I glanced at Tikhon, who stood a few feet away.
“Oh, please.” Her expression was flat.“I don’t need abykiescort to pee.”
I reached for a cigarette from my breast pocket, allowing myself a smug grin. I didn’t need to remind her of the basement—her rosy cheeks spoke volumes.
She stood.
I considered giving her access to a credit card. She couldn’t wear dresses that clung to her like that. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass. Such a sweet little ass that was all mine.
Then I scanned the room and noted three men discreetly looking at my wife. Three. I lit the cigarette and looked at each of them in turn before waving Bogdan over.
It was entirely possible to live a long and productive life with only one eye.
The three tables were quickly cleared, fresh tablecloths added and glassware so clean it caught the spotlights and threw them back. This was the advantage of being the landlord to most of the city—a phone call, a name, a table that materialised as though it had always been waiting.
I lifted my glass and savoured the drink slowly before glancing out of the window. At this height Chernograd’s night lights spread out below like scattered stars—the port district, the cathedral, the dark line of the river cutting through it all. My city. Every light in it paying rent to me in one form or another.
Iskra had declined alcohol, even though a small amount was permissible during breastfeeding. Of course she had.
Tenacity. A forensic scientist’s brain. Beauty I didn’t like to share and hadn’t been able to replace with any of the women I’d tried. I felt deceived all over again—not by a lie exactly, but by the gap between the reluctant, biddable bride I had expected and the woman who had blown up my east wing, mapped a route through three continents, built a life in Istanbul and come back to Chernograd on her knees for her daughter without once losing the thing behind her eyes that made her dangerous.
Reluctant admiration forced itself upon me. I accepted it grudgingly, the way I accepted most things I hadn’t chosen.
She was a worthy opponent.
A flurry of blue from the corner of my eye and she was back—walking with the purposeful stride of a woman who had remembered how to move through a room. She glanced at the empty tables as she passed, clocking the cleared space the way she clocked everything, filing it without breaking stride.
Her skin was paler since Istanbul.
But the glow was back. And her head was high.
And for once I didn’t want to crush her like a bug beneath my shoe.
I took the last draw from my cigarette and crushed it on the plate.
Interesting.
Chapter 75
Iskra
The entire evening had been strange. Vadim was being courteous—making small talk, asking questions about me—as though he had decided to try a different approach and was executing it with the same controlled deliberateness he applied to everything else.
I fixed my hair and let it fall on either side of my face, covering some of my shoulders and chest. The dress was a size too small and bought before my pregnancies. I tugged at the neckline. It had been optimistic to think I could pull it off. I should have worn something more comfortable, and I would have eaten more if I had.
It wouldn’t be long before I would need maternity clothing.
This time I knew what to expect.
That familiar bubbling at the pit of my stomach made me smile despite everything. A brother or sister for Runa. Another small person arriving into this strange arrangement we were all living inside.
All of us in one room reminded me of sneaking into my parents’room as a child to play with Ruslan. But I couldn’t deny that Vadim was nothing like my father in that respect. He could be a little too involved at times—present in a way I hadn’t anticipated, attentive in a way I didn’t have a category for. I had put it down to him missing the first months of Runa’s life.
Despite myself, I felt guilty about that. Not for him. For Runa.
I thought of her delighted giggles the morning we woke to find her standing in her cot—body rigid with the effort of it, hands gripping the wooden bars, moving back and forth with an excitement that would have been jumping if her feet hadn’t been tangled in her blanket.
I had watched the shock cross Vadim’s face before he crossed the room to her—praising her, smothering her face with kisses, entirely undignified and entirely unaware of it. I was a little envious of my daughter. She got to slap his face repeatedly without consequence.
