Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(12)

I am not suicidal.

“Wise decision.”

I reach out and trace my finger down her cheek, keeping the touch light. Her skin is so soft, and touching it doesn’t bother me. Just the opposite. I brush her cheek once more, with the back of my hand this time. The redness vanished almost completely. I should have killed that bastard anyway.





The look on Mikhail’s face as he caresses my cheek is extremely puzzling. I can’t describe it. Maybe somewhere between surprise and confusion, but I might be wrong because neither of those make sense. He notices me watching him and removes his hand. I wish he didn’t.

“Come on. Sisi probably prepared something for us to eat.”

Sisi? I thought the housekeeper’s name was Lena.

We go to the elevator and ride up in silence. I wonder if the quietness is normal for him, or if he simply doesn’t feel the need to talk since I can’t reply. He opens the apartment door for me, and I go inside and stop in my tracks.

Five yards from the door, and looking right at me, stands a little girl in a pretty pink dress, her dark hair gathered in pigtails at the top of her head. She can’t be more than three or maybe four, and she’s a spitting image of Mikhail.

“Hello,” she says, her face serious, and cocks her head to the side as she regards me with interest.

“Lenochka . . .” Mikhail says from behind me and steps inside.

“Daddy!” The girl squeals in delight, her lips widening in a huge grin as she runs and jumps into Mikhail’s arms.

I watch in awe while he gathers her up and places a kiss on her cheek and then on her forehead, his hand caressing the back of her head the whole time. Mikhail has a child. I’m still processing the fact when she leans in and kisses him on the eyepatch, giggling, and Mikhail smiles.

I can’t stop staring, amazed at the transformation I’m witnessing. It seems like a completely different person took his place. And it’s not just the smile. The posture of his body is different, relaxed. The way he’s looking at her with such warmth . . . this man has nothing in common with the cold, controlled one I married yesterday.

Still holding the girl on his hip, Mikhail turns toward me, and our gazes connect.

“This is my daughter. Lena.”

So many questions run though my head. Why didn’t he say anything before? Is she living with him? Where is her mother? Does she know who I am? What if she doesn’t like me? Instead of asking anything, I smile and wave.

“Lenochka, this is Bianca. You remember what we talked about?”

“Yes. Bianca is going to live with us,” the girl says in her small voice, then looks over at me. “You are so pretty. Want to play? I have new toys. Daddy, Daddy, can I show Bianca my toys?”

She says all that in one breath, and I can’t help but laugh at how cute she is. I want to reach out and touch her little hand, but it doesn’t seem appropriate. And I don’t want to scare her since we just met. I hope she’ll like me. I love kids.

“Later, zayka. Where is Sisi?”

A woman in her late sixties runs out from Lena’s room, holding a pile of clothes in her arms. “Mikhail, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought . . .”

She stops mid-sentence when she notices me, and her eyes widen.

“Sisi, this is my wife.”

For a moment she appears slightly confused, looking from me to Mikhail, back to me again, but then she collects herself.

“Oh, yes, of course. Mrs. Orlov, nice to meet you.” She blinks at me again, then turns toward Mikhail. “The lunch is in the oven. Lena already ate, so I wanted to take her outside to play.”

Mikhail nods, puts the girl down, and crouches in front of her. “Sisi will take you to the park. Go get your backpack.”

“Okay.” Lena runs to her room, only to return a few seconds later carrying a small glittery pink backpack with bunny ears. I watch her as she opens a shoe cupboard near the entrance, takes out a pair of small white sneakers, and sits on the floor to put them on. I have a cousin her age, and he wouldn’t know how to put on his shoes by himself if his life depended on it. When she’s done, she takes Sisi’s hand, waves at us, and they leave.

I feel a light touch on my back and turn to find Mikhail holding a strand of my hair between his fingers.

“Let’s sit down and you can ask your questions,” he says and lets the strand fall away.

He leads me to the dining room table, unlocks his phone, and slides it across the wooden surface toward me. I look at him, then at the phone before taking it in my hand and starting to type. When I’m done, I slide the phone back to him.

He looks down at the screen.

“Lena’s mother is gone,” he says. “Lena wasn’t planned. Her mother wanted an abortion. I said I would kill her if she aborted my child, so after she gave birth, she left her with me, took the money I gave her, and walked away. A few months ago, I found out she overdosed on heroin.”

I suck in my breath and stare at Mikhail. He raised Lena since she was a baby. If he said that before I saw him with her, I never would have believed him. He seems so closed off and unapproachable.

He looks down at the phone again, reading the next question.

“I tried explaining the situation to Lena, but I’m not sure how much of it she understood. She knows that you will be living with us from now on. She adapts well. I don’t expect any problems.”