Chapter 51

Kimberly

T he past couple of days here with David visiting have been a breath of fresh air. David is so fun and full of life it has helped me forget my troubles, at least for a short while. The twins adore him, as does Grace. Even Thomas, when he has been here has treated David with respect and dignity, which is more than many of David’s own family does. I can tell the trip has been as good for David as it has been for me.

Grace has popped out for an hour, entrusting the girls to our care while Thomas works in his study. They’re playing with a large doll house in their room—the kind of room little girls dream about, thanks to Grace’s impeccable style—while David and I sit on the too-small-for-adults chairs and pretend to drink tea from the cups and saucers they proudly presented to us moments ago. As usual, David throws himself into the game wholeheartedly, noisily slurping and appreciating his imaginary drink for the twins’ benefit.

Soon, the children begin to bicker. “No, no, no, the baby’s name is Milly!” Lily declares.

“No, it’s not, Stupid, it’s Holly!” cries Hope, glowering at her twin.

“I’m not stupid, you’re stupid!” Lily pouts angrily, pointing accusingly at her sister who stands looking unafraid with her hands on her hips.

The two continue down this path, arguing over the name of the baby doll they’d been playing with. As is often the case with young children, the argument escalates rapidly, and soon the two are yelling and grappling over control of the doll. Inevitably, one of them gets hurt in the scuffle.

“Ow!” Lily cries, big fat tears starting to fall, “Kimmy! She pinched me!”

“Did not! Liar liar pants on fire!” Holly denies vehemently.

We go to break the two up and try to resolve the squabble. “Now you two, you shouldn’t fight with each other. What’s the problem?” I chastise gently.

Both start to talk over the other, each keen to have their say first.

“One at a time please,” I say calmly but firmly. As Lily seems to be claiming to be the injured party I say, “Lily, why don’t you go first?” before Hope can protest, which I can tell she’s gearing up to, I add, “Hope, you’ll get a turn to speak after.”

Through gasping breaths and subsiding sobs, Lily explains, “We’re playing family and there’s a new baby girl. I want to call her Milly, but Hope wants to call her Holly, and then Hope called me stupid and pinched me!”

“I did not!” Hope declares defiantly, “But Milly is a stupid name!”

“Why don’t we come up with a name that both of you like?” I say, trying to placate them.

David, who has been quiet up until now finally chips in. “What about Marta? That was my sister’s name.”

Something in David’s tone shifts the argument completely and the girls seem to forget their issues.

The girls look at each other and nod in agreement. “I like that!” Hope says with a smile.

“Me too!” Lily agrees. “What was your sister like?”

“She was very beautiful and smart,” he says softly, his eyes filled with sadness and pain.

“Where is she now?” Hope asks, picking up on his mood shift.

I’m worried that David is going to tell the truth, that he’s going to bring up the subject of death and I don’t know what Grace has told them about it.

“Did she go to heaven like our grandpa?” Lily asks, saving my concerns.

David nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She did. You two must always remember how lucky you are to have each other. To have a sister is a gift, you should enjoy every moment together you have and try not to argue.”

The girls look at David with big trusting eyes, “We will,” they agree in unison before giving each other a big hug before resuming their game, their fight forgotten.

David and I watch them silently for a moment before I subtly pull him to the side, over near the big bay window. I whisper so the girls won’t hear. “Everything okay?”

He sighs, looking out at the forest outside. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just wish I had more time with her, that I had more memories with her, more things to remember her by. I’m worried I’ll forget her one day.”

I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll never forget her. I didn’t know her for long, but neither will I. We’ll remember her together.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Promise me you won’t leave me? That you’ll be part of my life no matter what happens with Yaroslav?”

He looks at me so desperately that I don’t have the heart to tell him that Yaroslav might not give me any choice. That if Yaroslav doesn’t want to be with me, I don’t know if I could bear to see him again. So instead, I tell him the truth I can offer.

“No matter what, you are my friend and this baby’s uncle,” I say, touching my stomach. “You will always be family, and I will do my best to talk to you and see you as much as I can, no matter what.”

He seems satisfied with my response, and he doesn’t ask any more questions. After a moment of reflection, we’re distracted by the girls and resume our playtime with them.

A short while later, there’s a knock at the door and Grace comes in.

“Mommy!” the girls cry, rushing over to hug their mom who hugs and kisses them, chatting about their time while she was away.

“Now girls, I need to speak to Kimmy and David for a moment, so you two play nicely while the grownups talk outside,” Grace says, the girls happily agree.

We follow Grace outside, shutting the door behind us.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, worried that there’s bad news.

“Yes, everything is fine. In fact, I daresay it’s good news, though, of course, I will be sad to see you both go. Yaroslav has asked that you return to Orlando with David tomorrow, Kimmy,” she explains.

“He has?” I ask, surprised, it was only supposed to be David going back. “Did he say why?”

Grace shakes her head, “No, but I’m sure this must be a good thing, right? And so, we must enjoy our last night together before you go, I shall miss my new friends.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I say, feeling somewhat sad to leave.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll see plenty of each other and talk lots, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” Grace says with a smile. “Come on, I’ve got champagne on ice downstairs—non-alcoholic for you, Kim. The girls will be fine for a short while and then I’ll send someone up to check on them and put them to bed.”

“Sounds good to me!” David and I echo.

I’m looking forward to a night of carefree laughter and conversation tonight with my friends. I can only hope that tomorrow will bring more good news and that Grace’s assumption that we’re going back is because Yaroslav has made progress. I dare let myself hope that perhaps he’s even managed to rescue Gran. The thought of seeing her again makes me feel light and I feel optimistic that everything is going to be okay.

