Page 18 of Conquer
And no one will ever knock her down again.
* * *
Magda isn’t dischargeduntil a full four days after her admission. Though the doctor approves her traveling via plane, he cautions against an excess of sugar or exercise, at least for a week.
The latter prescription she takes the most umbrage at.
“I feel fine,” she insists as I bundle her into the backseat while Ena watches on, his arms crossed. In our wake, Vadim follows at a safe distance, packing her things into the trunk. It’s the first time in days that we’ve managed to be together in her presence for longer than the few tense seconds it takes to trade-off.
God, I can’t even look at him.
“I should be able to ride my pony,” Magda insists as I slide onto the seat beside her. “Right?” She glances mournfully at Vadim as he enters the front passenger’s side.
“I’m afraid not,chérie,” he says, calmly but firm. “But once you’re fully recovered, I’ll take you riding every day,ça va?”
“Okay.” That seems to mollify her, and she sits back in her seat, clutching It to her chest. Despite her ever-growing collection, that bear is the one toy she’s rarely without, battered to hell and back with signs of her affection.
Does that bother me? Maybe. Even if I’m determined to cut Vadim out of my life, as long as she’s a part of it, he’ll always be there. A festering wound encased in synthetic fucking fur.
“What’s wrong?” Magda asks, adjusting her grip on It.
Forcing a grin, I shake my head. “N-Nothing!”
When we reach the house, Vadim heads for the trunk while I take Magda inside. As we head up to her room, I finally gather up the nerve to speak.
“Honey…” I guide her to the bed and crouch down as she sits on the edge of the mattress. Taking both her hands in mine, I force her to meet my gaze. “I’ve decided that I need to go back home, to where I’m from. All this cold is giving me wrinkles.”
She frowns and wriggles her hands away. For a split second, she can’t disguise the panic that shapes her features, widening her eyes and making her lips part. “Why?” she demands, crossing her arms, strangling her bear in the process. “Why are you leaving?”
I playfully tug on one of her braids. “I miss the sun, honey. And I think we could both use a walk along the beach. That’s why I want you to come with me.”
“Really?” Her expression brightens before something quickly makes her temper her excitement. “Is Vadim coming?” She says his name so carefully—as though she’s deliberately avoiding calling him anything else. And the wary note in her voice paired with another uneasy frown makes me realize that shedoeswant him to come. Even if she won’t admit it.
Damn.
“Not at first,” I say, with an enthusiasm I don’t feel. “He has some business, and we need a girl’s trip anyway. But maybe later in the week. Besides, you’ll be back before you know it, and you can ride Dasha by then. At least this way, you won’t be tempted.”
She frowns, the gears in her brain turning. Then she nods. “Okay! When are we going?”
“Tomorrow.”
She shrugs, kicking her legs, but doesn’t argue. Feeling brave enough to risk it, I head into her closet and rifle through the hangers. “What would you like to bring?”
“Hmm…” She bounds to her feet and marches past me. “My sweater,” she declares, fingering a turquoise ensemble. “And this.”
“Okay.”
We have an armful of items assembled by the time Vadim appears in the doorway, her suitcase in hand. He sets it on the floor, his jaw rigid as he spots the clothing I promptly place on the bed. I start folding various items, aware of his gaze boring a hole through the back of my neck.
When Magda shuffles from the closet carrying a stack of nightgowns, she inclines her head in his direction. “When are you coming?” Another rare hint of unease creeps into her voice.
“I… I’m not sure yet,chérie,” he admits. From the corner of my eye, I see him crouch down to her level, his expression pained but neutral for her sake. His eyes dart toward me, and I turn away, folding a dress into thirds. “I have a lot of business to attend to. But I want you to have this. I promise to call you every single day.”
“A phone?” Magda exclaims. I turn to find her brandishing a blue model with a touch screen. Wide-eyed, she meets his gaze, and he ruffles her hair.
“I am always just one call away,” he tells her, cutting his gaze to me. “Always.”
“Can we go swimming in the ocean?” she asks, her eyes still on her phone. I don’t know if she’s directing the question at him or me.
