A week later, we go on vacation.
This isn’t the place I had in mind when I suggested a retreat. In fact, it’s probably the last location I would’ve ever thought about.
But here we are.
In Russia.
I should’ve known that Adrian’s unpredictable nature would strike again.
He took us on a private flight to a house with a redbrick roof in the countryside with a smaller cottage situated beside it. It’s surrounded by miles of land, covered by snow that’s formed layer upon layer over other layers. Trees line the property, casting a cozy feel on the driveway that leads to the house. When Kolya drove us here, we barely saw any other houses on the way.
It’s not a surprise that Adrian wouldn’t take us to a place full of people. He’s too paranoid about security to ever do that, and in a way, I prefer less crowded areas, too. I never liked the outside world too much, even before I married him.
If I thought New York was cold, Russia is fucking freezing. We’re talking temperatures below zero. The only way I’m able to cross the distance from the car to the house is because Adrian carries an excited Jeremy with one arm and holds me close with the other.
Yan, Boris, Kolya, and two other guards escorted us. Yan insisted on coming, saying his injury is completely fine, and even though Kolya was against it, Adrian surprisingly allowed it. My friend said it’s because his boss wants to keep a closer eye on him.
As soon as we’re inside, I release a relieved breath. Warmth instantly seeps into my bones and chases away the merciless cold from outside. I honestly have great respect for people who survive such harsh winters year in and year out.
The place is fully heated and seems to have been already prepared for us. It’s small, cozy, and has a cottage-like feel to it. The dark wood flooring seems to be heated as well. A living area with large, mismatched sofas is just inside the entrance and across from what I assume is the kitchen. There are narrow wood stairs that lead to the second floor, where I’m guessing the bedrooms are located.
Adrian puts Jeremy down and our son sprints in different directions before he gawks at the snow from the glass door that opens up to the balcony. “Mommy! Can we make a snowman?”
The mere thought of going back into that cold makes me shudder.
“Not now, Malysh.” Adrian smiles at him. “There’s a storm coming tonight.”
“Then tomorrow?” Jer asks hopefully.
“Yes.”
“And you’ll join us, Papa?”
“I will.”
“Yay!” He jumps up and down, then runs straight to Adrian’s leg.
Kolya and Boris bring our bags inside and nod as they’re about to leave.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“The other cottage, Mrs. Volkov,” Kolya says.
“To stand guard,” Boris elaborates.
“Hell no! You’re not standing guard in this freezing cold.”
Adrian glares down at me and I glare right back. “What? Surely you’re not making them go outside when there’s a storm coming. They’ll freeze to death.”
“They will not,” he says with slight exasperation.
“Of course they will. Have you seen all the snow?”
“I have and so did they. We’re Russians, and we can handle the cold.”
“No.”
“No?” he repeats with clear skepticism, as if he doesn’t believe I just told him no in front of his men.
“Yes, no. This is supposed to be a vacation, not a way to test their endurance in the cold. Who would even reach us here?”
“You would be surprised,” Adrian says and nods at his guards, who nod back and leave.
“Come back for dinner,” I call after them. “Bring Yan and the others, too.”
They don’t show any sign of hearing me and continue on their way. As soon as the door closes behind them, Adrian towers over me, his face a mask of coldness that mirrors the outside. He speaks low enough that Jeremy—who’s preoccupied with running his toy soldier across the windowsill—doesn’t hear. “Don’t ever, and I mean ever, defy me in front of my men again unless you’re in the mood to be punished in their presence.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I shoot back in the same tone. “But I’ll not stand by as you torture them.”
“Feeling too attached to them, Lia?”
“Of course I do. I’ve known those men for six years, Adrian, and despite them being an extension of you, I’ve gotten used to them and I don’t wish any of them harm.”
“Careful, Lenochka,” he grinds out. “You’re tempting me to get rid of them.”
“You’re impossible, did you know that?”
“Not impossible, no. I’m merely possessive and have no control when it comes to you. I don’t like it when you speak of any other man.”
“How…am I even supposed to reply to that?”
“You’re not. Just don’t put any man before me.”
“I can’t just stop talking to or about other men.”
“Yes, you can.” He pauses. “Within reason.”
“You don’t even know the right definition of reason, Mr. Volkov.”
His lips twitch a little. “I can conjure it. Under the right circumstances.”
The sight of his smile always gets me in a better mood, no matter the subject, and I find myself mirroring it even as I shake my head.
“Mommy!” Jeremy tugs on my coat. “Did you bring my war zone?”
“I did.”
“Let’s build it!”
I groan and Adrian’s smile widens.
“Seems that your mother still hasn’t learned how to assemble your war zone, Malysh.”
“Hey, that’s not true!” I poke him. “Not everyone is good at that stuff.”
“Malysh and I are.” He lifts a grinning Jeremy in his arms. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Papa!”
He taps our son’s nose and he giggles. “Should we teach your mommy?”
