Page 3 of The Breath Before Forever

Especially not after the way Vaslav had visually approved of her choice and wedding dress at the altar.

Demyan, too close for Vera to ignore now, cleared his throat. “Are we dancing?”

Vaslav held on to Vera’s hand right down until only the tips of their fingers touched, before he finally let her go. “You are, comrade.”

Cheeky prick.

He knew good and well what he was doing.

Vera would play along.

For now.

“Yeah, Papa,” Vera said, turning with open arms ready for her father, “I think Hannah picked this one for us.”

*

Hannah was sweet enough to add a second song to the playlist that was geared toward a father and daughter that gave Vera extra time to linger close to the safety of her father wrapped in his hug. Her forehead rested against Demyan’s cheek while he regaled her with another of her childhood antics that had them both in stitches. Her favorite in the bunch so far. That one, in particular, was how she’d decided that her younger brother, Roman—the only biological child between her parents—would be allowed to stay as a part of their family. After his birth, of course.

“He wanted to come for this,” Demyan assured her.

For the fifth time. At least. He wasn’t the first—even Claire said the same thing.

Demyan also pulled rank. Roman, most times unpredictable even when on his best behaviour, couldn’t currently leave the country. He could, should his father want to take the risk of travelling his son with fake documents, but he opted not to.

She didn’t blame him. Demyan was already on Interpol’s watch list for more than a few reasons.

“I know,” Vera replied. And she did.

Her father’s sigh lasted just long enough to say he wasn’t particularly happy about it, though. Some things never changed ... or so she was told.

“I hope you know that I’m so happy you lived, Vera. That you got the chance when every card was stacked against you.”

With his hand still tucked in hers, she used them both to poke playfully at his chest, earning her laugh. “You had a lot to do with that, too, Papa,” she told him.

Lifting her head to see Demyan nod at her, she smiled wide.

“That, too, is true,” he said. “I guess.”

There was no guesswork to it. She lived, and he did everything he could to let her do it.

“I wouldn’t be me without you, in a way. I wouldn’t have been so willing to get out and live a life I wanted had you not expected me to; had you not taught me to.”

His eyes—Avdonin-blue as their family affectionately called it—the same as hers, softened. “I’ll be honest,” he said with a light chuff, “and say I did have a little hope that you might settle down closer to home. It would be easier to watch your family grow; I envisioned that, getting to do what my father did with me, but I know here is where you’re meant to be.”

That mattered more.

He didn’t need to say it.

“To be fair,” she said, trying to shrug the heavier emotions off her bare shoulders while also attempting not to burst her father’s bubble further, “there are no plans for ... growing, as you said.”

She didn’t come right out and say she had no intentions of giving Demyan grandchildren. Her statement should have been clear enough.

“Oh well,” was all he said.

Not oh-pause-well. No. Just oh well, no surprise at all, like it didn’t even make a difference.

Their slow waltz never missed a beat. His smile didn’t falter, either. Vera wouldn’t admit that his unconcerned response helped to ease the anxiety about her choice. She was a woman, after all—maybe she wondered if there was something about motherhood that she would miss out on. It still wasn’t quite enough to change her mind on the topic of kids, however. If the question needed a life-altering event to be answered, well that spoke for itself.