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“Unfortunately.” She shudders. “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I never liked the woman. I know it was all for business purposes, but I still couldn’t understand why Arsen was with her. But you? That makes perfect sense.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me. “Arsen told me about you, but he didn’t mention what a beauty you are.”
I choke on my tea—it’s been eight months since I had coffee, and I still haven’t quite gotten used to this watered-down garbage replacement. “Arsen and I aren’t together. It’s just— We’re— Well, it’s complicated.”
She waves me off. “I know all about your arrangement, Laila. You don’t have to keep any secrets from me.”
I do a confused double-take. She knows all about our deal, but she’s still looking at me like I’m in a gown and veil already?
One of us is confused, and I don’t think it’s me.
“Speaking of secrets,” I say, changing the subject, “my mom doesnotknow all about mine and Arsen’s arrangement. She thinks that Arsen is going to be the adoptive father of my baby. She doesn’t know he’s the biological father.”
Polina frowns. “When are you planning to tell her the truth?”
“Never, if I can help it.” Guilt twists in my stomach and hot tears sting in the corners of my eyes. “I don’t want to tell her that I’m selling my daughter.”
Polina doesn’t miss a thing. She grabs my hand. “That’s not what you’re doing, Laila.”
“It is exactlywhat I’m doing,” I say. “I knew what I was doing when I signed that contract, but my mom needs the money. I want her to be comfortable, and I don’t want her to know what I had to do to make that happen.”
Polina pats my shoulder. “You’re a wonderful daughter, Laila.”
“Just not a very good mother,” I mutter back.
18
LAILA
When Polina told me to make myself at home, I’m not sure this is what she meant.
But what’s the point of being borderline kidnapped and forced to live in Arsen Adamov’s house if I can’t snoop a little? I deserve to poke at some of the skeletons in his closet. Or, well, maybe not “deserve,” but more like…
Look, I’m just gonna. That’s all.
Now that I’m here, though, eyeing the locked cabinet in front of me, I’m a little less gung-ho about that decision. I don’t know how comfortable I am with the idea of actual blood and gore and the bones of his enemies stashed out of sight. If I’m traumatized by uncovering real, literal skeletons, I have no one to blame but myself.
So far, though, most of Arsen’s office has been surprisingly innocuous. Leather-bound books, an Old World hand-stitched globe, a bar cart loaded with a vast collection of whiskey bottles—just in case there were any doubts about exactly whose space I’m in.
“If he didn’t want people in his office, he’d keep it locked,” I mumble to myself, inching closer towards the cabinet.
My fingers wrap around the handle… just as my phone buzzes.
I leap back like the skeletons inside are coming for me and grab my phone. As soon as I do, I think the bone army might’ve been the safer choice.
DEADBEAT DAD:hey kiddo hows it going. u hvnt been returning my calls.
I’ve never returned his calls, but this is the first time he’s cared.
My fingers twitch with the desire to tell him exactly where he can shove his money-grubbing, fake-ass concern for me, but I control myself. For my mother’s sake, if nothing else.
He texts some more while I weigh out which of the polite iterations of “fuck off forever, please” to go with.
DEADBEAT DAD:i was in the neighbrh0od n thought id do a drive-by, see how Marie was doing, but no one seemed to be in.
DEADBEAT DAD:rly wanna see her. U too. jUst let me know good time. I bring those cream puffs u love.
I sigh. Reading Dad’s pidgin, just-discovered-texting-but-never-heard-of-grammar-or-capitalization messages gives me a headache without fail every single time. And beyond that—only Charles Barnes would think that making amends was as simple as showing up with cream puffs.
There’s never a good time to get swindled out of our money over some sweet treats.
