Page 75 of Scarlet Secrets

When Demyan goes to cut up the sandwiches, Sasha hits him with his goat, showing off.

And I make a small sound that makes my son immediately contrite. “Gimme. Please.”

“He can’t eat them like this,” Demyan mutters. “And don’t hit.”

“Sorry.” Sasha sounds nothing like sorry and he sneaks me a look.

I press my lips together to stop smiling because Sasha will take the smile and run.

“Turn half into soldiers, and leave the other half,” I say to Demyan instead.

He raises a brow and does that and, of course, Sasha shoves the soldiers away and tries to eat the big person size half. It’s overfull, it’s not soft white bread and of course he can’t. It goes everywhere.

Demyan looks at me, and I just offer a smile. Normally, I’d just have handed him the soldiers or a sandwich with softer white bread. But Demyan’s so hell-bent on being Daddy thatI leave it. Just like I leave Sasha as he plays with the contents of the sandwich in half.

He knows he’s not allowed. And he keeps sneaking looks at me. But I’m so damn happy I let him do it.

Finally, he starts to grizzle because he’s hungry, and Demyan goes to steal a soldier.

Sasha’s eyes go wide. “No!” he squeals. “Bad Dane. Bad. Mine.”

“Well,” I say, “Demyan’s a big boy and hungry, and you’re just playing around with your food.”

His lip trembles. “Mine, Mama. Mine.”

And he tugs his plate to him and eats all the soldiers.

After he’s done, he wiggles down and runs off to play in the yard. My heart slams as he does, but it’s penned off. There’s an area set up for him. A little swing set and a trike There’s sun and shade and soft grass and a moveable childproof fence.

I turn back and almost gasp as Demyan quietly clears the table. Without a word, I help him. “He likes the setup outside.”

“I know.”

I lick my lips. “Thank you for not getting mad at him. He can be a monster sometimes.”

“He was showing off. I didn’t think to have the sandwich precut.” He gives a small laugh and I like him like this, accessible. Human.

“Put the fucking plate down.”

His tone hasn’t changed, but terror hits me. I look at Demyan, waiting for the ax to fall.

“Go play with Sasha.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Thank our son. It’s obvious how much he’s missed you. And you’ve missed him. Go now before I change my mind.”

I go up on my toes and kiss his cheek, slightly roughenedwith stubble, and I don’t miss the sudden intake of breath. Then I turn and flee out into the sun.

“Sasha, you’re spoiled,”I say as he trails his goat by one leg, showing me all his toys like a pirate with his hidden treasure.

Demyan spent a fortune on him. And all the toys I can’t afford are here. There’s an indoor trike and outdoor trike. He’s even got the latest, coolest cartoon on TV embossed on a helmet that I’m guessing he’s made to wear when tearing around on the trikes.

With me here and his intent on showing me everything and making me play with him, Sasha hasn’t touched the trikes. But I can see the scratches; the indoor one has a streak of paint that he’s clearly got from scraping against a wall.

Some of the toys shriek when pressed. There’s a doll, a toy truck, games, and blocks and Legos.

He has a plethora of crayons and pencils and coloring books.

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