“I don’t think she’ll ever learn, Papa.”
“Jer! You little traitor.”
He gives me a coy smile. “It’s okay, Mommy. You tell stories better than Papa.”
I place a hand at my hip. “I do a lot of things better than your papa.”
“Really?” Adrian’s voice drips with rare amusement. “Like what?”
“Like bathing Jer.”
“Papa does it well, too.”
“But I’m better.”
“No, Mommy. You’re the same.”
“I gave birth to you, Jer. Your papa didn’t.” I smirk at Adrian. Beat that, mister.
“But you did it together.” Jeremy frowns. “That’s why I have Mommy and Papa.”
“He just did something easy and I’m the one who was pregnant with you for nine months, then gave birth to you.”
“Something easy?” Adrian drawls.
“Shut up,” I whisper-hiss.
Jeremy stares between us, eyes widening like whenever he figures out something. “If it’s easy, do it again and give me a baby sister.”
“It’s not that easy,” I blurt.
“But you just said it is, Mommy. Can’t you do it again? I want a baby sister.” He pulls on Adrian’s coat. “Papa, please?”
“We’ll see, Malysh.”
“Yay!”
“We will?” I murmur.
“Why?” Adrian asks. “You don’t want to?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just…I never thought about it.” Well, that’s a lie. I have and I’ve often wondered why he’s never insisted on having another child or why he didn’t comment when I went back on birth control after Jeremy’s birth.
But I thought he only needed one heir and didn’t want to deal with another child.
“You can start now,” he says ever so casually, then addresses Jeremy. “Let’s build that war zone, Malysh.”
“Yes, Papa!”
I follow them into the living room, removing my coat on the way. Now that he’s planted the idea of another pregnancy in my mind, it’s the only thing I can think about.
Do I want another child?
The answer to that is so muddled by other facts, starting with who Adrian is and the many secrets that I’m still keeping from him. I’ll need to sort those out before I can even think about bringing another innocent existence into the equation.
Both father and son get busy building the war zone and I barely help. I really don’t like anything that has to do with assembling. My mind is simply not wired that way. However, I love being a part of this little family and having the privilege of watching Adrian and Jeremy up close and witnessing their bond.
It’s a subtle one, only visible when they’re doing an activity together, like right now. They’re both quiet and they understand each other without talking sometimes.
While Adrian is too busy to have a lot of time for Jeremy, he’s there when it matters. And our son is such an understanding angel. He never bothers Adrian or demands things from him. However, he always looks up to him and my husband is never too busy to look back.
The view of Adrian in his casual shirt and pants, muscles relaxed and face serene while holding Jer on his lap, is an experience. I love watching him this way, out of his office and away from his mafia business, and just…a father.
I could watch him like this for an eternity, even though I’m slightly jealous of the effortless connection he has with our son.
“Can you please give me that piece, Mommy?” Jeremy points at the one beside me.
I pass it to him and he grins, snuggling in Adrian’s lap. I continue observing them for a bit, fingering the Lego container. “Why did you bring us to Russia of all places?”
Adrian remains in his element, assembling a few pieces together. “Jeremy needed to come here sooner or later.”
“Any particular reason?”
“He’s Russian and needs more contact with his roots.” He turns Jeremy to face him. “Malysh, this is where your grandfather and ancestors were born. We come from Yaroslavl and have many generations. You’re the last member.”
Our son’s eyes widen. “I am?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
“He’s American-born,” I say.
“Doesn’t make him American.”
I roll my eyes but choose to probe instead of focusing on that. “Is that what your parents did to you, too?”
“Did what?”
“Bring you to Russia.”
His movements falter on a Lego piece and then he snaps it in place. “My father often brought me here, especially for Christmas.”
“How about your mother?”
“Not before she married my father.”
“Did you…come here with your stepmother?”
He nods once and I can see the shadow that darkens his expression whenever his past is brought up. “Remember when you asked me what the map of Russia tattoo means?”
I nod frantically. “You said it’s because of a vacation you were never able to have.”
“Yes. I was supposed to come here with Aunt Annika, but she passed away before I had the chance.”
“Is that why you brought us here?”
“Probably.” The word is quiet, low, as if it weighs on him.
I wrap my arm around his bicep and lean my head against the hard ridge of his muscles. “We’d never leave you, Adrian.”
He stares down at me with molten gray eyes. “Really?”
“I promise,” I murmur, then brush a quick kiss on his cheek.
Just when I pull back, he captures my lips in a slow, all-consuming kiss that steals my breath and apparently my logic, because for a brief second, I forget Jeremy is there.
I place a hand on his chest and push him away. He releases my lips with a low growl.
Jeremy stares at us with a grin, and even as my cheeks burn, I can’t help but grin back.
Because this moment? This peace? It feels like the beginning of our happiness.
If only the ghosts from the past don’t catch up to us.
