“For example, last month, my daughter, my best friend, and I went to the Smithsonian Folk Festival. We saw all different kinds of folk music and got to try all kinds of food. It was our vacation this summer, and we learned a lot and had a ton of fun.”
I smile, thinking about how much fun Eliza, Suzie, and I had together. We even splurged on an upscale hotel and ordered room service every morning, just because we could. Even amonth later, I still find myself going through the camera roll on my phone.
“So tell me about your daughter.”
A grin breaks out across my face. “She’s seven, in the second grade.”
One of Viktor’s eyebrow quirks. “I take it you're divorced, then?”
“No.” I might as well be honest. “She is the result of bad judgment on my part, but I don’t regret having her for a single second.”
Viktor doesn't say anything, and I reach for my glass of wine and take a long sip to steady myself.
“I was nineteen and in my first year of college. Her sperm donor took off as soon as I found out I was pregnant, and he hasn’t contacted me since, which is okay, because my daughter doesn't need someone in her life who doesn't want her. That's part of the reason I broke it off with my ex, too. He was in a car accident, and it changed his personality. I mean, who wouldn't have issues when they're paralyzed from the waist down?”
My run-on sentence and flood of information gets a reaction from Viktor, though I'm not sure how to read it. His attention on me sharpens, and he leans forward, his food entirely forgotten for a moment. I try not to shrink from the full weight of his attention.
“Paralyzed in a car accident?” There’s something cold to his voice, and I don’t know why.
“Yeah. It was really terrible.”
“And you left him when he needed you the most?”
There's an edge of judgment to Viktor’s pointed question, one that makes me want to recoil. And I do, sitting back against my chair and gripping my wine glass tightly.
“No, of course not. I stayed with him through the hospital, through physical therapy, through surgeries, through it all. I was right there with him. But he was so angry, as he had every right to be,” I add quickly. “But he took the anger out on me, and more importantly, he took it out on my daughter before admitting to me he’d always believed I loved her more and that she was coming between us. It's the same excuse he used when I found out he’d been cheating on me with the woman who died in the same accident.”
I down the glass of wine, wondering why the hell this story is coming out now. Isn't this six-month-in territory? It's certainly not first-date worthy. But I've already shot myself in the foot, so why not continue? This is officially the worst date in history after the worst day in history.
“They were having an affair. Actually, he'd been having affairs from the beginning of our relationship. He tried to blame me, saying I wasn't enough for him because I spent too much time with my daughter, so he had to find someone to satisfy his needs elsewhere.”
Even the exceptional wine feels like chalk on my tongue, turning sour with the remembered hurt. It's not like I hadn't suspected, but some part of me wanted to believe I was paranoid. I desperately wanted to believe a man I thought I loved so much would never hurt me like that.
“I guess, in the end, I didn't know him at all. The sweet, thoughtful guy I knew wasn’t real, and what was behind themask wasn’t someone I wanted in my life. I certainly didn't want my daughter around him. So I broke it off.”
I expect Viktor to get up from the table and leave. Instead, he regards me with a look of something akin to respect.
“I'm sorry.” The soft-spoken words surprise me, and my gaze flicks immediately to his face. However, I don't see frustration, disgust, or boredom; I only see understanding. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and force my hand away from my glass. “It was.” I sigh deeply, the wound that has never quite healed scraping against the rawness of the memories. “It was awful for me, but it was worse for my daughter. She didn't understand why we were leaving the only man she'd ever known as a father, even if he was pretty crappy at it, to be honest. I mean, how do you explain that to a little kid? I’d been so careful, too. I didn’t introduce them for almost a year, until I was sure he was it for me.
“He put on quite a show at first, pretending to be the Father of the Year with my daughter. Then he got bored, and I don't know for sure, but I think she's held onto a little bit of that, wondering why he wasn't interested in her after a while. That's what hurts most of all, that I involved my daughter and she got hurt, too.”
Now I do grab my wine, swallowing it to push down the lump of emotion forming in my throat. Viktor remains silent, but not in judgment. I still see the understanding in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, and I wonder if he's been through something similar.
“You do an admirable job with your daughter, I’m sure,” Viktor says, and I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“I'm really trying. It's honestly tough being a single mother, though I wouldn't change it for anything. I'm not going to make my kid pay for my mistakes. I brought her into this world, and I'm going to teach her how to be strong and give her the best life I possibly can.”
“Just that desire in and of itself tells me you're an incredible mother. It may surprise you, but not everyone shares your perspective. Some people see their children only as chess pieces to be used to further their ambitions.”
I think I’m a pretty good parent, even with the doubts, and I don't need the praise. But there's something about the way it comes from Viktor, with warmth, respect, and honesty, that sends it straight to my heart.
I smile, and he smiles, a breathtaking lift of his mouth that smooths those lines at either side of his mouth into one of the sexiest smiles I've ever seen.
Heat pools in my stomach, then lower, and it's not just the warmth of the restaurant and the open kitchen. As if he can sense it, Viktor’s eyes darken with a flame I can only read as desire.
More food comes out, more wine is poured, and dinner continues. But the heat doesn't stop. It crawls its way through my entire body, until I'm flushed with it, until I want to take an ice cube from my water and rub it on my neck just to get some relief. But an ice cube is not the relief my body craves.