***

I don’t feel as confident as we pull up to the large Mediterranean Revival house in Orlando the next day. Its cheery terracotta roof, pale yellow exterior, and bright blooming garden stand in contrast to the darkness I know exists within. Yaroslav isn’t there to greet us and I can’t help but worry that it’s an ominous sign. Instead, Artem and Vova are there waiting.

“Welcome back!” Artem says, smiling at us both and clapping David on the back in a brotherly fashion. “How was your trip?”

“Good thanks,” David replies.

I’m feeling less sure of myself, so I keep quiet.

“Where’s my brother?” David asks, I’m grateful that I didn’t have to be the one to ask.

“Working,” Vova says bluntly, offering no further information.

“How are you feeling Kimberly? You look healthier than the last time I saw you if you don’t mind my saying, more color in your cheeks,” Artem says warmly.

I don’t know if he’s genuinely being friendly or if it’s a way to get me to trust him, he’s acting as though we’re on the same team. Could that team be Sharkozi’s? Who has Yaroslav trusted with the information of why Bogdan sent me here? If Artem knows, did Yaroslav tell him, or did Bogdan?

“Thank you, Artem. I’m feeling much better,” I reply politely.

Vova is silent. This isn’t out of character for him, I’ve never known him to be much of a chatterer. He tends to stand silently on the sidelines watching everything. As we all walk inside, Artem and David chat amicably. I try to study Vova from the corner of my eye. Could he be the spy?

Yaroslav trusts him, that much is clear, but I can’t get a read on him. He seems to radiate hostility toward me most times I’m around him, though we’ve barely exchanged three words. I wonder if his problem with me comes from loyalty toward Yaroslav and distrust of me or something else. Could he be the spy and he’s annoyed that my presence puts him at risk? After all, if he suspects I’m working with Yaroslav or not holding up my end of the deal with Bogdan then he would be wary of me.

Perhaps I’m overthinking and this is just what Artem and Vova are always like. Certainly, since I’ve known them that seems to be the case.

As we enter the house, we run into Yaroslav and an older gentleman. The man is on the tall side, though not as tall as Yaroslav, he’s inappropriately dressed for the warm weather in a suit that fits him well but is too ostentatious to be considered stylish. Something about his coloring, the shape of his eyes, and the confident way he holds himself is similar to Yaroslav and David, and I wonder if this is the uncle I’ve heard about.

Both men’s attention turns to us as they see us. Yaroslav seems uncharacteristically nervous and uncomfortable. The older man speaks first.

“Ah well, look what we have here! The runt and the cyka carrying the wolfcub!” he declares, throwing his arms wide and smiling a wide humorless grin.

His eyes barely dart across his nephew as they land on me, he unashamedly sizes me up. David seems to shrink into himself. I can see Yaroslav is tense, his jaw clenching, but he doesn’t speak. Though he does make a small sound, close to a growl at the word cyka , I have no idea what he called me, but I can’t imagine from Yaroslav’s reaction that it’s nice.

“She’s not bad, Yaroslav,” the man appraises, “Though I would have preferred a nice girl from the homeland for you.”

“You mean a nice white Russian girl,” I retort, snapping back before thinking, “And my name’s Kimberly.”

There’s a moment of stillness, as though everyone is holding their breath awaiting how the man will react. And a collective sigh of relief when the man lets out a small laugh.

“Feisty,” he leers, “Now I get it a little better. I do like a feisty one in the sack.”

Yaroslav quietly mutters something, a warning perhaps, as the man tuts and replies something in Russian. Now seeming bored of me, he directs his attention to David.

“No greeting for your beloved Uncle?” he demands, his tone far from the jovial one he put on before.

David forces himself to meet the man’s eyes, “Uncle Innokentiy, I hope you are well,” he says robotically before averting his gaze back to the floor.

So, I was right, he is their uncle. Innokentiy seems disappointed but unsurprised by David’s reaction. Before Innokentiy can speak, Yaroslav finally speaks up and puts an end to his taunting.

“Uncle, I’m sure you must be getting off now, you’ve much to do. There will be time in the future for a proper introduction to Kimberly and for you and David to catch up,” his tone is cordial and respectful, but it brooks no argument.

Innokentiy stands his ground a moment longer before smiling again. “Of course, nephew, you are right. I shall look forward to properly getting to know you, Miss Walsh,” he says, taking my hand and placing a clammy kiss on the back of it.

It takes all my willpower not to physically recoil from him. Something about the man repulses me. Perhaps it is just his rude, entitled manner and barely veiled racism, but I hope that our proper introduction isn’t any time soon.

To make Yaroslav happy, I choke out, “You too, Mr. Volkov.”

Innokentiy bares his wolf grin at me once more but doesn’t respond. He completely ignores David and nods at both Artem and Vova uttering, “Gentlemen,” before allowing Yaroslav to escort him outside.

I want to reach out to David and ask if he’s okay, but the second the door shuts he races upstairs toward his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Is he okay?” I ask worriedly.

“He’ll be fine,” Artem assures me, “Their relationship is… complicated.”

“You go, Artem, I’ll escort Miss Walsh to her room,” Vova says.

Artem nods in agreement and heads upstairs with David’s bags. It makes sense that he’d be the one to follow David, they seem to get along well, and Vova’s a wet fish—not exactly the kind of person you want comforting you.

“I could…” I start to offer to go speak to David, but Vova cuts me off.

“No. He’ll be fine. Orders are to escort you upstairs when you arrive so that’s what I’m gonna do,” he states leaving no room for disagreement.

He walks me back to the same room I was in before in silence. Already I feel anxious, as though the time at the Gillihans didn’t happen and I’m right back to feeling like a prisoner again.

Perhaps sensing my emotions, Vova leaves me with these parting words: “You’d better hope you continue to stay in Yaroslav’s good books. The rest of the pack aren’t quite so domesticated.”

I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a threat.