Page 23 of Sinful Bride

He looks over his shoulder at me. Does he think I’m hesitating because they’re my parents? If so, I’ve got two words for him: Fuck. That.

“What do you think should be done?” I ask him.

Pasha snorts. “You don’t want to know what I think.”

“Yes, I do.”

“They’re your parents. I?—”

“No, they’re not.” I hug a pillow to my lap so my fingers will stop trembling. I’m literally shaking with rage remembering what happened today. “Family protects family. We look out for each other. Stewart and Ophelia Hamish are not my family. They’re kidnappers, plain and simple. They tried to take our fucking baby. Were they arrested?”

Pasha gives me a single nod. There’s a fire in his eyes I am trying to ignore, but the way he’s looking at me encourages me to keep talking. To keep being honest about everything I’m feeling.

“I share DNA with those two people, and that’s where our connection ends.” I look into his eyes so he sees how dead serious about this I am being. “What kind of mother would I be if I just swept something like that under the rug? I want them gone. I want them to pay.”

I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever heard my voice sound this cold. This calculating. But if it’s what I need to be in order to protect my baby, then so be it.

Even if it scares me just a little.

“I want to file a police report and press charges. File for a restraining order, too. For me and Taty, and you if you feel like you need it.”

Pasha chuckles wryly. “They need it more for their own sake. But yes, I agree. To all of it. And it’s easily done, too. There are a dozen witnesses who don’t need to be bribed in order to share their testimonies regarding the kidnapping. They’ll do it for free after seeing me pull a baby out of a duffel bag.”

I feel nauseous. “I still can’t believe she did that.”

“Taty’s fine.” He smiles at her sleeping bundle. “She won’t remember any of this.”

I guess that should be comforting. I’d hate to think our daughter’s first memories of being alive would be traumatizing. Didn’t they think of that?

Ha. Of course not. Why would they? That would require putting someone else’s well-being in front of their own.

They’ve never shown a capacity for doing that. Ever.

Tears sting my eyes. I don’t want him to see me crumble and break like this, but I can’t help it. Fat droplets roll down my cheeks as I try to choke out, “I’m so sorry.”

Pasha frowns. “For what?”

“For… for… bringing them into your life.” I hug the pillow closer to my chest. “For allowing them anywhere near our daughter.”

I feel the mattress dip and creak beneath me. A warm, heavy arm slips around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. I don’t know what he’s doing, what this is… and I can’t afford to look into it too hard. My heart can’t take it.

But it does feel good. To have him here. To feel him holding me.

“I know you didn’t call them,” he says.

I blink up at him. “You do? I mean, of course I didn’t, but…”

But I thought you’d blame me for it anyway.

Pasha shakes his head. “First of all, when did you have the time? Second, I haven’t left your side for longer than a few minutes since I got here. And third…” He tips my face up to really look at me. “I know you, Daphne.”

Everything that pushed him away for that horrible week comes flooding back. I want him to know me, to believe he knows me, because he really does.

He must see the pain in my eyes, because it suddenly mirrors in his own. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. I saw it. I know I did.

He lowers his fingers from my chin and looks away, but he doesn’t stop holding me. “You were right.” He takes my hand in his and stares at it absentmindedly. I try to hide the shiver he sends through me—the good kind—when his thumb strokes over my fingers. “You never actually lied to me. Not even about your name.”

“But—”

---