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Gabby attempts to neatly tuck the pants into a corner. She manages to keep them stacked until she pulls her arms out of the drawer—at which point, the pants topple into a heap of colorful fabric. Smiling, I help her tidy them up before we dig back into the bag for a stack of shirts.
Silvia was more than generous in her donations, and Gabby’s eyes light up as we uncover some beautiful dresses for both her and me. My little girl has always loved colorful patterns—anything with flowers, really. And it would seem either Silvia is of the same mindset or she just knew what Gabby would enjoy.
We spend about ten minutes unpacking and another fifteen getting dressed, then we head out into the spacious main room of the two-bedroom condo. It must cost an arm and a leg to live here. From the high ceilings and large picture windows that look out on Central Park to the white marble kitchen countertops and hanging light fixtures that resemble glowing glass orbs, it’s immaculate.
Gabby’s eyes grow wide as she sees it all for the first time. This is the nicest place we’ve ever stayed in by far. It breaks my heart a little to know that, as Gleb’s daughter, this is the lifestyle Gabby should be entitled to, the home she deserves—one I’ve never been able to provide for her.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” I ask, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her tiny knuckles as she grips my middle and pointer fingers.
She puts her free thumb in her mouth and nods, her head swiveling slowly to take in every fine detail.
In the kitchen, she looks lost, unfamiliar with the layout or the fine-brushed silver bars that serve as handles for the cupboards. Kieri’s old dark-stained wood cabinets didn’t have handles, and I’m sure the sleek design of Gleb’s pristine white ones must look like some kind of futuristic puzzle to my little girl.
“Shall we look for breakfast ingredients?” I show her how to open the cabinets as I start with the tall one that looks like the pantry.
Hoisting her onto my hip, I shift items around as we dig for baking soda, flour, and sugar—none of which I can find.
“I don’t know, Gabby. Pancakes might be off the menu until we can go to the store.”
“Okay,” she agrees, her tone dipping with disappointment.
I open the fridge, praying Gleb actually has food on hand. The pantry didn’t help my optimism. But as soon as the cool air washes over us, relief floods me.
He might not have a lot of baking materials, but Gleb has an entire produce section in his fridge—fruits, vegetables, eggs, milk. Funny, but I never considered what kind of an eater Gleb might be. For all the time we’ve spent together, I’ve never seen him eat—except for at the restaurant where Pyotr and Silvia treated us to dinner last night after we got married.
Again, that gaping chasm between me and Gleb yawns before me. I wonder what it might take to actually know him—as a person, not just a brooding savior shrouded in mystery and burdened by my assumptions.
“How about some scrambled eggs with cheese?” I suggest, trying to make that sound as delicious as pancakes.
“Yeah!” Her smile is radiant as she peers into the fridge with me.
I don’t know how I got blessed with such an agreeable child. But I won’t stop counting my blessings.
“And maybe some fruit?” I open the fruit drawer and pull out an apple, handing it to Gabby before I go in for the box of strawberries.
Together, we whip up a healthy breakfast and head to the kitchen table to eat. Gleb doesn’t have a booster chair handy, so I keep Gabby on my lap, and we pick at the same plate.
My little girl is wonderfully cheerful. She’s talkative despite the danger and upheaval she’s endured lately—from having her life uprooted to surviving a high-speed chase, then sleeping in my hospital room with only Gleb to watch over her because I was in a coma for three days. And through it all, neither of them knew that Gleb is Gabby’s biological father.
I chew my lip as I consider what could have happened if I hadn’t woken from my comatose state. They might never have found out because I’m the only one who knows the truth. Guilt eats at my insides.
Seeing how good he is with Gabby, how drawn to him she is…
I don’t know where Gleb and I will end up. I try to think of any sign he’s given me that he might be happy in this marriage, but I can’t. Not since I agreed to marry Vincent Kelly.
That night, I watched Gleb walk out of my life for what I thought would be the last time. And though he came back for me and Gabby when I desperately needed his help, nothing between us feels the same. I killed whatever affection he might have felt for me when I chose Vincent Kelly.
Yesterday, when Gleb and I stood at the altar, he seemed more tortured than anything. Nothing about our half-baked wedding ceremony or the dinner that followed gives me hope that he wants to pursue a real relationship with me.
And his reluctance to sleep with me afterward only reinforces that fact. Though the sex last night was out of this world in my book, I practically had to coerce him into it. I wonder how quickly he slipped out of the room after I fell asleep.
It makes my heart throb to picture him lying there, just waiting for the opportunity.
And then this morning?
I might as well have been his secretary for all the intimacy we shared in our brief exchange. Then, he practically ran out the door to get away from me.
No, I don’t have high hopes that he’s ready to forgive me.
