I hold my hands out, surrendering to her. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”
My heart beats a handful of times through her indecision before her shoulders fall, despite herself, I think.
“Five minutes.”
I lead her to my room, the room we were sharing until a week ago. I can tell she hasn’t been sleeping in here while I’ve been gone.
I cross the room, tugging at my bow tie, threading my fingers through the fabric because it’s suddenly too tight, choking me. I flip the switch for the fireplace, and the flames jump to life, soundless, without logs, save for the soft hiss of the gas.
I pull off my dinner jacket, unbuttoning the top few buttons of the shirt before looking at Leah. She’s still standing near the doorway, unwilling to come in, watching me carefully as though she expects me to explode at any moment. Or maybe she just doesn’t know my next move. Neither do I. I rarely, if ever, feel this way, and my fingers find the buttons that keep my shirt cuffs closed for want of something to do with this unfamiliar nervous energy.
“Will you sit?” I ask, gesturing to the deep upholstered chairs around the fireplace.
“Four minutes,” Leah replies without moving from her place by the doorway.
“I don’t understand.” My voice is low, trying to rein in the anger and frustration, to find the words to bridge the chasm that has opened between us. “I thought tonight was what you wanted. You asked for more. You asked for a relationship. What I did tonight was for us, for our child. In my world, there are rules. There are expectations. When I claim something, it is absolute. There is no doubt, no weakness, no questioning. Is that not what you asked for?”
She shakes her head, a slow, deliberate movement. “You’re still not listening. You didn’t hear a word I said in the car, did you?”
“I’m trying to listen,” I snap. “You said words. You’ve said many words. I’ve done what you asked, and it’s still not good enough for you. I don’t know what you want, Leah.”
Anger gathers in her eyes like a brewing storm, and she takes a deep breath to release whatever tirade is building. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling, and she lets her head drop.
We remain like that, both of us where we are, an ocean between us. Downstairs, the grandfather clock in the entryway tolls two.
“Do you really not understand what I’m saying?” Leah asks. The fury has gone from her tone, replaced by an exhausted weariness.
Her gaze finally meets mine, and she’s so beautiful my heart aches. Those bright, hazel eyes set in that beautiful face that shows emotion so freely. I could stare at it for hours and watch emotions and thoughts cross her face. She looks like a dream tonight, wrapped in silk, organza, and Antonov blue. Locks of hair escaped to frame her face, her curves and her pregnancy on subtle display.
The sight brings out a fierce possessiveness in me, the desire to hold on and never let go, to keep the world from reaching this woman whom I love.
As though she can read my mind, Leah rolls her lips, an earnest light in her eyes. “Relationships aren’t possessive, Viktor. They’re not about control, or one person serving another, or how much one person can get from another—at least, not good relationships. Good relationships are a partnership. There’smutual respect and communication. I don’t care how much jewelry you can buy me, or if I get a fancy car, or if Eliza gets a million of those unicorns. What I care about is having someone by my side who supports me and loves me, who will stay there through thick and thin, who will cherish me without smothering me or expecting me to obey their every command. That’s not what love is.” Her voice hardens as she drives home her point. “I am not one of your Bratva members, and I won’t be treated like I am. Not from someone I’m supposed to be in a loving relationship with.”
I sigh, running a hand over my face. This is harder than any negotiation, any business deal. How do I make Leah understand? How do I explains to her that this possessiveness, this need to claim her, comes from a place of care, of the only kind of love I know how to give? Like my life, it’s not the soft, gentle thing she expects. It’s deeper, primal.
“I don’t know how to be soft,” I admit, the words foreign on my tongue. It’s a weakness, a vulnerability, neither of which I show. To do so in my world is to invite ruin and even death. “I don’t know how to give you what you want, the way you want it. My life isn’t simple. It isn’t quiet. Anything akin to softness was beaten out of me long ago. Love is not something you need to bepakhan; it’s dangerous, even deadly. You have to be hard, cold, without feeling, so you can do what must be done.”
“What happened to the man I met that day in Brooklyn? The one who stole my breath and then my heart? Where is he?” Leah asks, her voice soft.
“He’s the mask hiding the monster, Leah. I don’t know how to protect you, how to keep you safe if I’m not that monster. I don’t know how to be the man you need.” I sigh. “You’re carrying my child. That makes you a part of me. Part of my family. And myfamily is sacred—I will protect you, provide for you. I will give you everything.”
How can I tell her she and all the feelings she brings out in me, feelings of which I didn’t know I was capable, terrify me more than anything else in my life has? That I have to protect her, Eliza, and the baby, make sure they are safe, or I will go insane?
“Except yourself,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Except respect. Except trust.”
The accusation stabs me like a knife because it’s true. Trust is a luxury I cannot afford. Honesty is a risk. Allowing myself to care about someone so much, someone who can be used against me, or those feelings against me, is an enormous risk. But I want to. I want to try to be that man for her, for the baby, for Eliza.
I reach out. “I don’t know how to be the man you want, Leah. I don’t know how to have a relationship that isn’t superior to inferior, or a woman who only wants me for the status and the money, which suited me just fine until you came along. I give you diamonds because they’re solid. They’re real. They say what I cannot. Rather, I thought they were. And when I said, ‘I love you...’” I pause, the words catching in my throat. I’ve never felt this raw, this vulnerable, an emotion this strong and unfiltered. “I meant it. Perhaps I don't show it well because it's not a soft love. But it is real. And it is for you. And I am willing to learn.”
She looks at me, her eyes searching mine, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. Hope? Doubt? I can’t tell. Her silence stretches, and I wait. This is it—the raw truth, as much as I can give right now.
“Okay.”
It’s an odd answer, one I don’t quite understand. “Okay?”
“Okay. I get it,” Leah responds. “I get this is new for you, something you don’t know how to do. This whole thing is new for me, too, and I’m trying to figure out how to do it. How to be here with you. If you’re willing to try, so am I. Hopefully, we can meet somewhere in the middle.”
She gives me a small, tired smile, but it’s enough. Enough to tell me she won’t leave me in this moment, that I have a chance to do better; to remember she’s not my ex-wife, but the first woman I’ve ever truly loved. And I need to show her with more than just diamonds and frightening men in dark suits to protect her. I need to protect her heart, too, something only I can do.
