Page 159 of Porcelain Lies

Well fuck.

Although, now that I think about it, there’s something in the carefully precise way that she speaks that hints at an accent. I simply hadn’t identified it.

She nods. “We were never supposed to talk about it.” Her expression dims. “We fled when I was seventeen. It was sosudden. One day, I was planning for university; the next, we were on a plane to Los Angeles.”

“Why did you leave?” I ask, intrigued.

She bites her lip. “My parents wouldn’t tell me. Just that it wasn’t safe anymore.”

I shift slightly, pulling her closer up against my side. I like how she feels against me. I like it too much. “Must have been difficult.”

“Yeah,” she admits. “I was angry for a long time. Confused. But I tried to trust that they were protecting us.”

“What happened after you arrived?”

“We settled in. Got into a routine. My brother and I got drilled taking English lessons. I could never understand why my dad was so nuts about the way we spoke. It was like we had to give up everything we ever were and become something completely new.”

“Blyad.Sounds tough.” I could never deny my heritage that way. Being Russian defines me. I don’t say this out loud.

She heaves a sigh. “It was. But we had no choice. It was how things had to be. Anyway, it was ten years ago. Another life. We learned to adapt.”

“I can see that,” I say. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be Russian. “And now? Your parents? Are you close?”

A shadow crosses her face. “They’re gone.”

I furrow my brow. “Izvini. I’m sorry,zaychik,” I say, feeling a strange urge to comfort her. I pull her closer.

Her breath shudders out. “It wasn’t that long ago. Only been a few months. First, my father in an accident. At leastthat’s what the police said it was. My mother swore there were men who came for him, but they wouldn’t investigate further. It broke her. Losing him. Not having them believe her. It was too much…” Her voice trails off. “She took her own life,” she whispers.

I feel a pang of something — regret, perhaps. “You were alone.”

She gives a small nod. “It was… hard. My brother disappeared, and I was left to piece things together on my own.”

Fuck.

I never realized she’s gone through all of this. I tighten my arm around her instinctively. “You’ve been through a lot.”

She looks up at me, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I suppose we both have.”

For a moment, we simply absorb each other’s presence. Two souls bearing scars beneath the surface.

I find myself speaking again. “You say you are Russian. And your brother. Nico…” I frown, remembering the cocky little fuck who thought he could steal from me. “He’s not Italian? Nico Verona?”

She shakes her head, her hair soft on my chest. “That’s not his real name. He’s Nick. Nick Fermont.”

I stiffen as she says it. For more than one reason. First, because I’ve always just assumed that the woman carrying my child is Stella Verona. And second, because…

“Your name is Stella Fermont?” My nerves are beginning to string tight.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she responds, her palm warm on my chest. “Although before we left Russia, it was Larkina. My father’s name was Tomas Larkin. He was a doctor.”

My blood feels like it has turned to ice in my veins.

Jesus…

Blyad!

“A doctor,” I echo. “And the police wouldn’t investigate.” It’s not a question. I know they didn’t because I paid for the case to go away.

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