Page 26

26

SUTTON

“You packed an overnight bag for me?” I squeak, rifling through the clothes that Oleg brought.

“Considering we’re spending a night or two on the water, I thought an overnight bag was necessary.”

“Why didn’t you mention it to me? I’m more than capable of packing my own bag.”

He turns to me, the very picture of serene calm. Or maybe it’s just the backdrop—the glorious expanse of blue sea that stretches on into infinity.

On any other day, it would be hard to turn my gaze away from that bright, gold-cloaked horizon. But with Oleg standing there in his linen beach shorts and unbuttoned cotton shirt, it’s a miracle I’ve even noticed what’s behind him.

“It was meant to be a surprise, Sutton.”

“That’s a nice way of saying that you’ve abducted me.”

“And that is a funny way of saying ‘thank you.’ My mother is staying at the bungalow and I’ve just given you two full days away from her.”

“Oh. That is pretty nice.” I’m still wary, though, and he can tell.

He sighs. “Must everything be a fight with you?”

“You’re the one who set the precedent. I can’t help it if I’m a little suspicious.”

“What happened to ‘Trust is a two-way street, Oleg’?” he challenges.

I suppress a smile. “When I see a little trust come my way, I’ll throw a little something-something yours.”

He grabs my arm and spins me into his body. “Tempting,” he growls, his hand sliding down to cup my ass.

“Hey! That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. But while we’re waiting to trust each other, maybe we can have a little fun?”

His erection is pressed insistently against my thigh, his muscles taut and cool against my hands.

How the hell is a woman supposed to resist that?

Especially after the message he left on my pregnancy app this morning. It’s the first time that I’m aware he’s accessed it. Definitely the first time he’s contributed.

The message was short but it made my insides turn to jelly.

I think of you constantly.

That’s all he said, his voice raspy, low and oh-so sexy. My immediate thought was, Is this for me or the baby? My pride prevents me from asking.

But when he looks at me like this, finds excuses to touch me, steals me away on his yacht for a couple of nights…

The answer seems obvious.

His lips descend on mine. I allow him a lingering kiss before I wriggle out from under his arms and escape to the edge of the yacht. I hear nothing but a growl, but he doesn’t stop me.

A few seconds later, he joins me at the edge, leaning forward so that half his body is angled overboard.

“It’s so silent out here,” I murmur. “Even the engine barely makes a sound.”

“As it should. I designed it that way,” Oleg reveals.

I turn and look at him in surprise. “ You designed it?!”

“You don’t have to seem so stunned.”

“Sorry. I just thought?—”

“—that the rich boy would pay other people to do his work for him?”

“Well… maybe?” I grin.

The wind is blowing softly at his hair and there’s an ease on his face that I never see on land. He bumps his shoulder into mine and I revel in the strange new harmony between us.

When did that happen?

“A few years ago, I would have hated it,” I say. “The silence.”

“Why?”

“I associated it with being alone, being… abandoned,” I explain haltingly. “Our mother liked noise. There were always half a dozen different things running in the background of our lives. Loud music, movies… She liked singing, too. Even though she could barely hold a note. If she wasn’t at home, though, it was quiet. Sydney and I didn’t dare use too many things because we never knew if the bill had been paid or not. We just sat there, in the silence, in the dark, waiting for her to come back home.”

“And did she?”

“When we were younger, she came back more often. A few hours here and there. A day at the most. When we were older, though, we would go weeks without seeing her. We always had to pretend she was around. Especially when the neighbors started noticing. But even that jig was up the moment we lost electricity or the landlord came by to hand us our final eviction notice.” I glance towards him, realizing that I’ve been talking a lot. “I don’t normally talk about her.”

His face stays calm. “Why is that?”

“Honestly?” I sigh. “Spite. She never gave a shit about us when she was around. So why should I give a shit about her now?”

“Because you’re not her,” he says immediately. “You’re better than she ever was.”

I bite my lip, unable to keep myself from leaning in towards Oleg. “It’s so easy to paint her as a villain. Don’t me wrong—there were days when that’s exactly what she was. But there were days she was the perfect mom.”

My nose starts itching as I remember the time she busted Sydney and me out of school under the pretext of a “family emergency” so that she could take us to Disneyland.

It was a four-hour ride to and from, but she stuffed the back seat with snacks, made a special playlist for the road trip, and booked us into a cheap motel right outside the park for the night.

And for one day, it really was the happiest place on earth.

Right up until Mom threw a hissy fit while we were waiting in line for a ride. She didn’t like that the people with fast passes got through faster. And she didn’t have any money to spend on the passes.

So, in an attempt to balance out the scales of justice, she tried to assault the people with the fast passes, wielding her popcorn as a weapon of choice. She screamed obscenities when they removed us from the line, and told Mickey to kiss her ass as we were escorted off the premises and barred from Disney properties forever.

“That’s probably for the best,” I conclude. “Palmer women and happy places don’t mix well.”

I shake my head when I realize I’ve been talking about myself for what feels like an eternity.

I nudge Oleg. “Your turn. You never really talk about your father.”

He shakes his head. “He was a great man,” he murmurs, his tone a confusing mixture of pride and regret. “It’s the same relationship as you and your mom—except in reverse. He was always better than me. In everything.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“That’s because you didn’t know him,” Oleg insists. “My father was a powerful man, but you would never know it looking at him. He liked the simple life. He was most comfortable on the ocean, surrounded by water, sky, and silence.”

“Why wouldn’t you talk about someone you love so much?”

I don’t expect him to answer the question. But his eyes stick to mine. There’s something churning beneath the surface.

I sense that we’re on a precipice.

In mortal danger of falling.

“Because,” Oleg says, his voice hardening, “I’m the one that killed him.”