Ivan’s gray eyes take in every inch of the space, from the overturned crates serving as chairs around a rustic table to the gingham curtain hanging in the middle of the room, half hiding a daybed. At first Sarah Elizabeth and I shared the bedroom, but I moved out so that she could be more comfortable in her final months—and to give her more room when the baby is born.
Nerves flutter in my stomach. What will Ivan think of this house?
His voice is quiet when he speaks. “It’s beautiful.”
More than quiet, he sounds almost reverent. And I know he doesn’t just mean the cottage. He means the life I’ve built here. He means me.
“Thanks,” I say softly, feeling shy.
He clears his throat. “Candace—”
“How is Lola? And the girls?” I have to interrupt him. I can’t let him finish. I’m afraid of what he’ll say, what he’ll ask me. I’m dreading saying no.
A slight nod tells me he knows exactly why I stopped him, but he’s letting it go. For now. “Good. We found Bianca.”
My heart thumps. It had hurt to leave, even if I’d had no real ties to most of them. Maybe if I could have said goodbye. “Is she okay?”
“She got in deep with a dealer. He was affiliated with Fedor. We’re working it out.”
Relief and gratitude form a knot in my throat. “Thank you.”
His expression turns stark. “I apologize that I let you think I wouldn’t help.”
He doesn’t just mean Bianca. “I always knew you would help me, Ivan. Sometimes the price was just too high.”
He’s silent a moment. The past whispers between us, spankings and orders and a rough bloody fuck on his bed—somehow beautiful in its brutality.
He nods once, eyes filled with pain. “I’m sorry for that too.”
My eyebrows shoot up. He should sound like a stranger, speaking those foreign words. But he doesn’t. He apologizes like he does everything else—with the entire force of his will.
“Is that why you came?” I’m the one careful now. I’m the one with something to lose. “To say sorry?”
“That. And other things.”
Other things, other things. My imagination can fill in some heartbreaking other things. My hands are shaking as I go to the sideboard. “Do you want a drink?”
A pause. “Candace.”
I rummage through old, empty liquor bottles, glass soft with dust. There’s a bottle of wine I popped when we first moved in. The scent of vinegar makes my nose scrunch up. “Maybe not.”
“Candy.”
I swallow hard. He never calls me that. I force my hands to my sides, still turned away. “Yes?”
“Would you come sit down?”
Dread. That’s what I’m feeling as I turn and face him. And regret. And love. God, is this what love is? It feels like there’s a hole in my chest, because there are only two ways this ends. I can be his property or nothing at all.
The cushions have no strength left. They sink as I sit down, pushing me closer to Ivan. Why is this sofa so tiny? It didn’t seem that way when Sarah Elizabeth and I would chat late into the night, drinking grape juice instead of stale wine.
I hold myself stiffly, keeping one inch away from him. Without that inch I’ll feel his strength, his solidity. Without that inch, I’d have nothing left to hold myself back with. A strip of air is the only thing keeping me safe.
And he knows it. His pale eyes take in my posture, my expression. He looks down at the space between us, and something like defeat crosses his hard features. Then he closes his eyes as if making a decision.
“I’ve brought you a gift,” he says, pulling something from his coat pocket. A slip of paper. “I’m not sure if you want it, but if not, I’m sure my agent in the city can help you dispose of it.”
I take the paper as if it might catch fire. It does burn my fingers, just that faint heat from his body. My hands are trembling so much it’s hard to read, but then I do. And then the paper goes the same way as the basket, right out of my fingers. Not tumbling and rolling this time. It floats gently to the ground.