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But I’m determined to make the best of our situation. Because despite all the curve balls I’ve thrown his way, Gleb has continued to save my ass. He’s shown more genuine concern for me than any other man who’s passed through my life.
As I think of all he’s done for me over the years, my conviction to tell him about Gabby grows. He saved our lives—he’s saved mine alone more times than I can count. He’s promised me and my daughter his protection despite the risks. He’s shown Gabby such care and consideration without a second thought. Now, more than ever, I know he deserves the truth about his daughter.
Taking a deep breath, I start to formulate a plan.
“You want to help me do some cooking for dinner tonight, keiki?” I ask as Gabby forks a clumsy mouthful of eggs toward her mouth.
They topple off the tines back onto the plate as she turns to look at me. “What we make, Mama?”
“I don’t know just yet, but once we finish breakfast, we’ll see what we have to work with.”
“Okay!”
It’s an easy day, much like Gabby and I would get on my one day off from the burlesque lounge where I worked for the Kellys. We plan our cooking extravaganza, explore the house, and watch cartoons on Gleb’s massive eighty-inch TV—which occupies an entire wall of his living room. Then, we prepare a stir fry with ingredients from the fridge and pantry.
The sun sets, and as the night grows later, I debate whether I should text Gleb to find out when he’ll be home. I don’t want to nag him—especially after the brusque way he left this morning. But it’ll be Gabby’s bedtime soon.
I’d hoped to have a nice family dinner, then tuck her in for the evening before dropping my bomb on Gleb. But I don’t want to keep disrupting Gabby’s schedule if I can help it. She’s had such a trying week.
Finally, I decide to feed her and get her ready for bed.
By 10 p.m., Gabby’s sleeping soundly. That’s when my anxiety really kicks in. Gleb did say he’d be back today, didn’t he? Did he give me a time?
Not that I recall. But I got the impression that he would be home by now.
What if he decided to stay away after what happened last night?
I glance down at the satin tank-and-shorts sleepwear Silvia lent me—not provocative, but revealing enough that I might encourage a repeat of our wedding night tryst. Is it too much? Maybe he’s hoping I’ll already be in bed, so I won’t bother him.
I eye the food sitting on low heat on the stove. Maybe I should pack it up. But I would hate to put it in the fridge only to have him walk through the door.
My entire body jolts at the sound of a key sliding into a lock. Pressing my palm to my heart, I pad into the entryway to meet Gleb at the front door. I force a smile onto my face, ready to try again to remove the wedge I drove between us.
But as he steps inside, my heart comes to a shuddering stop.
Expression stone-cold, Gleb looks exhausted.
Emotion riots inside his green eyes, warning me that something’s wrong.
Then, as he shrugs out of his black leather biker’s jacket, I see the blood.
His dress shirt is soaked in it.
Violent crimson spatters covering his chest, his abdomen, and his jeans.
“Oh my god, Gleb!” I gasp, rushing forward as panic surges through me.
His eyes flash up to meet mine, taking me in all at once as he locks the door behind him.
“Are you hurt? Is that your blood?” Disregarding the mess, I tug on the buttons of his shirt in an attempt to uncover his injury.
Strong fingers grasp my wrists, pushing my hands away, and there’s no misinterpreting his body language as Gleb growls, “I’m fine. It’s not mine.”
Ice trickles through my veins at the anger in his tone, and I peer up at him through my lashes, suddenly nervous that I did something wrong.
“What happened?” I ask tentatively.
Following a few steps behind, I watch as Gleb tosses his jacket on the coat rack and heads toward his bedroom.
