Page 89 of Dirty Grovel

“That’s probably for the best,” I conclude. “Palmer women and happy places don’t mix well.”

I shake my head when I realize I’ve been talking about myself for what feels like an eternity.

I nudge Oleg. “Your turn. You never really talk about your father.”

He shakes his head. “He was a great man,” he murmurs, his tone a confusing mixture of pride and regret. “It’s the same relationship as you and your mom—except in reverse. He was always better than me. In everything.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“That’s because you didn’t know him,” Oleg insists. “My father was a powerful man, but you would never know it looking at him. He liked the simple life. He was most comfortable on the ocean, surrounded by water, sky, and silence.”

“Why wouldn’t you talk about someone you love so much?”

I don’t expect him to answer the question. But his eyes stick to mine. There’s something churning beneath the surface.

I sense that we’re on a precipice.

In mortal danger of falling.

“Because,” Oleg says, his voice hardening, “I’m the one that killed him.”

27

SUTTON

I smile. There’s a punchline coming, I’m sure.

Because he can’t possibly mean…?

Except that Oleg doesn’t return the smile.

He turns his dark, moody gaze out onto the ocean, a hurricane spewing in those hazy, golden eyes.

“Oleg, you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says curtly, his voice betraying nothing. “I’m the one that killed my father.”

I take a deep breath and put my hand on his arm.

His eyes snap down, his lips curling over his teeth. “What are you doing?”

“I believe they call it ‘giving comfort.’”

“I just told you that I killed my father and you’re trying to comfort me?”

I refuse to recoil from his tone. This is the insecure, broken part of him trying to push me away—and I’m done being pushed away.

“If you killed your father, I know it wasn’t intentional.”

His eyes dim. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not,” I say. “It’s just… a feeling. Maybe it’s instinct.”

“And your instincts can be trusted, can they?”

This time, I do flinch. A smart woman would take the cue and back down.

But as I’ve already established, when it comes to men, we Palmer women are far from smart.

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