lash out. "I have no clue what I'm doing with a kid. That's why you’re here." I can't stop my arms from gesturing while I speak. "What more do you want from me?"
"I want you to care about him!" Her tone is filled with raw emotion. "I want you to look at that frightened little boy and feel something other than inconvenience! He just lost his mother, and you just blurted that out over dinner."
"He asked a direct question, and I gave him a direct answer." I push away from the desk and take a step toward her. "What was I supposed to do, coddle him? Lie to him? He needed to know the truth."
"He needed comfort!" She moves toward me as well, closing the distance until we're standing close enough that I can see the tears gathering in her eyes. "He needed someone to hold him and tell him it's going to be alright. Children aren't soldiers, Fyodor! They need gentleness and patience and love, or they turn into monsters like you!"
My temper explodes, but instead of striking her the way she did me, I curl my hands into fists and channel it into a gravelly tone, which I turn on her. "If I coddle him, he'll be weak and unable to handle the realities of the world he's been born into. Is that what you want? For him to be defenseless?"
"I want him to be happy!" Her voice cracks and when she blinks, tears come out, streaming down her cheeks. "I want him to have a childhood where he feels safe and loved and protected, not onewhere his own father treats him like a mission. You're no good for him if you're going to make him into a version of yourself!"
I wince inwardly but don't allow my intense anger to taint my expression at all. Perhaps my son isn't a coward or weakling like I thought. He requested this woman, specifically, and she has the biggest balls of any person I've ever met to continuously speak to me like this without fear. She's perfect for this task, whether I like her attitude or not. And it's only a bonus that she's beautiful and I get to admire that beauty.
"You're right," I mutter, eating my own anger like humble pie.
Noemi blinks a few times, clearly not expecting agreement. "What?"
"You're right." I repeat it more firmly this time, watching the confusion spread across her face. "If you have the nerve to stand up to me, to slap me and shout at me and refuse to back down even when you know I could make your life significantly more difficult, then you have exactly the kind of strength my son needs to learn from."
Her mouth opens, then closes again. She's speechless, all that righteous fury deflating into bewildered silence. A flush creeps up her neck and into her cheeks, turning her skin a deep pink that spreads all the way to the tips of her ears. She looks away, her hands unclenching and then clenching again as though she doesn't know what to do with them now that she's not actively fighting me.
It's intoxicating.
The sight of her flustered and off-balance does something unexpected to me. Watching her struggle to regain her composure as I speak plainly to her makes my body react.Putting her in her place angrily will never work. She must be coaxed like an aged brandy, and she'll sing beautifully for me.
"I don't understand." She finally manages to speak, though her voice is quieter now, less certain. "You're saying you want me to teach Sasha to stand up to you?"
I chuckle and turn away from her. "I'm saying I want you to teach him to be strong." I move back to my desk and lean against it again. "To have a backbone. To not let people push him around or make him feel small. It's what a man in my world needs to learn, and you're right—my harsh ways may only break him further instead of molding him into my image."
She's still staring at me with that bewildered expression, and I can see her trying to work through the logic of what I'm saying. Her fingers twist together in front of her, and she bites her lower lip in a gesture that draws my attention to her mouth. Her lips appear slightly chapped, perhaps from dehydration, and I think of how I should bring her balm for them, to keep them soft and supple, the way a woman should be.
"So, what are you proposing?" She's calmer now, sounding curious. It's a good position for her to be in. "That I just stay here indefinitely and raise your son for you?"
"I'm proposing that I pay you." I reach into my desk drawer and pull out a notepad, flipping to a blank page. "Whatever salary the school was paying you, I'll double it. Room and board included, of course, since you'll be living here. You'll have your own space, privacy when you need it, and full access to anything you require for educating Sasha."
She shakes her head before I even finish speaking. "No."
