Page 41 of Emerald Malice

He’s lying. This is some joke that I’m on the outside of, and I don’t like it one bit. “Right,” I say bitterly. “Because you’re just such a gentleman.”

He gets to his feet. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I do want to make sure you’re safe. If you want to go back to your apartment, I’ll allow it. But that requires certain compromises on your part.”

“Compromises…?” My throat is suddenly dry.

“You’re going to have security around the clock until I’ve determined that the danger has passed.” He continues right over the sound of my jaw hitting the floor. “I understand it’ll be overwhelming, which is why I’ll only assign two men to you.”

“Two?!”

“I will give you my personal contact number. If you need anything, just?—”

“I don’t need security guards, Andrey!” I say. “It’s too much. Not to mention an invasion of my privacy.”

“Privacy is the cost of safety. Unless you want to be caught in the crossfire again with no way to defend yourself.”

I stare at him, openmouthed and helpless. I would love to tell him I can take care of myself, but let’s face it: after my pitiful display at the clinic, even the voice in my head is like, Maybe bodyguards aren’t such a bad idea.

“Who were those men?”

“Men who will do anything to hurt me. And considering you’re carrying my child?—”

“They don’t know that.”

“Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. Either way, I’m not taking any chances.”

I have to remind myself that his investment in my safety isn’t personal. It’s about the child in my belly. Which only inspires more questions.

“So… does this mean you actually want to be involved in this baby’s life?”

His neatly arranged expression doesn’t waver. “Like I said, I’m not in the habit of running away from my responsibilities.”

“That’s the kind of answer a politician would give. Diplomatic and proper on the surface—but it doesn’t really answer the question, does it?” One corner of his mouth turns up and I charge on. “What kind of father do you plan to be? The kind who’s actively involved or the kind who sees their kid for fifteen minutes every other weekend before the nanny takes over again?”

He’s quiet and thoughtful for a while before he answers. “I hadn’t really thought about kids. Nor do I think I’ll be the perfect father. Far from it. But I didn’t have much of a father growing up; I want to do better for my child.”

As answers go, it’s not the worst one.

“So… co-parenting then?”

“That seems to be the only way forward.”

On the one hand, there’s intense and abject fear. On the other hand—unadulterated relief. I’m hoping neither one is visible on my face.

I look around the room. Pretty as it is, it’s not my space. Right now, I feel a desperate, clawing need to surround myself with familiar things.

“So… I’m free to go?”

“With two caveats.”

“Two other caveats, you mean. Bodyguards Uno and Dos count.”

He ignores the sarcasm. “You need to rest first. After a nap and a home-cooked meal, yes, you’re free to go.”

Just like his co-parenting answer, it could be much worse. Still, I’ll hold my applause.

“And caveat number two?”

“We keep your pregnancy under wraps for now.”

---