Page 36 of Toxic Salvation
I quickly rearrange my expression. “What was what?”
“That look. Like you want to devour him. Do you still want him?”
“No!”
“Vesper.”
I throw up my hands in defeat. “I don’twantto want him, okay? My life would be infinitely easier if I didn’t. But here we are.”
Waylen shakes his head. “So what’s your plan? Move in with the gangster, have his baby, and co-parent while he screws other women?”
Ice runs through my veins. I hadn’t even considered that possibility. I haven’t thought past the immediate crisis.
“I… haven’t worked out all the details yet.”
“Clearly.”
“What do you want me to do, Waylen? I need distance from Kovan, but he is this baby’s father. I can’t change that. And our living situation isn’t permanent. Just until the Keres situation gets resolved?—”
“The what situation?”
My face burns. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“What the hell is Keres? That name sounds familiar.” He frowns. “I think I’ve heard it before, back when… Shit, I can’t remember where. Was it some project Dad worked on?”
Should I tell him? Waylen was never as close to Dad as I was. Maybe the truth won’t devastate him the way it did me. Maybe he could handle it.
But, no—telling him would shatter his reality. Right now, he still gets to believe our father was a good man. That’s a gift I can give him: a little more time in the light before the darkness takes hold.
“All you need to know is that they’re dangerous people,” I say carefully. “Kovan is working to eliminate the threat. Once that’s handled, I’ll be safe, the baby will be safe, and I can build a life separate from Kovan Krayev.”
Waylen looks skeptical but doesn’t push. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Ves.”
I link my arm through his as we step up to the discharge desk. “What if I don’t?”
He bumps my shoulder. “Then I’ll be here to help you figure it out.”
“I was counting on that.”
It’s not enough that the man has muscles that could grace magazine covers and shoulders broad enough to carry the world.
He has tocook, too.
At least he’s wearing a shirt this time. But the risotto he’s stirring smells so incredible it might as well be an aphrodisiac.
“Burnt butter risotto,” he explains when he catches me peering into the pot.
“Mom’s favorite.”
“I know. That’s why I’m making it.”
My jaw drops. “You remember that my mother loves burnt butter risotto?”
“She mentioned it the day you threw Luka’s impromptu birthday party.”
“That was, like, six weeks ago.”
“I pay attention to details.”
