Page 154 of Lethal Legacy

“No. He’s over in the States with Nikolai. Cádiz is doing some showcase matches in Florida for advertising dollars during the offseason. Which, from what Gregor says, means plenty of yacht parties with models and paparazzi. Good riddance,” she says darkly. “To both of them. I don’t think Gregor likes Nikolai too much.”

“Uncle Nicky,” says Masha, not looking up from her coloring book.

“Yes, darling.” I stroke the hair back from her face. “Nikolai is your Uncle Nicky.”

“Uncle Nicky an’ Inger on a boat,” she says.

My hand pauses. Masha never refers to her mother as Mama, no matter how often her siblings correct her. “That’s right,” I say, stroking her hair back. “You were on a boat with them last summer.”

“No.” She’s still coloring. “Las’ night, when ’Felia FaceTimed. They on Deda Yuri’s boat.”

“Oh,” I say, frowning. Masha doesn’t offer any more information, and I don’t push her. Abby looks at me curiously, but I shake my head and put a finger to my lips. The noise in the plaza ratchets up a level as the flamenco dancers start up right in front of us, precluding any further conversation.

I don’t interfere with the kids’ FaceTime sessions with Inger. For starters, they’re rare enough to seriously piss me off. From my observations, the kids are fortunate if they get more than a brief call every couple of weeks, usually when Inger is out with friends and wants to show off her “darling children.” I’ve also noticed that the kids never mention me by name when they’re talking to her. I take it from their reticence that bringing anybody to Inger’s notice might not be the wisest idea, so I keep my distance.

That said, the fact that Inger’s hanging out with Nikolai strikes me as a little odd. And I thought Roman said that the yacht had been sold.

None of your business, Lucia.

Lately, I’ve stopped calling myself Darya, even privately. Somehow, I’ve become much moreLuciathan I ever was Darya. I don’t miss being Darya. I don’t miss the cheap rooms and choking fear, the ever-present packed bag and never-ending struggle for survival.

Lucia gets to bake, as often as I could wish for. She spends every night being taken apart in ever more fascinating ways by a man she loves more than I ever knew it was possible to love someone. She gets smeary good night kisses and shy smiles from three beautiful children whom she falls more in love with every day. And most of all, Lucia gets to watch her father slowly coming back to life. Even if he does incessantly ask where Roman is, which is a bit awkward.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my brother is still in the hands of the Orlovs, life would be perfect.

Well, that, and Roman’s sudden and rather strange aversion to spending time with my father. Which is beginning to really bother me.

I haven’t forgotten that Roman comes from Miami, or that his mother was Colombian. In the years before Vilnus’s coup, my father was at war with some Colombians. He never talked about work, and I only know that much from snippets I overheard from my security detail, which was increased during those years. I’m not naive about my father’s reputation back then. His world was just as violent and bloody as Roman’s. More, maybe. There’s more than a slight chance that Roman’s family suffered at my father’s hands, even indirectly. But I wouldn’t know, because for all that my past is now in the open, Roman has remained as closed about his as ever. I can’t blame him. From the scars he bears, it clearly wasn’t an easy time.

“Have you made that doctor’s appointment yet?” Abby says in an undertone, casting me a sly glance. Her question jolts me out of my ever-present confusion over why it is that Roman seems to have developed an active dislike for my father and throws me straight into the other problem I’ve been doing my best not to think about at all.

“I never should have told you about that,” I mutter, feeling the color start rising up my chest. “I’m a few days late, Abs. That’s it.”

“And you’ve been shagging CEO Man nonstop for months. Do the math, Luce.”

“I’m not going to start panicking just yet. And don’t you dare say a word to Dimitry.”

“My lips are sealed.” Abby mimics zipping them. “But I don’t know why you’re worried. CEO Man is head over heels for you, anyone can see that.” My blush turns into a full-blown red canvas.

“We’ll see.” I’m not remotely certain that Roman’s current obsession with my body will extend to caring for another life growing inside it. Besides, I’ve never been regular.

And you also haven’t exactly been religious about taking the pill lately, my mind reminds me. It isn’t intentional. It’s just that between juggling three kids and being up all night with Roman, my routine has gotten a little out of whack. Even so, I need to get a test.

Whenever I get a chance to be alone for a minute, which is just about never these days.

Thankfully, Ofelia chooses that moment to return, and we settle in to watch the parade.

“Mickey and I are going to be late getting home.” Roman’s tone is businesslike. He’s clearly busy.

“It’s all good. The girls are both exhausted anyway, so we might just have an early bite and I’ll get them to bed.”

His voice lowers. “That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard all day. I’ll message when I’m on the way and drop Mickey off in the apartment.” He hangs up before I can say anything, not that there’s any need to. I’m already planning what to wear. I’ve begun to seriously appreciate the shopping expedition I went on right at the beginning of our “arrangement.” The extensive lingerie selection has definitely come in handy.

I wait until Ofelia and Masha are down, then choose a scarlet combination with boyshort panties and a push-up corset. I throw a slip dress over it for the sake of the security guys in the corridor and head for the elevator.

In the penthouse, I head into the kitchen and make a small platter of tapas, ready for when Roman gets home. He likes telling me about what Mickey’s been up to, and increasingly, where his own projects are at. He doesn’t go into detail, but I know he’s got a big launch coming up that’s been taking up a lot of time.

I carry the platter out and put it on the bar, then go to the bedroom to swap my dress for my robe. The cleaners must have moved it. Lately there’s been such a mess of clothes in the penthouse that they sometimes get my stuff mixed up with the kids’.

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