Page 46 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
I haven’t told Andrej. He still hasn’t replied to my text messages, and if he knew that I was meeting a stranger claiming to be my uncle, he’d be right here beside me, tossing some intimidating scowls Yuri Asimov’s way.
Yuri sits opposite me in the booth without removing his coat. Perhaps he isn’t staying long. A girl can hope.
I wait for him to speak.
“I apologize for turning up out of the blue.”
He peers at me from beneath heavy brows, and I notice that, even when looking directly at me, his eyes flicker towards other conversations taking place inside the café.
“I tried to find you when you were younger, but the adoption process made no provision for contact from your biological family. Forgive me,” he adds. “I am your father’s younger brother.”
My biological parents died when I was barely two years old. I have no memories of them, only a photograph taken of the three of us when I was a baby. In the image, I’m wrapped in a white lacy shawl, cradled in my mom’s arms, and smiling up at my dad who is looking at me rather than the camera.
That’s it. That’s all I have. A fading image of my dad’s profile, not enough to see any resemblance to the man sitting across the table from me now.
I was seven years old when my adoptive family sat me down, gave me the photograph, and told me about my history. I was too young to fully comprehend what it meant, but I rememberlying in bed at night, eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to drag memories of my biological parents from a deep bottomless abyss inside my mind. I had the proof in my hand that I knew them. Which meant that there had to be a memory somewhere.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even conjure a fragment of a memory from the short time that I had with my parents.
In time, I stowed the photograph away, buried beneath the new memories that I made with my adoptive family. The ache inside my chest healed, became a faint silver scar that I hardly ever thought about. Almost invisible.
I don’t know how I feel about this man wandering into my life now and dragging the past out into the open. I’ve made peace with it. The wound has healed. I’m Cartier Black. I have no desire to be anyone else.
“Why are you here?” The question sounds harsh, but I don’t apologize.
My coffee has cooled too quickly, a creamy film forming on the surface making me feel nauseous. I want to get back to the safety and comfort of the shelter. I want Andrej to fold me into his arms and tell me that I’m his beautiful baby.
I don’t want to hear this man’s stories.
I don’t want him to invade my world with a family that has no part in my life.
I shouldn’t have come.
“Is it wrong to want to meet my niece?” His eyes are cold. There is no warmth in his voice either.
He reminds me too much of Ivana, cold and empty, and I wonder what happened to them to suck all the fun and energy and vitality from them.
“I only have your word that you’re my biological uncle.” I hold his gaze. I don’t want him to think that I’m afraid. “My parents—my adoptive parents—never mentioned an uncle. I entered the care system because there was no one else.”
“I was too young, Cartier. They would never have allowed me to look after you.”
“I’m sorry.” I grab my purse and slide my legs out of the booth. “But I’m not an Asimov. That was then, and this is now. I’m happy. If you want what’s best for me, then please don’t contact me again.”
I stand up, but Yuri grabs my wrist to stop me from leaving. “You might want to hear what I have to say, Cartier.”
I stare at his hand wrapped around my wrist, and he releases his grip slowly.
“I apologize.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Forgive me. I reached out to you now because I know that you are involved with Andrej Ivanov.”
My pulse spikes at the mention of Andrej, my breath hitching inside my chest.
I sit down heavily, still clutching my purse. “How do you know this?”
“I haven’t been stalking you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He brought it up, which means that he clearly understands how wrong this is, on so many levels.
“But I make it my business to know what the Ivanovs are doing.”
