The Beauty Who Loved Him by Bethany-Kris

5.

Dewy blades of grasskissed Vera’s calves as she walked along the side of the lake. The rhythmic plunk, plunk, plunk of a sledgehammer banging a fence stake into the ground greeted her before even her father did. Demyan, fully focused on his task, didn’t notice Vera until she was standing just a few feet away.

He tossed the tool in his hand, hammer down, against his most recent post. Over the course of only a couple of days, the fence line of natural wood posts had started to take form along the edge of the lake. They had the entire line of the lake, a good two hundred feet around the house, finished with single standing posts. What good the fence would do to keep someone out of the lake, should it need to, she didn’t know. It did, however, give the landscape a homey, country appeal. She couldn’t deny that.

“Where’s your friend this morning?” she asked her father.

“Who’d know?” he muttered back.

She didn’t press the issue.

The morning before, Vera hadn’t even bothered to make her way out to speak to Vaslav when he came riding down on the ROV. If the man couldn’t at least talk out his issues, then she wouldn’t waste time trying to pry the details from him.

Besides, what was different?

Vaslav had been mean before.

This hadn’t even hurt.

It was more than a little amusing to see Demyan wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his silk sleeve. What he came with, he had, apparently. Nothing more, and nothing less. He didn’t exactly pack the type of clothing he’d need to do hard labor, like pounding in fence posts from five until eight in the morning, but that didn’t exactly stop him, either.

Even in slacks, that desperately needed an iron, and a silk button down that would likely soon find a garbage can, Demyan found something to do.

Resting his arms over the top of the fence post, Demyan squinted one eye at his daughter where she stood in her borrowed hiking boots, wrapped tightly in an over-sized cardigan that Kiril had provided along with a bag of other clothes. “You’re up early.”

“Is it?”

“Barely seven,” her father replied.

Vera nodded, accepting his account of the time for what it was, but not able to confirm it other than the early chirp of birds in the trees and the cold mist clinging to the top of the lake’s surface. Given the sun wasn’t even high enough in the sky to warm the air, though, she knew he wasn’t lying.

“Someone should be running down breakfast soon, then,” she said. Thankfully, Demyan had learned how to run the generator system so she woke up to power and running water unlike the morning before. “Did you meet Mira yet, properly?”

“The first night. I wasn’t entirely right, to be fair, so there’s not much to tell.”

Vera chewed on her bottom lip, mumbling, “Oh.”

“Didn’t seem like much of a talker.”

“She’s ... it takes a bit, and she’s very loyal to Vaslav so if he’s even the slightest bit uncomfortable, then she usually is, too. Like most everyone else around him,” Vera added.

Although, she instantly regretted giving away as much information about Vaslav’s moods and how it affected the people in his life. Just because she noticed those sorts of things didn’t mean that he would want Vera sharing them.

“But that’s not important,” she told her father quickly.

Demyan shrugged. “I suppose.”

The borderline safe conversation didn’t exactly leave Vera feeling fulfilled, but it wasn’t anything new between the two.

“Are you ever going to come back home?” Demyan asked.

She hadn’t been ready for it.

Vera stumbled over a weak deflection. “I mean, when did I really have time ... not to mention, it’s not like right now is a great time to plan something like that.”

“I didn’t ask why.”

Yeah.

God.

Vera stopped avoiding her father’s gaze, and settled on telling him the truth. “It never really felt like home, Papa. I was so focused on being something that I didn’t really learn to enjoy where I was and what I had.”

“You’re saying you didn’t have anything to miss? You don’t miss us ... do you not want us?”

She flinched. “It’s not like that.”

“It sounds like that.”

Her heavy sigh quieted Demyan from saying anything more.

She was also busy.

Not that Vera wanted to repeat that excuse to her father, but it was still true. From the time she was sixteen until the day she was forced to retire from being a professional ballerina, she didn’t stop. Ballet had taken nearly every second of her life, and what time she did have to grow and be a person of her own making, she hadn’t wasted it flying between countries because there were people she left behind who missed her.

Was it selfish?

Fine.

She didn’t regret it.

“I grew up and learned a lot about who I was and wanted to be because I wasn’t at home,” Vera said. “I had a different kind of influence shaping my perspective. And that’s not a bad thing, but it didn’t have anything to do with you, or Claire ... anybody, really.”

“Before or after your injury?” Demyan shot back.

“That’s not fair,” Vera whispered, blinking back the sudden sting of tears welling in her eyes, “you don’t know what that was like for me. Especially after it happened. To be—”

“You didn’t let us, either.”

“Wasn’t it bad enough for me to be a failure to myself? Why did I have to go home to be one, too?” she asked, every word getting progressively higher and shriller.

She didn’t want to yell, or argue, or do any of this at all.

“You know what, I already told you what matters here, I’m where I want to be,” Vera said, and the declaration loosened her father’s tight shoulders. “Do we really have to do this?”

