"No?" I set the notepad down and cross my arms. "You're refusing a salary increase and guaranteed housing?"
"I'm refusing on principle." Her chin lifts again, her defiance returning. "You can't just kidnap someone and then expect them to accept payment as though that makes it legitimate employment. I don't want your money, and I don't want to be here."
"Then you'll stay anyway without payment." I shrug and shake my head as my eyebrows rise. It makes no difference to me at all. "Either way, you're not leaving until I'm satisfied that Sasha is properly cared for and educated. You might as well take the money and make this easier on yourself."
"Make it easier on myself?" She takes a step toward me, anger flaring in her eyes again. "Nothing about this situation is easy! You've ripped me away from my life, my job, my home, and you're holding me here against my will! Money doesn't change that! Money doesn't make any of this acceptable!"
"Perhaps not." I meet her gaze and hold it. "We can fight about the morality of the situation all you want, but the reality is that neither of us is getting what we want right now, so we might as well find a way to make it work."
She opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again. I can see the internal struggle playing out across her face. "I don't want anything to do with you, Fyodor Gravitch—not your money, not your approval. I don't want to be part of whatever criminal enterprise you're running. The only reason I'm still here is because Sasha needs someone, and I can't abandon him to your care alone."
I find myself respecting her more for her honesty. She's not trying to manipulate or negotiate. She's simply stating her position. I push away from the desk and move toward her, watching the way she tenses but doesn't back away.
"Then we understand each other." I reach out and take her by the arm. "Come with me. I'll show you to your room."
She tries to pull away, but I maintain my grip and guide her toward the door. "I already have a room with Sasha…" Now she's whimpering. I get the sense I'm hurting her, but I don't loosen my hand.
"That's Sasha's room." I open the door and lead her down the hallway. "You'll have your own space now."
She stops resisting and walks beside me, though I can feel the tension radiating from her body. We walk the hallway toward the opposite wing of the house, passing closed doors and empty rooms, heading toward a bedroom at the end that's been unused for years. We're halfway down the hall when a door ahead of us opens and Sasha emerges. He's wearing new pajamas I had Lazar put in his drawers while we were being served dinner. He sees us and freezes and his eyes grow wide
I stop walking and release Noemi's arm. She immediately moves toward him, but I hold up my hand to stop her. "Wait."
She looks at me with surprise, but something in my expression makes her pause. I take a breath and crouch down, lowering myself to Sasha's eye level. The position feels awkward and unnatural, and I have to brace one hand against the wall to maintain my balance. Sasha stares at me with those wide, frightened eyes, and I can see his lower lip starting to tremble.
"I'm sorry I upset you at dinner." I don't believe I've ever given a true apology, so this feels very uncomfortable. "I should've told you about your mother differently. In a better way."
Sasha doesn't respond. He continues staring at me with that heartbreaking expression.
"I'm not good at this" —I gesture vaguely between us, trying to encompass everything I don't know how to articulate— "being a father, knowing what to say or how to say it. But I'm trying, and I'll keep trying, even when I get it wrong."
"You made me sad." Sasha's voice sounds so weak and cowardly, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting to it as I remember what Noemi said about nurturing.
"I know." I nod slowly. "And I'm sorry for that. Your mother dying is sad, and you're allowed to feel sad about it. I shouldn't have said it the way I did." I’m worlds away from the treatment I received when my father died. This is progress, right?
His eyes search my face, looking for something I'm not sure I can provide. Finally, he takes a small step forward, then another, until he's close enough that I could reach out and touch him. I stay still, letting him make the decision about proximity. His arms wrap around me tightly, and I feel my throat constrict.
"Mamochkatold me when someone is angry or sad, it's because they need love. And maybe we both just need love then." Sasha's words threaten to melt my heart. I place my hand on his back and hold my tongue because I have no clue what to say to him.
But I look up and see Noemi standing there with sadness in her eyes and her hand covering her mouth. God help me, I have to figure this out, and that insolent, beautiful woman may be the one to teach us both how to cohabitate without my hurting him.
"Go to bed now. You'll have studies tomorrow." I rise, and Sasha flicks a glance at Noemi before retreating into his room, which will remain unlocked for now.
I still don't think I can trust her, but my son can't get far on his own. I just hope I stop giving him reasons to want to leave.
10
NOEMI
Fyodor crouches down in front of Sasha, folding his large frame awkwardly as he tries to bring himself to the boy's level. His hand braces against the wall for balance, and there's something almost comical about seeing this imposing man struggle with the simple act of lowering himself to speak with a child. But what strikes me most isn't the physical awkwardness. It's the way his voice softens when he speaks, the rough edges still there but tempered with genuine effort.
At least he's trying now. I guess he's taking what I said to heart and now he wants to make this attempt at an apology. I almost whimper audibly when I see Sasha wrap his arms around Fyodor's neck. I have to turn away to blink back tears. Fyodor doesn't truly deserve that boy's kindness at all.
"Go to bed now. You'll have studies tomorrow," Fyodor says as he rises. Sasha glances at me quickly before rushing off to bed like the good little boy he is, and I stand there marveling at what just took place.
Maybe I'm just too tired to think clearly, but I truly believe Fyodor Gravitch is attempting to listen to my advice, which is far better than I thought him capable of. When he looks up at me, gesturing down the hallway, I'm grateful he no longer holds my arm in a vise.
We walk to the door at the end of the hallway, and he pushes it open to reveal a bedroom that's smaller than the guest room where Sasha sleeps but still spacious, with a queen bed covered in cream linens, a wooden dresser against one wall, and curtains pulled back from the window. An attached bathroom is visible through an open door on the right-hand side.
