Page 82 of Little Blue

I wonder, if I were to bolt right now, would he chase me?

Good Lord—why does the idea make me feel all warm and tingly and hopeful? What is wrong with me?

“Can I trust you with her, or do I need to call Mikhail?”

Tara returns Ilya’s glare with one of her own. “Do not threaten to kick me out of your home, Ilya Volkov. The world may think you heartless, but you’re my son. I raised you better than that.”

“Answer me,” Ilya responds coolly.

Tara sighs. “Of course, you can trust me with her.”

“Good.” Ilya stands. He’s hardly touched the bread on his plate or the coffee in his cup when he turns to me. “I have work.”

“Oh, I—” I get not another word out before his big hand is around the back of my neck, and he’s leaned down to cover my mouth with his. His kiss is entirely inappropriate in front of his mother, and even as I do my best to push him away, his invasion becomes deeper, more insistent, until I finally relent.

Only then, as my tongue swipes against his and his taste seeps deep to taunt my soul, does he pull away. He leaves the room then, leaving me utterly breathless, and entirely confused.

When I gather myself enough to lift my coffee and take a sip, Tara says, “They are not easy men to love. Volkov men are hard and ruthless. Ilya is even more so than Alexei. But I can tell you from experience, that if you let yourself love him, you won’t regret it.”

I’m silent for a long moment. Then, quietly, I ask, “How?”

“How, what?”

“How did you let yourself love Alexei after he stole you from your life? How were you able to forgive him so you could even get to that point?”

Tara sits back in her chair, her thoughts drifting behind the prison of dark, nearly black eyes. Ilya must have gotten his eyes from his father.

Finally, Tara says, “I was not easy for Alexei to win. I was younger than you are now, and not as mature as you clearly are.”

How does she know how old I am?

A grin slides across her lips, and as though she can read my thoughts, explains, “I may have interrogated everyone who would allow it last night, about you. I’ve learned enough to know that you haven’t been nearly as hard on Ilya as I’d been on Alexei.” She ponders those words a moment, and adds, “If I’m being honest, for you, that is probably best.”

“What does that mean?” My heart kicks. “If I’d been more difficult, he would have hurt me?”

“No, not hurt.”

My heart stills in my chest. “Did Alexei hurt you?”

Her smile softens as her eyes grow distant again. She’s thinking of the past—of her early days with her now husband. When she takes a deep breath, I brace myself. “Alexei took me when I was eighteen.” I nod, because she’d already told me as much. “Although I’d noted he was immensely handsome, and when I’d been serving him in my father’s café, I had been attracted to him—I admit he was much older than me.”

“How much older?”

Tara appraises me for a moment. “He was a year older than my own father.”

My mouth drops. “Wh—what?”

“When Alexei took me, he was forty-one years old.”

“That’s a twenty-three-year age gap!”

“It is.” She nods. She already knows, of course. “And there is a twenty-one-year age gap between you and Ilya.”

It’s just as bad, I know this logically, but somehow it seems less so.

“It’s wrong,” I blubber, more because I think I should than I feel the truth of the statement. Yes, there is something very wrong with me.

“Alexei was not a soft or patient man, but he tried to be with me. I did not make it easy for him, and he lost his temper more than once in return. But he never really hurt me. He did things he shouldn’t, of course. But he was, and is, a ruthless man. Ruthless men live by another code, one I did not—could not comprehend at the tender age of only eighteen.” She laughs. “I was, for lack of a better word, a brat.”

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