Page 24 of This Thing of Ours

Gabby looked up in surprise. “How’d you know I was talking about my dad’s mom?”

He looked at her stilled fingers before meeting her eyes. “You stopped picking, as if you didn’t want to harm it more because you know it can’t be replaced.”

He was far too observant. She needed to remember that. “She gave it to me the year she died. It was a present for my thirteenth birthday.”

“You’ve had it a long time.”

“Do you have anything from when you were little?”

He seemed to think about that for a minute, as if wondering how much he wanted to share. Or maybe he just didn’t remember whether he had anything.

“I have a picture of my mom.”

That surprised her. Didn’t he say she left when he was a baby?

“It’s old and faded and was the only picture my dad had of her. She was young in it. Younger than you are now. She was beautiful.”

She didn’t doubt that. For Marco to look the way he did, both his parents had to have been beautiful. “Do you look like her?”

Marco blinked, as if suddenly realizing how personal their conversation had become. “Derek’s real name is Dmitri.”

She’d let him change the subject and even went one step further. “His last name is Volkov.”

His eyes chilled. “How do you know that?”

Gabby’s fingers grew restless again, but this time she traced the pattern on the afghan instead of pulling at its threads. “I had the pleasure of meeting his father.”

“And he told you his name?”

“No. But while I was held…” She stopped, not wanting to talk about that part. “Let’s just say, I put two and two together.”

Marco stood. “Come lock up after me.”

Gabby’s head jerked up. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s late. You need your rest.”

As much as she’d wanted to be alone earlier, the thought of falling asleep and being vulnerable scared her now. “Will you… Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep,” she clarified when she saw his expression harden.

His head jerked down, and she took that for assent. Throwing off the blanket, she stood from the couch and made her way to the bedroom, happy when she felt his presence behind her and knew that he followed.

The bedroom was dark, but she didn’t turn on any lights. She knew her way to the bed and being part predator, figured Marco could see in the dark. She almost snorted at her thoughts. Marco would probably love that she thought that about him.

She crawled between the sheets and heard a loud thud—which sounded suspiciously like a gun hitting her nightstand—before she felt the bed dip, then movement as Marco settled back against the headboard. She lay facing him, barely seeing his large shadow, one of her arms tucked under her pillow, the other clutching the covers under her chin.

“Will you tell me another story?” she asked drowsily. “Something that ends happily, this time.”

“Don’t have too many of those, streghetta.”

“But you do have a few?” she asked around a yawn. She hated to think his childhood had been all bad.

He sighed as if defeated. “I’d have to think about it, but I’m sure I can come up with a couple.”

That made her a little happy but mostly sad. “Why don’t you tell me why you call me a little witch.”

In the darkness, she heard his voice, gravelly and so low she almost missed his words. “That’s a story that doesn’t end happily.”

Gabby sat huddledunder her blanket in her customary spot on the sofa. At the rate she was going, it would have her permanent ass-print by the end of next week. She looked up as Olivia, her babysitter for the day, came in from the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee. She’d been informed upon Olivia’s arrival that Angelica was up at the big house, spending some quality time with grandma.

---