Page 33 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

That was news to Vaslav. In all the research Igor had managed to do on the Avdonin family, a private lake property wasn’t one of the things to come up. Then again, if one looked on the deed of Vaslav’s home and property, there wasn’t any mention of a guesthouse, either. On purpose, of course. What people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“Ah,” Vaslav grunted, letting his first swing of the mallet come down hard on the flat end of the post. His companion remained silent and pensive while Vaslav worked on getting the post in. After he finished, the stake took an extra couple of whacks to get past a difficult section of hard-packed ground, Demyan still hadn’t moved to continue working. “Are we working, or talking?”

That caught the man’s attention.

“It’s not like you offer breaks,” came the retort.

It wasn’t even a hot one.

Vaslav barked a laugh. Those words coming from the same man who had already been shirtless and halfway through what remained of the posts before seven in the morning was a joke. “Let’s not pretend like you don’t like the work, comrade. You were the one up before the sun was to pound these in. I hadn’t even got down here yet, hmm?”

“A fair point.”

He thought so.

Still, the man didn’t move. Demyan had little to no interest in continuing the work of pounding in the last few stakes around the lake. In only a handful of days the two of them managed to surround the lake in the bare bones of what would become the fence. The project had started two years earlier when Vaslav began cutting trees and stripping the logs of bark to let them weather. That should have taken a year, at most.

Instead, it ended up being another.

The migraines kept him inside more often than they allowed him out. A shame, really, considering how much physical work helped Vaslav to deal with everything. From his constant, overwhelming emotions to the almost compulsive urges that rarely led him down beneficial paths, just getting outside to do something helped it all.

“What’s the problem?” he asked Demyan. Gesturing at the pile, Vaslav added, “We’re about done. I didn’t expect to get the perimeter of the lake done this fast. Either side of the road leading up to the house is next, yeah?”

Demyan squinted at him. “I’m not staying that long.”

“Good.”

That reply sent his companion's brow shooting up.

“You’re not a bad guest, though,” Vaslav added quickly.

Just so it was clear.

“I can’t say the same,” Demyan said, shrugging one bare shoulder as he reached for the gray button down he’d left hanging from the handle of a spaded shovel he’d stuck into the ground earlier. “You’re a terrible fucking host.”

“If you want a different reaction, then try a new action.”

Like not showing up without forewarning. Preferably, several months’ worth of notice. Not that he offered those details out loud. Demyan was a smart enough man to figure out all on his own why they were in the situation facing the two.

Demyan considered that for long enough that Vaslav figured work wasn’t going to continue anytime soon. He ended up using his last fence post as a resting spot for his arms while he stretched out the knots keeping his neck tight and tense.

“Why my daughter?”

“Did you love her mother?” Vaslav returned just as fast. “What was that like having a newborn in your arms as you stumbled into proper manhood while her mother’s body rotted?”

Demyan’s gaze snapped back to Vaslav’s in an instant, and he wasn’t shocked at all to find the fire staring back from Vera’s father. “That’s some nerve on you. How do you—”

“What, know that her biological mother is dead? That your wife is not her mother? Do you think she wouldn’t tell me those things?”

Not that it mattered.

Vaslav had the intel. Of course, Vera offered a personal perspective on the details of her very early life, but that didn’t factor into the question he posed to Demyan.

Through a clenching jaw, Demyan admitted, “To be honest, I don’t know anything she tells you. I barely even know what she thinks of you.”

Should that bother Vaslav?

It didn’t.