Chapter 68
PASHA
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sofi protests. “It’s not like I’m-
“Stop. Don’t try to moonwalk into the conversation you’re dearly angling for.”
“Rude,” she sniffles. “Txtremely rude”
I roll my eyes. “You want polite? Fine. I’ll thank you for keeping your thoughts to yourself. How’s that for polite?”
“Which thoughts specifically?” Son tilts her head to one side in mock concentration. The ones about you being head–over heels in love with Daphne?”
I dench my jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous.“
“Oh? So, you don’t find it interesting that, after your gushingly romantic date, you’re brooding in your office instead of home with her?” She lifts a hand. “Don’t start with me on that I have work to do bullshit. You don’t. This isn’t work; it’s avoidance.”
It wasn’t gushingly romantic, I think to myself. Matter of fact, it was a silent, bitter disaster. After she brought up my father, I shut down, and it’s
taken hours since dinner ended for me to claw my way back out of the psychological hole I jumped into.
“You make it sound like I don’t want to be around her,” I mutter.
Mak, who has also decided to make himself my problem tonight, leans against the wall and scrolls through his phone. “You don’t want to be tormented, either, which we understand. It’s gotta be tough: you on that couch, listening to her take a shower, watching her climb into your bed, knowing she’s probably sleeping in the nude-”
“Watch it, asshole.”
“Just speculating. Painting a scene. But anyway, moving on–you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me it isn’t complete torment holding yourself back from thoroughly enjoying the mother of your child.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That is entirely different from love.”
Sofi scoffs. “Not with you, it’s not. The sooner you accept that, and own it, the better. And the sooner you
(Α)
Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets
59.3%
Chapde 68
own it, the sooner you can get this inevitable wedding over with.”
Not this again. “I told Mama I’d think about marriage. Nothing is official yet.
“And why not? You know you could do a whole hell of a lot worse than Daphne. I don’t know if you could
do better.”
That’s for damn sure. I’m reminded on an almost daily basis of how much better Daphne is than my shall we say, “previous options.” One in particular who needs to wear a longer skirt before I fire her.
“Amen,” Mak chimes in. “And don’t bother disagreeing, because we won’t believe you. So what’s holding you back?”
I sigh. I despise having my younger siblings poke around in my psyche, but I know they do it because they love me. They’re not afraid of me. They know I value them and everything they say and do, even when it’s irritating
-and when it’s the truth.
I close my eyes and breathe. When I speak, I take even myself by surprise.
“I’m worried I’ll turn out to be just like… him.” The room falls silent.
They know exactly what I mean. They were there. We all were.
Our father was a force to be reckoned with. Kostya Chekhov took no prisoners and left no witnesses. “Compassion” was not a word in his vocabulary, in any language–and he was fluent in seven.
Strangely enough, “love,” “loyalty,” and “family” were all words he understood and embraced–at least, so long as they suited his needs. Whenever an outside force threatened us, he would make a show to protect his family. Whenever my siblings and I fought, he would lecture us about “family loyalty” and how our enemies could tear our empire down if we started doing it ourselves from within.
And in the end, it was “love” that got him into trouble. He knew how to use it for his benefit; he knew how to weaponize it against his wife and to lure in his mistresses. It’s not a stretch of the imagination to assume he whispered all sorts of dark and lovely promises. How else could so many women fall into his
trap?
Our mother, Asya, was all but shoved into his arms against her will. That much we know. I like to think there may have been a time where he might have loved her–at least enough to create us–but I will never allow myself to delve into the what–ifs.
He doesn’t deserve the mercy.
