The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)
“Toast and porridge make my tummy hurt, Papa,” Kat said softly. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, and that seemed to be when her papa waved the white flag.
“Fine. Pancakes. But you’ll finish your game after you eat.”
She smiled real big, jumped off the bed, and skipped into her father’s arms. He lifted her, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“I love you, Papa.”
His eyes softened. “I love you too, malen’kaya volchitsa.”
As he turned to leave, Kat wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, “I really want chocolate chips in my pancake. And Fruit Woops. It would make me so happy, Papa!”
It was clear by Christian’s enamored expression, there’d be chocolate and rainbow-colored cereal in his daughter’s pancakes come hell or high water.
Ronan dropped his head against the headboard and chuckled at—I could only assume—how whipped his brother was. Christian gave him a dark look, glanced at me, then looked back to his brother. Ronan’s eyes narrowed. A subtle smile touched Christian’s lips, and then he carried Kat out of the room.
Their absence left this gnawing hole in my chest. I thought of my papa and how his love had never been as deep as what I’d just seen in Christian’s eyes. How I could count on one hand how many times he’d told me he loved me; how I yearned for his affection and rarely received even a hug. Guilt expanded in my chest for thinking this way. My papa was sacrificing himself for me. Wasn’t that the strongest expression of love?
Still, longing tore through me for that expressive kind of love I’d never had and that, soon, it’d be lost to me forever.
“Ronan,” I said uneasily. “I want to talk to my papa.”
Phone in his hand, he cast a look at me. The glint in his eyes was an unwavering “no.”
I swallowed. “Please . . . I might not see him ever again shortly, and I really need this.” My voice clogged with emotion. “I really need to talk to him.”
He watched me for a moment, then reached into the nightstand, pulled out my phone, and handed it to me. “Put it on speakerphone.”
I exhaled in relief. “Okay.”
Turning the phone on with shaky hands, I was assaulted by multiple messages coming in. Most from Carter. A lot from Carter. The man barely gave me the time of day unless we were on a mandatory date. I wondered if he was in trouble
from his father for letting his almost-fiancée fall off the face of the earth.
Finding my papa’s contact, my thumb hesitated before I pressed “call” and turned on the speakerphone. I set the phone on my thigh, my stomach roiling with each shrill ring. Then they stopped.
“Alexei.”
My throat felt tight. “Papa.”
He released a breath of relief. “Mila . . .”
A tear ran down my cheek. I saw Ronan get to his feet out of the corner of my eye and walk over to look out the window.
“Hi, Papa.” I didn’t know what else to say or why this felt so awkward.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Just in your enemy’s bed willingly. Guilt inflamed my gut.
“Are you really? Or are you only saying that because that bastard is listening in?”
My skin crawled at the insult, the demand to defend Ronan rising in my throat, but I didn’t know what part to play here. Too much animosity cloaked the room, as if one wrong word would cause it to blow.
“He’s here listening. But I promise, I’m fine.”
I could practically hear the cogs in my father’s head turning, wondering why Ronan was letting me speak to him. This phone call wouldn’t benefit Ronan in any way. Papa must have believed me because he said, “Khorosho.” Good. “Mila, there are things we need to discuss. Things concerning you after I’m gone.”
Another tear ran down my cheek. “Okay.”