Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

EMERY

"Can the kennel go in my room?" Isabella asks excitedly. "I think she'll want to be close to me at night. She might be scared. She could sleep in my bed, too!"

"No, baby, that would not be safe," I tell her for at least the fourteenth time. "What if the dog climbed on top of you in the night? You wouldn't be able to push it off."

"She wouldn't do that!"

"We don't even have a dog yet," I remind her. "We don't know if it will be a boy or a girl. So let's talk about all of this later, okay?"

Isabella has been buzzing with questions about the dog all day. From the moment Stefan and I walked through the front door, she's been planning the next ten years of our lives with the animal.

But I don't even know what the next ten minutes look like.

"Does Adrik know if it will be a boy or girl?" she asks. "Where is he? I want to ask him."

"He isn't here."

"I know, but where is he?"

"I don't know."

She groans. "No one tells me anything."

I have to resist the urge to laugh. Join the club, kid.

"He'll be back later,” I say instead. “And when he is, I don't want you pestering him with all these questions, okay, sweetheart? He's being really nice by agreeing to the dog. Don't push it."

She frowns. "I don't pester him. He likes me."

"Of course he does. Who wouldn't?"

I reach out and smooth her brown hair down her neck. Usually, it's a rat's nest at the back where her head rests on her wheelchair, but it's smooth and silky now.

"Who combed out your hair?"

"A maid," she says with a shrug, like it’s the most natural thing ever. "She helped me get dressed, too. So many people live here. Adrik has the best house in the world."

There’s no comparison between this palace and our old apartment. Even my best Mom voice isn’t enough to convince Isabella otherwise, much less myself.

But this won't last forever. And Isabella needs to not be crushed when she wakes up from this fever dream.

I kneel down next to her. "It is cool, but things aren't perfect. Nothing is ever perfect. It can't be all presents and go-kart rides and sweet treats forever, okay?"

Isabella opens her mouth to argue some more, but a knock on our suite door interrupts.

"Come in." I expect it to be a maid bringing us dinner.

It’s not.

It’s Adrik.

I try to ignore the flutter I feel at seeing him. He cuts a handsome figure even in black jeans and a short-sleeved tee. His broad shoulders and lean, veiny forearms are a lot to take in all at once. Especially when you aren't expecting it.

Isabella squeals with excitement. "Hi!"

Adrik doesn't exactly smile, but his blue eyes sparkle. "Hi, Isabella. How are you?"

"Is my dog going to be a boy or a girl?" she asks, cutting right to the chase.

“Give him a second, baby,” I mutter.

He doesn’t even spare a glance in my direction. “I don't know yet. But I have something else for you."

I was so busy checking him over for any sign of injuries, assessing his face to make sure it is as perfect as the last time I saw him, that I didn't notice the box under his arm.

He holds it out.

"Open it, Mama!" Isabella begs in delight.

I grab the box from him and slide back the lid. Inside is a golden brown layer cake dusted with powdered sugar. Like something out of Jenny Craig’s worst nightmare.

Isabella gasps. "What is it?"

"Medovik," Adrik explains. "It's a Russian honey cake. Do you like honey?"

Isabella nods. "I love it!"

“It’s sugar. Of course she loves it.” I turn to her. “What do you say when someone gives you a gift?”

She smiles up at Adrik. "Thank you."

“You are welcome, lyubimaya," he rumbles. "I stole your mom away today. I wanted to make it up to you."

He didn't exactly steal me away so much as unwillingly allow me to tag along with him, but that’s semantics. It's still sweet he thought of Isabella.

Unusually sweet, actually.

I have the sudden sinking feeling that there’s another shoe about to drop.

“That’s okay,” Isabella is saying. “Stefan and I raced go-karts. And the maid let me try lipstick! Mama never lets me wear her makeup.”

“That’s because you don't need lipstick," he says. "You're pretty without it."

Isabella flushes from head to toe. “Thank you.”

He winks and then leans down to her level. “Is it okay if I steal your mom away for a few more minutes? I need to talk to her.”

Isabella looks like she might argue, but then a maid comes in with our dinner trays and a fork so she can eat her cake.

“Francine can help you with your dinner,” Adrik adds.