“Just because you can make choices doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

“But you don’t get a say in them, either, Papa.”

Demyan nodded once, and then waved a hand at the quiet scenery around them. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can’t say I had any choice once I got here, can we?” he asked.

“To be fair, neither did I.”

“The bigger issue with that is how you don’t seem to have a problem with it,” Demyan pointed out.

Vera lifted an eyebrow high. “Maybe that’s because a part of me likes it.”

“Vera.”

“And him,” she added, ignoring her father’s warning. “I also like him.” A lot, she thought. “So maybe if you have something to say about that, now’s the time to do it and move on with it.”

“Would you even hear me say it? Would you let me, as your father, say it?”

Did he want honesty?

Vera gave it, anyway. “I didn’t ask you to love him, you’re not the one who has to.”

Demyan didn’t push the line she drew in the sand with that statement, instead asking, “But do you? Do you love him?”

She refused to drop her father’s piercing stare when she replied only, “And I didn’t say you had to like him, either.”

Demyan shook his head and failed to suppress a frustrated grin that he eventually scrubbed away with the palm of his hand. “God, you’re your mother all over. Stubborn like nothing. Roman’s gonna give me a stroke before he’s thirty but you—”

“Was she like me?” Vera asked, then.

That stopped her father right up.

Demyan tipped his chin a bit higher as he eyed Vera and the way she hugged her oversized cardigan close to keep the cold away from her bare legs and arms. She hadn’t bothered to change out of the tank top and cotton shorts she wore to bed.

He nodded at her instead of answering the question, and said, “Why don’t you get in the house? I managed to keep the fireplace going last night. You don’t need to be out here.”

She didn’t move. “I meant Gia, not Claire.”

Demyan swallowed audibly while his lips pressed together, and he stared out at the lake. Anywhere but at Vera for more than a handful of seconds. “Yeah, I know,” he said, emotion thick in his hoarse voice. “Frankly, she never liked to listen to me, either, Vera.”

Huh.

“Your brother bet me a thousand dollars I wouldn’t be able to even get a vacation out of you.”

Vera’s brow dipped. “A vacation?”

“Like a date and time. Even a plan, Vera.” Demyan rolled his eyes and slapped a hand against the top of the post as he pushed away from it. “I should have shut my mouth; Roman likes taking my money too much. He gets a complex from it.”

“In the spring,” she said suddenly.

Demyan’s head snapped up at that. “For what?”

“I’ll come home to visit in the spring.”

That declaration only had her father staring toward the arch of overhanging trees where the dirt road entered the drive of the private guesthouse. Without saying anything at all, his gaze said it all. Says who?

“Maybe I can convince Vaslav to take a late honeymoon to the states,” Vera said.

Not seriously.

Demyan barked out a laugh. “Right, I’ll believe that one when I see it. From what I hear, that man doesn’t leave this country unless he has no other choice. People watch, see ... he’s known for making it very hard for anyone to find him in the first damn place. If you think he’ll be seen within fifty miles of me, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for.” Gesturing at their surroundings, he added, “Why do you think he’s put me in a little bubble where only he knows I exist for the moment? It’s not even personal. He just doesn’t do business that way. And a ring on your finger won’t change any of that, I promise you.”

The news didn’t shock her.

His account of it, however, did.

“Men in familiar circles, right?” she asked, knowing her father would understand perfectly fine. Of course, he’d have an intimate look at Vaslav Pashkov, the international criminal. Birds of a feather flocked together. Wasn’t that how the saying went?

Demyan openly frowned. “I never hid the things I did from you. I didn’t pretend to be a different man from who I was. Can he say the same? Do you even know what bed the beast is making for you?”

She hated that he was right.

And that it still didn’t make a difference.

“What does it matter about the bed,” she returned, wanting this to be the last time she had this conversation with her father, “as long as he’s in it with me?”

*

It was closing in onlunchtime before Vera finally learned the truth about Vaslav’s lack of appearance that morning. She didn’t pretend to be pleased about the sight that greeted her inside the man’s master bathroom, either.

Clearly hungover, besides his grey pallor, the dark circles under his eyes gave away his ill feelings and exhaustion, Vaslav reclined in a free-standing bathtub of steaming hot water. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice her approach. At least, that’s how it seemed.

Steam clung to the air.

No bubbles or oils offered any scent. There wasn’t even a candle lit on the counter, so she had to flick the lights on herself.

Not that he liked that.

The water sloshed violently as he jerked to awareness. Vera didn’t move from her spot in the doorway while Vaslav blinked away his confusion and settled on her figure across the room.

“Mira told me you got drunk last night,” she said.

“Mira has a big fucking mouth,” he grumbled as he settled back into the tub with his arms falling limp over the outer edges.

“Any reason you felt like you needed to drink two liters—”

“It wasn’t the entire bottle. And if you don’t mind, when you bitch your voice feels like someone is hammering nails into my goddamn ears.” He squeezed his eyes shut again, but she could see the lines of tension on his forehead that spoke of pain. “Shut up.”

