Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(73)
“Of course. I’m happy to explain everything.”
“Dinner is ready, so how about we sit down at the table?” Sara suggests, coming up to stand next to me, and warmth fills my chest as her slender arm slips around my elbow in a proprietary gesture.
My ptichka. Finally, she’s accepted us as a couple.
“Sure. Whatever’s cooking smells good,” Lorna says, and I smile at her again, realizing that Sara’s mother, at least, is willing to play ball.
When we get to the kitchen, Sara excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I set the Caesar salad and the antipasti platter I prepared on the table.
“Sara said you like to cook,” Lorna says, watching me move around the kitchen, and I nod, taking a seat across from her.
“It’s a hobby of mine. I find it very soothing.”
“Hobby, huh?” Chuck’s glower deepens. “What’s your occupation then? We’ve never been able to get a straight answer from Sara.”
“I’ve done a couple of different things, but most recently, I worked as a security consultant and had a business along those lines,” I say and stand up. Picking up the salad tongs, I look at Lorna. “Salad?”
She nods regally. “Please.”
I lean over the table and place a sizable portion of salad on her plate, then look at Chuck.
“None for me, thanks.” He spears a marinated artichoke with his fork and transfers it from the antipasti platter onto his plate, eyeing me balefully the whole time.
“What kind of business?” he demands as soon as I sit back down. “Sara said you were a contractor of some kind. Was that the security consulting business? Who were your clients, and how does all this tie into your recent troubles with the law?”
I suppress the urge to smile. The old man doesn’t pull his punches.
“My background is Spetsnaz—the Russian Special Forces,” I say, deciding I can disclose that much. “After I left the military, I traveled all over the world and consulted for a number of organizations and individuals who had reasons to be concerned about security. I can’t tell you the specifics of what got me in trouble, as that’s classified, but I can assure you that it’s all resolved now.”
“Resolved how?” Lorna asks as Sara returns to the kitchen, and I smile as my ptichka takes a seat next to me and eagerly reaches for the salad.
“I made a deal with the authorities that was advantageous for both sides,” I say as Sara begins eating, apparently content to let me field her parents’ questions. “So now I have a new last name and a clean slate—and Sara and I can finally get married.”
“A clean slate from what?” Sara’s father asks, his nostrils flaring. “I heard people had been killed.”
“I can’t tell you anything more than what you already know, I’m afraid.” I place some salad on my own plate. “It’s part of the deal I made.”
Chuck’s face reddens, and for a moment, I’m convinced he’s going to stab me with his fork. However, he must be more civilized than I am, because the only thing he spears is a juicy green olive from the antipasti platter.
“Mr. Garin,” Lorna says, putting down her fork. “I hope you—”
“Please, call me Peter. We’re about to be family.”
Her carefully painted mouth tightens slightly. “Okay, Peter. I hope you understand that we have a lot of concerns, both about your background and your connections. Not to mention the fact that Sara disappeared for five months after the two of you… well—”
“Started dating?” Sara helpfully suggests, and her mother frowns at her.
“Right, started dating.” Lorna turns her attention back to me, and I recognize the backbone of steel within her. It’s the same one her daughter possesses, the one that has enabled my ptichka to handle the kind of trauma that would’ve destroyed a weaker person.
“Listen to me, Peter.” Sara’s mother leans forward, and though her voice remains soft, her gaze is as sharp as her husband’s. “You might’ve resolved your ‘misunderstanding’ with the authorities, but we’re not convinced you’re not a danger to our daughter. We don’t know anything about you, and what we do know is, frankly, quite unsettling. Sara says that the two of you are in love, and that she went with you of her own accord, but we have serious doubts about that. You are not the kind of man our Sara would ever—”
“Mom, please.” Sara pushes aside her plate. “I’ve told you over and over again that Peter is not what you—”
“Your parents are right, ptichka.” I cover her hand with my palm and squeeze lightly, then turn to look at her mother. “Mrs. Weisman,” I say, using the formal address to show my respect. “I completely understand your reservations. If I were you, I’d be just as concerned because you’re absolutely right: your daughter and I come from different worlds.”
Lorna and Chuck stare at me, obviously taken aback, and I use the moment to prepare what I’m going to say. I have to be very careful here, walk a fine line between letting them feel like they know me and terrifying them out of their minds.
I decide to start at the beginning. “I grew up in an orphanage in Russia,” I say. “I have no idea who my parents were, but I’m almost certain they were nothing like the two of you. Most likely, my mother was a teenager who found herself pregnant, but that’s pure speculation on my part. All I know is that I was left on the doorway of the orphanage when I was maybe a few days old.”