Page 51
Story: Vengeful Embers
“I nearly forgot,” he says. “I have a surprise.”
“Another one?” My pulse jumps. My eyes narrow suspiciously as I tease, “You’re not about to propose, are you?”
He snorts. “Not today.”
He holds out a folded paper.
I take it. And the breath whooshes out of me as my eyes take in the full birth certificate of Lidiya Zorin.
Lidiya Zorin
Born: June 19, 1998
Father: Leonid Zorin
Mother: [Redacted]
I stare at the redacted line like it’s going to erase itself. “Why is the mother’s name hidden?”
“I’m looking into it,” he says quietly. “There are only a few reasons it would be blacked out. None of them simple.”
I trace the date of birth. My birthday. And then my eyes land on the father’s birth date—same as my father, Sol Craft’s.
“Konstantin…” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “It’s the same date as my father, Sol’s.”
“Which means,” Konstantin says, “you may not be who you think you are.”
The plane touches down before I realize it, and I whip my head toward him. “You timed that so I wouldn’t get anxious about the landing.”
“Of course I did.” He grins smugly.
“Asshole.” But I’m smiling as I say it.
Then, on impulse, I hug him without thinking. A full-body wrap of my arms around his neck. “Thank you. For everything.”
His arms come around me slowly, then hold me tight. “You deserve answers, Tara. I’ll help you find them, I promise.”
The SUV is already waiting when we climb off the plane. When we pull up in front of one of L.A.'s swankiest hotels, my jaw drops.
“I can’t stay here. I can’t afford this place.”
“It’s on the house.”
“You own this, don’t you?”
“Inherited it. My uncle was the real estate type.”
Inside, the staff greets him like he’s royalty. The penthouse is pristine and tasteful. He shows me to a suite across from his.
“Pick any room but mine. That one’s off limits,” he jokes, pointing to the door on the left.
“How many bedrooms are there?” I eye the huge apartment that could swallow mine three or four times over.
“Five.” He shrugs. “I’m going to jump in the shower and then drop you at your interview and go to a coffee shop while I wait.”
Then it hits me in the chest. The fear! Holy fuck I’m here! I am in Los Angeles, and I am about to go for my dream job interview at UCLA! I reach out and grab his arm.
“Will you come with me?” Tumbles from my lips before I can stop it. “Obviously not into the interview but… If you don’t mind waiting in the waiting area…”
“Another one?” My pulse jumps. My eyes narrow suspiciously as I tease, “You’re not about to propose, are you?”
He snorts. “Not today.”
He holds out a folded paper.
I take it. And the breath whooshes out of me as my eyes take in the full birth certificate of Lidiya Zorin.
Lidiya Zorin
Born: June 19, 1998
Father: Leonid Zorin
Mother: [Redacted]
I stare at the redacted line like it’s going to erase itself. “Why is the mother’s name hidden?”
“I’m looking into it,” he says quietly. “There are only a few reasons it would be blacked out. None of them simple.”
I trace the date of birth. My birthday. And then my eyes land on the father’s birth date—same as my father, Sol Craft’s.
“Konstantin…” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “It’s the same date as my father, Sol’s.”
“Which means,” Konstantin says, “you may not be who you think you are.”
The plane touches down before I realize it, and I whip my head toward him. “You timed that so I wouldn’t get anxious about the landing.”
“Of course I did.” He grins smugly.
“Asshole.” But I’m smiling as I say it.
Then, on impulse, I hug him without thinking. A full-body wrap of my arms around his neck. “Thank you. For everything.”
His arms come around me slowly, then hold me tight. “You deserve answers, Tara. I’ll help you find them, I promise.”
The SUV is already waiting when we climb off the plane. When we pull up in front of one of L.A.'s swankiest hotels, my jaw drops.
“I can’t stay here. I can’t afford this place.”
“It’s on the house.”
“You own this, don’t you?”
“Inherited it. My uncle was the real estate type.”
Inside, the staff greets him like he’s royalty. The penthouse is pristine and tasteful. He shows me to a suite across from his.
“Pick any room but mine. That one’s off limits,” he jokes, pointing to the door on the left.
“How many bedrooms are there?” I eye the huge apartment that could swallow mine three or four times over.
“Five.” He shrugs. “I’m going to jump in the shower and then drop you at your interview and go to a coffee shop while I wait.”
Then it hits me in the chest. The fear! Holy fuck I’m here! I am in Los Angeles, and I am about to go for my dream job interview at UCLA! I reach out and grab his arm.
“Will you come with me?” Tumbles from my lips before I can stop it. “Obviously not into the interview but… If you don’t mind waiting in the waiting area…”
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