Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(13)

His gaze finds mine and he watches me in silence for a few moments, and I find myself looking at his eye. It’s the most unusual shade of blue, like clear ocean water.

“Will this be a problem for you? Me having a child?”

I lean back I raise my eyebrows at him. Why would it be a problem? I guess he reads the answer on my face because he nods and looks down at the phone again.

“Lena’s daily schedule?” he asks and looks up, surprised.

I nod.

“She’s up at seven. Sisi comes to take her to day care and brings her back home around three. They have lunch and go for a walk or to the park. Sisi is usually off around five, but she comes over to watch Lena in the evening when I have to go to work. Sometimes, when Sisi’s granddaughters are staying with her, she takes Lena to her place for a sleepover. Like last night.”

He places the phone on the table and nods toward it. “Any more questions?”

I shake my head.

“Let’s eat then.”

My strange husband goes to the kitchen and starts taking plates from the cupboard, and I stand up to help him.





I watch Bianca as she takes the plates and cutlery, carries them to the table, and comes back for the glasses. She took the fact that I have a child unexpectedly well, especially since I ambushed her with it instead of telling her in advance. The thing is, I wanted to see her reaction. It’s not every day that a person is forced to marry a stranger, and learns afterward that their new spouse also has a child. I have no idea what I would have done if Bianca said she didn’t like kids. Lena is the most important person in my life, and I hope the two of them will get along.

Bianca turns and reaches for the carafe with water, accidentally stumbling into me a little, and I go still for a second. It’s easier when I am the one initiating the contact. I lean to the left, extending my hand as if to get the salad bowl, and let her hip brush my side. Nothing.

She turns and heads toward the table, carrying the water, and I follow her with my gaze, noticing the way her pants mold to her legs and her tight ass. Images of her naked in my bed, pinned down by my body, suddenly flood my mind. It’s been so long since I wanted to feel a woman’s bare body next to mine, but now I do. And for someone with skin contact issues, that’s a highly disturbing realization.





*


“I need you to write down your plans for the next two weeks,” I say. “If you want to go somewhere, I’ll take you. Or if I’m not available, one of my guys will go with you.”

Bianca looks up from her plate and shakes her head.

“It’s non-negotiable. I don’t know who is behind that shooting from yesterday, or what they were trying to achieve. Please don’t leave the apartment alone. Can I trust you on that, Bianca?”

She doesn’t like it, I see it on her face, but she nods and goes back to her meal. I watch her secretly, her hands, her long blonde hair. Damn, I’m fascinated with that hair of hers. She braided it before lunch, and it now falls over her shoulder to her front. I dreamt about threading my fingers through those blonde waves last night.

The door behind me opens, and in the next moment, the sound of small feet thumping across the apartment reaches me.

“Hands, Lenochka,” I say when she runs into the dining room.

“They are not dirty.”

“You must wash your hands, zayka. Come on, say goodbye to Sisi and let’s go to the bathroom.”





I can’t stop watching him.

It amazes me the way Mikhail interacts with his daughter. He never ignores her questions, no matter how silly they may seem. How affectionate he is with her. One of her pigtails came loose at some point this afternoon, and she came to him to fix it. I couldn’t take my eyes off his huge hands as he carefully tied her hair. There is so much love in every single act.

They went into Lena’s room some time ago, after she had her dinner, and I found myself drawn toward the door Mikhail left open, and peeking inside. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a big book with a princess on the cover, while Lena lies under the blanket. He’s reading her a story. How can this be the same man who only this morning casually thrust a blade into my father’s hand?

“Bianca!” Lena calls out when she sees me. “Come, Bianca. Daddy is reading a story.”

I look up at Mikhail, waiting to see what he’ll say. I don’t want to intrude on their time. He watches me for a moment, then nods as I come to sit on the floor next to his legs and lean my back on the bed’s side. There are a few moments of silence and then he resumes reading. The story has something to do with a lost horse, but I don’t pay attention to the plot because I’m too focused on the tone of his voice. Deep. A little raspy. I close my eyes and just listen.

I feel a light touch on my cheek—there one moment, and gone the next. I keep my eyes closed, pretending I didn’t notice it. A few moments pass, then I feel a tug on my hair as he removes the hair tie binding my braid, and the strands fall loose. Nothing else happens at first, and I wonder if that’s all he planned to do. Then his fingers start combing through my hair. He is still reading but keeps playing with my hair, and I lean my head back into his touch. And his voice . . . it feels like a caress by itself. He has an accent, I realize. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I love it.