Page 35 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

A beat passed between them before Demyan finally, wisely, pulled his foot back from the fence post. He saw the defeat in the man’s eyes while he did it. His chest deflated as Demyan took another step back and scrubbed a hand down his throat.

Vaslav stood straight instead of picking up the fence post. His stance on whether or not Vera opened up to her father about the two of them remained the same, indifferent if she did, pleased should she not. The question Demyan posed to him, however, wasn’t quite the same.

“I need a wife,” Vaslav said simply; the only information on the topic he would give, frankly. His health and life, never mind the state of those things, was not Demyan’s business or concern. “And she will more than do.”

Demyan blinked between furrowed brows. “And what if she wants a marriage that isn't based on someone else’s needs?”

“Why else do people marry other than needing each other?”

In one way or another ...

“Because they want to?” Demyan returned.

“Who said anything about me not wanting to marry her?”

“You’re impossible to have a conversation with. Do you realize that?”

Vaslav stared hard at the man, but admitted, “It’s something I’ve been told.”

More than once.

That wasn’t what Demyan wanted to hear. A fuck this might have been muttered but Vaslav couldn’t be sure. Frustrated, he shook his head and waved a hand in Vaslav’s direction before spinning on his heels like he might head for the guesthouse.

“Hey, we’re doing a job here!” Vas shouted at his back.

The man stopped, his back tensing. It took Demyan more than a handful of seconds before he finally turned around to face Vaslav again.

“What?” Demyan snapped.

His unwanted guest looked as if he was two seconds away from crossing the space between the two of them and going around with Vaslav. On another day, hell, Vaslav might invite Demyan to attempt a fight. He towered over the over six-foot tall man by a good few inches, but they were of a similar age and build.

Demyan had a handful of years on Vas at fifty-three, but he bet the man wouldn’t hesitate to throw the first fist, either. He respected that about Vera’s father. Like the fact he respected Demyan’s ability to work for hours doing hard labor without complaint, and that up until this moment, the two really hadn’t needed to talk while doing it.

They should go back to that.

Soon.

“Spasibo,” Vaslav thanked his companion.

“What on earth are you thanking me for?”

“The help with the fence, for one. Having an extra pair of hands around this week motivated me to get it done since you seemed so inclined to get up at the crack of dawn and work with me.”

Demyan’s tight lips caused each of his words to be clipped when he replied, “It wasn’t exactly like you gave me anything else to do.”

Vaslav pretended like he didn’t hear that. “And for your daughter, thank you for her. She’s kind when she shouldn’t be; beautiful when she’s sad; and I haven’t found a part of her yet that I would change. While I believe a lot of what makes Vera who she is came from within herself, there’s probably a lot of it that also came from you.”

Clenching a fist at his side like he was trying to rid some of the tension there, Demyan glanced over the lake. “Why did you ask me that about her mother?”

“Gia, was it? Curiosity.”

“You could not point out things you know about me,” Demyan replied curtly.

“Now you know how it feels. Multiply that by about a thousand when someone does it to me. I react accordingly.”

“A lack of self-control is a poor excuse for drugging me because I knew my daughter was involved with a man like you.”

Vaslav didn’t see the problem. “But now we both know how to behave, no?”