Vera sucked in a sharp breath at his viciousness. “The migraines are back?”

“The migraines don’t stop.”

Right, right.

Vera had to remember that.

She quickly flipped the lights back off, but opted not to move from the doorway of the bathroom. “I didn’t walk up, by the way. Igor gave me a ride when he came down to check on things at noon.”

“Hmm.”

“I was serious about the date, Vas.”

That cracked his eyes back open. “What?”

He didn’t look at her, but rather, focused on the wall of tiles at the foot end of the tub. At least with his attention partially distracted from her, Vera didn’t feel like it was such a dangerous thing to let her own gaze wander over the man. From his damp, tattooed chest to the strong line of his shoulders covering the rounded run of the head of the tub. Even his muscular thighs dusted with dark hair, both visible as he sat with his knees bent above the water, dragged her focus in and twisted her thoughts with the thread of lust.

If he asked her to, she’d join him. Hell, if he said the right words, she’d probably crawl across the floor naked just to get inside that tub with him. It wasn’t even sex that called her to him. Something else entirely curled around her waist like an invisible rope, tightening and tugging, though she pretended like she didn’t feel it.

No doubt, he’d make the world disappear.

And she’d like it.

It didn’t take Vaslav long to realize she hadn’t answered him. He caught her staring, and she couldn’t even be bothered to pretend as if she was ashamed.

He wagged a finger her way, asking, “What’s all that for?”

“What?”

“You know, that look.”

Vera preened the shorter strands of hair framing her face as a way to avoid what he said. “Are we talking about the date for the wedding or—”

“Your birthday. The first. December. I know it.”

“Yes, but do you like it?”

“It’s soon enough,” he returned. “It works.”

Less than two months.

It didn’t leave a lot of time for planning.

Not that she cared.

Vera nodded. “Okay. I’ll just ...” She gestured toward him and the tub; his bath, really. “I’ll let you get some rest. My father finished the posts along the side of the lake that faces the house, by the way, if you’re feeling up to coming down to check it out later.”

“This morning?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t miss the telltale curve of a possible smile on Vaslav’s face at the news, but as fast as it was there, it left. Like it hadn’t been there to begin with.

“Huh,” he eventually grunted.

Settling back into the tub with closed eyes, and a slightly more relaxed expression, Vaslav pulled in a deep breath and released it in a slow exhale. Vera gave him a few more seconds before she turned to leave. Mira had come down with Igor to bring lunch, and despite the argument the two put up when she learned of Vaslav’s escapade with vodka the night before, Vera ended up winning the battle.

Hence why she stood there.

“It helped me to sleep,” she heard him say.

Vera didn’t turn around. “Drinking like a fool?”

“Like a drunk.”

Good God.

She wished that disgusted her, if anything, it just hurt. It killed her to think that to ease his suffering in one way, he needed to find a different kind of hell.

“And Vera?”

She glanced back at him to find he had opened his eyes again, and watched her studiously. “Yeah, Vas?”

“December first is perfectly fine. Tell your father we’ll send an invitation.”

He couldn’t know it, she didn’t plan to share, but the news offered her a little relief. Given the way Vaslav behaved now with her father, she couldn’t imagine that he’d willingly invite Demyan back to the country. Even if it was for Vera’s wedding.

“And just how many of those will there be?” Vera arched her eyebrow, adding, “Invitations, I mean.”

“Less than you think.”

“Give me an idea.”

“Count them on two hands.”

Vera’s eyes widened. “Ten?”

“Minus me, you, Igor, and Mira,” he returned. “So, six.”

“Six!” His amused, dark chuckles had her spinning around on the spot. “You can’t be serious! That leaves three guests after my mother, father, and Hannah.”

“Don’t you have a brother?” Vaslav asked, sounding honestly curious. “Won’t he want to come?”

“I don’t even think he’s allowed to leave the country.”

Roman Avdonin’s legal issues had followed him since he was a young teen. Vera didn’t act like she understood the demons chasing her brother to seek out wild things.

“Two guests left, I suppose,” Vaslav said, pointing a finger her way. “You can’t forget Kiril. I bet you could convince him to be your flower boy.”

His attempt to humor her didn’t distract Vera from the main point at hand. “So basically, nobody.”

Not nobody, nobody. The important people to her would be there, and that counted for something. It still wouldn’t be a terribly big event, clearly. That helped with the planning aspect, anyway. It wasn't exactly how she imagined her wedding day, but then again, the man sitting in a tub fifteen feet away wasn't the knight in shining armor that the world promised little girls, either.

Maybe this was better.

He tipped his chin up and watched her like he was an eagle soaring high that had just landed sights on its prey. “Well, nobody but me and you.”

She shivered.

His voice alone could do it.

“And you like that, don’t you?” she asked.

Vaslav smiled. “Me and you?”

She nodded.

“Oh, kisska, you know I do.”