Page 158 of Sinful Blaze

“Pasha!” My mother wipes her hands on her apron and nudges Daphne toward me. “I hope you’re in the mood for pierogi. We’re trying to find comfort foods that agree with her tummy.”

“Solyanka sounded amazing until we popped the can of brined pickles,” Daphne explains as she slips into my arms, wrapping her own around my waist. It’s getting a little more challenging to do now that her womb is growing.

I give my mother a look over the top of Daphne’s head and murmur in Russian, “I need to speak to Daphne.”

Mama, to her credit, doesn’t press for details. She shucks her apron, kisses Daphne on the cheek, and slips away.

Daphne watches in confusion, saying nothing until we’re alone. Then she turns to me with a hesitant eyebrow raised. “Is something wrong?”

I sigh. “Brittany Cleary paid me a visit today. In my office. In what was basically themed lingerie.”

Daphne stiffens. Her face falls. “Oh.”

Fucking hell, I hate the sight of her looking so defeated. But I promised to be open with her, and this is how that looks. “Mak and Sofi were there the whole time. So was security, once we called them to escort her and her father out of the building.”

“Oh.” She busies herself with rolling out the dough Mama left behind. “That… sounds like quite a day.”

“How do you know her again? Aside from being Ewing’s side piece, of course.” I almost said whore, but I’m working on dishing out what I want my daughter to receive. Baby steps. Literally. “I got the impression there’s history there.”

Daphne scoffs. “Oh, yeah. There’s history.” When I motion for her to keep talking, she sighs. “Have you ever met one of those people who peaked in high school? And so, like, everything afterwards is compared to those four short years of mediocrity because nothing else could possibly be better?”

I chuckle bitterly. “My teenage years were a bit different than yours, I think. More blood. Less prom.”

“Right. I should’ve known. But, well… So, when it comes to Brittany…” Her hands go still, fingertips dotted white with flour. “It’s like she hit her peak in boarding school—before I enrolled. That part’s important. Because I was really friendly back in those days and I liked meeting new people. And I was a pretty good student, too. So once I arrived, she felt… threatened. Although honestly, I think the arrival of someone with a shred of human decency—not to gas myself up or anything—made other people realize just how much of a giant bitch she was.”

“Is,” I correct.

Daphne laughs. “You’re not wrong. But yeah, so—I got there, and everything became my fault. She swore up and down I was stealing from her, so she made it her mission to steal from me. My prom dates, my prom gowns. If I won an award, she had to win something bigger. When I landed my first job, she lied about my credentials and took it from me.”

“Looks like that trend has continued as well.” My fingers tighten on the edge of the marble counter in anger.

But I keep it in—for now. She needs my compassion, not my fury.

With a bob of her shoulder, Daphne continues. “You’re not wrong about that, either. And now, you know why she went after Conrad. It was never about him; she just wanted to make sure I couldn’t have any happiness in life, since it’s apparently my fault she’s so miserable.” Daphne slides her gaze toward me. “It’s why she threw herself at you. She knows you want me. She wants you to see she’s better.”

I snort a laugh. “Not even in her dreams.”

Daphne bites the corner of her lip. It’s gradual, but I can see her start to pull inward on herself. “It’s okay, you know.” Her words barely come out as a whisper.

“What is?”

“If… if you do want her. She is prettier, and?—”

I’m stunned into silence for a moment.

But only a moment.

Then I’m springing into action. I whirl Daphne around and pin her between my body and the island. The bag of flour gets knocked over and erupts everywhere, sending swirls of white powder cascading through the air like fresh snow. Daphne’s mouth has fallen open in a delicious O and I want to claim it—and heaven and hell and everything in between knows that I will, any second now—but first, I need her to understand what’s happening.

“I don’t ever want to hear you say some shit like that again,” I snarl.

Her jaw falls wider. “But I’m—I’m huge, and she’s beautiful and, and?—”

“You are pregnant with my child, plamya.” Drifting flour settles on the tip of her nose as I stare down at her. “Do you want to know what I was thinking when she sashayed into my office, wearing basically nothing?”

“I don’t think I want to?—”

“Not a goddamn thing. It meant nothing to me. You were all I could dream of, all I can dream of. You’re mine. My woman. My only woman. So Brittany and anyone else who thinks they can supplant you can all get fucked. I’ve chosen what I want, and she is standing in front of me, perfect and beautiful and un-fucking-deniable. I… I… Fuck, there aren’t even words for how much you mean to me, Daphne. I can only show you what you are.”

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