Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(19)

Peals of laughter accompany the opening of the front door. “Daddy, Daddy, what are you doing?” Lena rushes toward us while Sisi closes the door behind them. “Can I? Can I?”

“Hands first, Lena,” Mikhail says and points with his head to the bathroom. “Then you can make cookies with us.”

Lena laughs and runs to the bathroom. Sisi stands at the threshold, her eyes huge as she watches Mikhail working the dough. He certainly makes an interesting sight, so big and badass-looking with his eyepatch and that black shirt stretched over his wide shoulders. Especially with a speck of flour on the side of his chin. I lift my hand, intending to wipe it off, but the moment my fingers touch his skin, his body goes utterly still. He focuses intently on his hands buried in the dough in front of him. I brush some of the flour from his chin with my thumb and quickly pull my hand away. Did I cross some boundary?

“Daddy, Daddy!” Lena runs into the kitchen. “I’m ready! Can I have some, please?”

“Okay, zayka.”

Mikhail leaves the dough, heads off to the dining room table and comes back with a chair. Placing it next to the counter, he helps Lena climb on top, and slides his dough in front of her.

“I will make a cake. With chocolate.” She grins and looks over at me. “Do you like chocolate? Daddy doesn’t like chocolate, but he will eat the cake if I make it. I love chocolate, but Daddy says it’s bad for my teeth.”

I nod, smiling. She brushes her hands on the front of her dress and reaches for the bowl.

“Oh, I got flour on my dress.” She looks up at Mikhail. “Will it wash away?”

“It’ll wash away, Lenochka. Don’t worry.”

“You have flour on your face, Daddy.” Lena giggles, then proceeds to play with the dough.

Mikhail turns his gaze toward me, looks down at my hand on the work surface, then tilts his head to the side, offering me his chin. Slowly, I reach out and brush away the remnants of the flour using the back of my hand, taking slightly more time than necessary.





Chapter 7





The two guys sitting in the coffee shop have been ogling Bianca for almost a minute. I squeeze my hand into a fist and take a deep breath. If we make it through this shopping trip without me killing someone, I will be pleasantly surprised.

Lena has been pestering me about the ballet shoes for days, and I finally caved in and took her to the mall. I asked Bianca to come because I had no idea where to buy ballet shoes, and because I wanted to spend more time with her.

Bad decision.

Bianca is an exceptionally beautiful woman, so this is somewhat expected. Having a man throw a look at her occasionally, I could stomach. Maybe. What I wasn’t expecting was that every single man in the mall would stare at her, or how furious each of those stares would make me.

I turn my head to the right and observe my wife, who is currently crouching in front of a shop window, pointing out sundresses to Lena. Bianca is wearing skinny jeans and a white sleeveless shirt that is tied around her neck. The white heels she has on definitely make her legs look amazing, but still, it’s nothing provocative. I try to imagine how the men here would act if she had worn a miniskirt, and almost snap. Not going there.

She left her hair loose and, with her crouching like that, the tips of her pale blonde tresses almost reach the ground. Lena says something and points to the dress on the right. Bianca tilts her head and all that hair slides from her back to the side, and a few locks end up touching the floor tiles. I bend and gather her hair with my left hand, lifting it off the floor. Bianca looks up at me, and then to my hand holding the silky strands. She smiles a little and goes back to pointing out dresses to Lena.

“The red one! Daddy, can we buy the red one?”

I look at my daughter and sigh. “You have more than twenty dresses, Lenochka.”

“Please! Just this one, please Daddy. Bianca likes it. Bianca, do you like it?”

Bianca laughs in that silent way of hers and nods, looking at me over her shoulder. Women. Never enough clothes. “Okay, but just this one.”

I follow behind them as we enter the shop and navigate between the racks. Along the way, Bianca takes out what seems like every dress available in Lena’s size. She drops the heap of at least ten dresses on a stool, places Lena in front of a mirror next to it, and holds up the first dress in front of her. It’s the red one Lena liked, and my daughter squeals in delight. Bianca looks over at me and I nod. She takes the next dress, a dark green one with black details, and places the hanger under Lena’s chin. They make eye contact in the mirror, and Bianca looks at her with a comically disgusted face. Lena laughs and copies Bianca’s expression.

They continue the ordeal with each dress, having a great time, and I enjoy watching them. After they are done, Bianca turns to me and holds up not one, but four dresses, looking at me with sad puppy dog eyes. Of course, we end up buying all four.

When we exit the shop, Lena runs toward the big fish tank in the window of a store across the way. Bianca and I hang a few steps back. Suddenly, I notice a man heading in our direction—early twenties, business suit, seems like he’s in a hurry—but the moment he sees Bianca, his stride slows. His eyebrows raise slightly as he checks her out.

The neural pathways in my brain must have snapped and rearranged themselves, because in that instant, I decide I’m done. My issues with skin contact can go fuck themselves. I grab Bianca’s hand, pull her to my side, and wrap my arm around her. Not close enough. She’s not close enough. I tighten my arm around her and stand with her back plastered to my front. The pressure in my chest eases. That will do. I don’t need a shrink to interpret my actions. When a man has already lost all he held dear, it’s normal for him to become slightly unhinged and scared that it may happen again.