Page 126 of Dirty Damage

I catch her hand before she can retreat further. “Have you always wanted to be a mother?”

Her answer is immediate. “Yes. My mother wasn’t there for me, and then we were in foster care with so many kids who had noone, and I knew I wanted to do it better. Sydney says I’m trying to fill the mother-shaped hole in my life with a baby.”

“So?” I shrug. “Everyone has their own reasons. As long as you plan not to fuck it up, who cares what your reason is?”

Her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks. “What’s yours?”

“Necessity.”

As soon as the word is out of my mouth, she pulls away, untangling herself. “I don’t believe you. Even you aren’t that cold.”

But I am.

I have to be.

“It’s always been inevitable for me. I never even considered whether I wanted children; I just knew I needed them.”

“I’ve seen you with children, Oleg. You enjoy them.”

“I enjoy other people’s children. Mostly because I can leave whenever I want.”

“You won’t leave our kid,” she says confidently, eyebrow arched. “You pretend like you don’t care but I think that’s a lie. It’s just a way to protect yourself.”

“Is that right?” Amusement butts heads with irritation in my chest.

“You’ve suffered losses, same as me, and you’ve been deeply affected by them whether you admit it or not.” She steps closer, fearless. “You’re not going to let down an innocent child. Especially one you helped create.”

“We have to create this kid first,” I murmur against her ear, trying to derail this conversation before it ventures into territory I’m not ready to explore.

She shakes me off and stalks to the bed, all swaying hips and wounded pride.

When she settles on the mattress, pulling her bare feet up and wrapping her arms around her knees, she looks pure enough to break my black heart.

“That an invitation?”

She shakes her head, a ghost of a smile haunting her lips. “Is flirting your way of avoiding a real conversation? Because that won’t always work with me.”

“It’s worked so far.”

She glares at me, accepting the challenge. “Don’t you want the pretty picture for yourself? A family? Kids? The golden retriever and a white picket fence?”

The questions fly like shrapnel, bits of memories I let go of a long time ago. In a different life. A different me.

When I was young enough to believe in forever.

“There was a time when I saw myself settling down,” I admit. “I don’t want dog hair all over my house and I prefer barbed wire to picket fences… but the rest of it… I thought about it.”

“With Elise.” Her voice is soft, gentle.

It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.

Silence stretches between us like a tightrope. I can feel her curiosity poking against my skin, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

But I’ve never spoken about Elise and Oriana. Not to anyone who didn’t know them before the fire.

“I’m sorry you?—”

I scowl at her downturned face, at the way shadows pool in the hollow of her throat. “Don’t bother. I don’t need anyone’s pity. Especially when no one else understands.”

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