“I used to think love was a weakness. My father drilled the idea into me. He was a good man, make no mistake, but he was hard. He had to be. He told me these words at a young age—'feel nothing, lose nothing.’”
“Yikes, that’s a little dark.”
“Maybe, but necessary. You don’t survive in this world by getting attached to anything or anyone. You’re nothing more than a conduit for the Bratva. You serveit, not the other way around. There’s no room for love when that’s the role into which you were born.”
I say nothing, letting him go on.
“Something changed that: you.”
My heart twinges. I don’t know what to say. Thankfully, he goes on.
“When you graduated from the University of Chicago, to be specific, I was there. I remember it well.”
“You’re kidding.”
He takes another bite, slowly chewing and swallowing, letting me take in his words. “Not at all. I’d made a bit of a rule for myself: not to get too involved in your life in person until you came to work for me, of course. That would merely complicate matters. But as time went on and your reputation for brilliance became impossible to ignore, I hadto at least see the beginning of what would certainly be an incredible adult life. So I watched you walk. Clapped politely for you.”
I don’t know what to say to this. “You were there?”
“I was there. And even though we hadn’t spoken a word to each other, I felt proud.” His brow crinkles in an odd way. He takes a sip of his water, bringing it to his lips with a slight quickness unusual for him.
“Now, you,” he says. “It’s only fair.”
“A truth?”
He purses his lips, giving the question some thought. “No, a fear.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “A fear? You mean other than some Bratva thug busting in here and icing me right in the middle of my dinner?”
A wry grin. “Something deeper than that, more existential.”
At first thought, the question seems like way too much, like something I’d need more than ten seconds to come up with. Then an answer occurs to me.
“I know. I’ve got a big one.”
“Tell me.” He’s not giving me an out. He wants to know more than anything.
I take a sip of my fizzy water, clear my throat, smooth the front of my dress for some reason, then start. “My fear is that this is all fake.”
He cocks his head to the side, genuinely confused. “Fake?”
“Fake, like everything I’ve done was done for me, that everything I’ve built—degree, job, even myself—was handed to me, that I’m not real without what you’ve done behind the scenes.”
Something strange flashes in his eyes. His hand moves toward me, making me tense, but he only places it over mine. It’s warm and rough and huge in that way I love, calming me instantly.
“Never think that, never. Everything you have, you’ve earned. If I weren’t pulling strings from the shadows, you would’ve pulled them yourself. I merely saved you the trouble. You’re brilliant. Never forget it.”
I don’t know what to say. We eat, and I soak in his words, letting them move through me. It’s a hell of a back and forth—finding out that my life was a lie, then a truth, then another lie, then a truth. Everything’s so goddamn disorienting. And the only steady feelings I have, the only truths I can count on, are my love for these babies inside me and my attraction to the man sitting across the table.
“I have a confession,” he says, his voice low.
“Oh no,” I reply. “Not sure I can handle any more bombshells tonight.”
A smirk. “This one’s a little less severe. I occasionally have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
Relief washes over me, and I laugh. “Alright. That’s the kind of revelation I can handle.”
“Maybe it’s a bit of an old-fashioned choice, but the lava cake here is quite nice. Shall I order one? Or two?”
