Page 63 of Secret Baby for the Bratva Boss

I had the money to burn, and I wanted to do something for her; something small. I know how much she loves the farmhouse and the land, or at least the idea of it. And I know how long it would take her to pay it off, to rebuild and make it up the way she wants it done. But Adam is four now; he deserves what she has always wanted to give him.

I couldn’t make up for all of the years I’ve missed, or the chaos I’ve brought to their lives. Toourlives. But I could do this.

“Alright, you’re driving me crazy, and it’s freezing out here,” Kat says, scolding me. “Can I please take this blindfold off, now?”

I reach for the tie and give it a tug, letting the silk fall away. And Kat blinks in the bright winter light, not sun but the silver of it that filters through the pale, pinkish snow clouds. Tears instantly rush to her eyes.

“Aleks,” she says. There’s more feeling in that word than I can begin to parse. Adam, at her side, grins.

“Do you like it?” He asks. Of course, he’s helped me as much as he’s been able along the way. He knew more about what Kat wanted from the land and the house than I did. And it turns out that four-year-olds are quite brilliant; or perhaps just this one is. “Look, we fixed the treehouse.”

“You did,” she whispers, fog trailing from her lips. She turns, pulling Adam after her by her gloved hand as she drinks it in. “How did you do this? How did you manage it all?”

“I didn’t have much to do,” I tell her, “While I was waiting.”For you, I think, but don’t say. And by the heated, solemn look she gives me, she thinks it too.

The pens are all fixed, fresh fences and gates; the barn, the chicken coop, and I added a small hothouse too, made entirely of green glass, because Adam said his mom always wanted her own vegetable garden, because it would give her an excuse to learn how to cook. Now that I’ll be here, I’ll let her grow, but I already know how to cook. I can teach her. Or she can sit and watch me, with a glass of wine or her laptop or camera in front of her.

That’s the other thing I’ve been doing over the last few weeks—picturing it. This new life. This future with her, and our son. It’s taken some practice, but I’m quite adept at it now. And I’ve come to picture all kinds of things, like that; cooking for a woman I love, cooking for my wife. My family. Maybe this is what a real legacy looks like.

“In spring, we can buy a cow, I think,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets and trailing after her. “And a horse or two, if you’d like to ride. Chickens, and ducks for the pond.”

Kat looks at me sideways. She says nothing, just reaches for me, and lays a hand on my cheek. I know, in my entire life, no one has ever looked at me like that. It’s worth leaving the world I used to live in. Over and over, it’s worth it.

“Mommy, look, it’s snowing.” Adam is pacing down the hill, turning on one foot and then the other. He raises his hands, palms up. His tongue sticks out to catch the first feathery pale flakes as they spin down from the thin, low clouds. “Look!”

“I see,” she says, but she hasn’t looked away from me yet, and I get the sense she doesn’t mean the snow. She means me. “Are you sure?” She asks. “About all of this, Aleks—are you sure that you’re sure? It’s a big change. I mean…it’s everything. Changing everything. For both of us.”

I go to her, brushing her hair back from her eyes. Her face is full of color and her eyes full of light; she has that luster back. There are no bruises on her face, and no shadows under her eyes. Where she once had stitches, there is only a whisper of a scar—the faintest, thinnest line, and only if you know where to look.

I thought I’d die in the world, in a bloody fight like the one that almost killed me, or in my old age, alone and rich, in some Russian mansion. The notion feels to me, now, painfully cold; I can’t believe a dream like that was ever mine. That world almost killed me. It almost killed my wife, my son.

“I want to change everything, Kat,” I say softly, holding her face in my hands. “I got a second chance. I’m not greedy enough to ask for a third.”

She kisses me, and I know, I know—for once, I have done right by us both.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kat

“Beautiful,” I say, snapping another photo. The young couple looks wildly giddy, almost goofy—it shows through in every single picture. “Perfect, just like that—yes, hold her there.” The taller girl of the two touches her forehead to the shorter. In their matching cotton dresses, both boxy and pixie-ish, they look like nymphs, like girls stepped out of a painting. “And kiss her—perfect.”

When the photo shoot is done, I make the drive home. Windows all down and sunroof open—I finally did get my car from the shop, and, though it breaks down regularly, I can now afford to fix it when I need to—and the music turned high. It’s the end of summer, the wind dry and delicious, and the first promising scents of fall in the air.

This time last year I was alone. Alone with my son, estranged from his father and certain I’d never see him again. Now, when I pull down the long road to the farmhouse, I know they’re both just inside—waiting for me.

It’s a perfect evening, still early, still hot, and Aleks and Adam have the table set outside in the back. The horses—three of them, because Adam couldn’t bear to be left out—are pacing and tossing their tails lazily, flicking off the flies. Down the hill, the ducks are making their racket, a sound I have yet to get tired of, and that makes me laugh more often than it doesn’t.

“How’d the shoot go?” Outside, seated around the table, Adam already having run off after wolfing down his dinner, Aleks pours us each another glass of wine. “The pictures from the wedding came out so well, the orchard at this time of year is incredible.”

I smile at him. I’m buzzed, my tongue glazed with the sweet taste of the white wine, still cool, with a little sparkle left in it. “It went well. I think we should do one soon, you and me and Adam.”

“When the leaves turn, maybe.” He studies me over the rim of his wine glass. His eyes are dark with drink and hazy, in a way that makes it hard to look away. In a way that makes me want to taste his mouth. Drink wine straight from it. “I’ll be back before then.”

I sigh, standing and crossing to him, sliding into his lap. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“As do I.” He sighs, sliding his arms around me. “The price we pay, though.”

“Russia is so far away. Every time you go…”

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