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“That doesn’t make me a saint. I once hid in the bathroom because he asked the same question countless times.”
Alexei looks at me.
“I’ve given him crackers for dinner after a sixteen-hour shift. I’ve pretended not to hear him call because I needed a minute without anyone touching me, then hated myself before the minute ended.”
The strain around his eyes eases.
“That’s parenting,” I say. “You won’t enjoy every minute. You get tired, you get angry, and then you go back.”
“What if I don’t go back soon enough?”
“You chose the strawberry lamp because he likes strawberries, and when he asked for the moon again, you simply changed it. You read the bear book until you knew where every bird belonged.”
He pushes his wet hair from his forehead. “You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t. You do it anyway.”
For several seconds, we hear only the quiet movement of the pool.
“I remembered you after the gala,” I say. “I didn’t remember Alexei Orlov. I remembered the man who knelt to remove my shoes, laughed when the champagne bucket fell, and made me answer before he touched me.”
His eyes settle on my face.
“I hated learning who you were because I still wanted that man. I was pregnant and terrified, and I wanted Misha’s father to be the man from the hotel, not the name I found online.”
“I was both.”
“I know that now.” I tighten my hold on his hand. “I remembered your hands while I told myself I’d done the right thing. I’d look at Misha and see your eyes, then lie awake furious because I missed you.”
Alexei pulls me to my feet. His bare chest meets my sweater and his hand closes around my waist.
I reach for the hem of my sweater and drag it over my head.
His gaze drops.
“Vera.”
I let the sweater fall onto the dry stone, unclasp my bra, and drop it beside the sweater. I open my trousers and push them down with my underwear.
“Stop thinking,” I say, stepping away from him. “Come and get me.”
24
ALEXEI
“Stop thinking,” Vera says as she steps away from me. “Come and get me.”
Her trousers fall beside her sweater, and she stands naked beneath the soft pool lights. Her waist curves sharply before widening into full hips, and dark hair covers the space between her thighs. One hand rests there, hiding almost nothing.
I reach for her, but she smiles and steps back.
She moves toward the private changing suite beside the pool, keeping to the dry stone while water gleams across the deck. Her eyes stay on mine as she checks that I’m following without pushing my injured leg.
I go after her.
The suite is warm, and a padded bench wide enough for two stands against one wall. A shower waits behind frosted glass, but Vera ignores it. She closes the door, turns the lock, and takes my hand.
I stare.
