The Player (The Game Maker #3)(69)

I sipped my tea, sighing over the cup.

“What does your family usually do for Thanksgiving?” Dmitri asked.

I swallowed thickly. “Pardon?”

“We could invite them all here.”

I still hadn’t figured out how his visiting with them would work. My dilemma? How much I long to see my family versus how much I fear losing Dmitri.

“We’ll see.” Maybe over time I’d grow more confident in him. Sharing was the key to companionship; once we got to know each other better, he could genuinely fall in love with me, replacing his meteoric flash obsession with something more abiding. If he loved me, his feelings might remain true once he found out what I’d done.

But getting to know him was difficult when he still wasn’t talking.

“Vika, this can’t go on much longer. You’ve already missed too many Sundays with them.”

I set my cup aside. “I’ll broach it with them—once you tell me what you fought with Maksim about.”

He exhaled. “In time, I’ll tell you everything,” he said, his go-to answer. “I suppose you’ll have to continue sending your family gifts until we can see them.”

Last week, at his suggestion, I’d shopped online while he worked, buying Benji a super-fly camera; spa days for Mom, Karin, and Gram; golf clubs for Dad, Pete, and Al; toys for Cash and my younger cousins.

At the end of his hour, Dmitri had looked at my purchases. “I need you to feel comfortable spending more.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He was no longer a mark I planned to fleece. Had he achieved pack status in my heart yet? No. But he could.

He’d pulled up a spreadsheet on his computer, highlighting a sum. “What we make annually on the patents alone.”

I’d squinted. The length of that number couldn’t be right. I’d rechecked it, but the figure remained unimaginable. “Need . . . to sit . . . down.”

He’d helped me back to the couch. “I want us to spend our lives trying to kill our fortune—no matter how impossible a prospect that might be. Will you try to do better tomorrow? Endeavor to shock me.”

The next day, I’d cracked my knuckles before hitting the computer. I’d purchased cars, wardrobes, jewelry, and thirty cruise tickets. I’d set up a college fund for Cash and bought my parents authentic fine art. Again, I’d shown Dmitri my take (without the mountain bike and gifts I’d secretly ordered for him).

He’d said, “More income came in overnight. You didn’t even scratch the surface. Perhaps tomorrow you will be more aggressive. . . .”

Now he canted his head, forever deciphering my expressions. “If you are anxious, I’m not helping by putting pressure on you. I apologize.” He pressed a kiss to the palm of my hand. “You must have a reason for remaining away from them. I look forward to when you can share it with me.”

Guh. He was too good to be true.

I kept hearing Karin’s warning, reinforcing my own experience, yet I couldn’t prevent my feelings from growing. My mom had said people got greedy. That they knew better, but they chose to ignore all the warning signs.

I was greedy for Dmitri.

And yet I knew so little about him. Dip a toe, Vice. “When I woke, you were staring out at the water.” And touching your scar. “What were you thinking about?”

“Myriad things.”

“Such as . . .”

“You should have had a period by now,” he said, taking me off guard.

“You noticed?” My eyes widened. “Oh, wait, did you think . . . ? Dmitri, I took my pills straight through, so I wouldn’t start this month.”

His broad chest rose and fell on a deep breath.

“You’re relieved?” I frowned. “But you want children.”

“Not yet. We have so many things still to do, and I think a pregnancy would distress you greatly.”

But he’d said I would make an incredible mom. “Why do you believe that?”

“Because you have no idea what kind of father I’d be. How could you when I’ve told you little of my family or of myself?” He was providing me an opening!

“We could remedy that.”

He squared his shoulders, as if bracing for a hit. “What do you want to know?”

Impulsively, I brushed my fingers over the scar on his wrist.

He stiffened, pulling his hand from mine. “You are very observant, aren’t you?” Details are my job. Or they used to be. “Even I can barely detect it. I had the scar removed by laser a few months back, for when I eventually married.”

“Dmitri, the sight of it doesn’t bother me. But . . . did you try to commit suicide?”

Curt nod. “Years ago. Maksim stopped me before I could do my other arm.”

When I thought of how close it must have been . . . Thank you, Maksim!

Dmitri gazed away. “I’d made sure not to say anything out of the ordinary—in what I’d thought would be our last conversation—but my brother must’ve detected something in my tone. To this day, I don’t know what made him drive over.”

“Why did you do it?” How physically and mentally excruciating taking a blade to one’s own flesh would be!

He was clearly weighing how much to tell me. “I couldn’t imagine a better life because . . . I didn’t know that there would be you.”