Page 49 of Nine Months to Love

“It was. Until Vasily decided my mother was interesting.”

“Vasily, as in… Stefan’s uncle?”

“The same. He had a wandering eye, and it fell on my mom. She was beautiful—long dark hair, green eyes. The kind of beauty that made men stupid.”

“She wasn’t interested?”

“She was married. To my father. Who worked for Vasily’s brother. You’d think that would matter.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Of course not. Men like Vasily don’t understand the word ‘no.’” He takes another turn, this one gentler. “But Natalia understood. She saw my mother as a threat.”

“To her marriage? But wasn’t she having an affair?—?”

“To her position. Her power. Natalia didn’t give a shit about Vasily’s fidelity. She cared about being the most beautiful woman in the room. The most desired. My mother’s existence challenged that.”

We’re heading toward the harbor now, the city lights reflecting off dark water.

“One day, my father came back from a job to find my mother with a split lip and her hair hacked off.”

“Jesus.”

“Vasily had complimented her on her hair at dinner the night before. Just a passing comment: ‘Your hair looks lovely tonight.’ That’s all it took. The next day, Natalia lured my mother into the laundry room and came at her with a meat cleaver.”

“A meat cleaver?”

“Could have been worse. Could have been her throat instead of her hair.”

I feel sick. The image of Natalia from our meeting—elegant, composed, tragic—clashes violently with this version.

“My mother never spoke about it,” Taras continues. “But my father knew. Everyone knew. And Vasily didn’t stop. He kept pursuing her, kept making her life hell. So my father went to Matvey and asked for permission to leave service and go back to Russia.”

“And Matvey let them go?”

“He didn’t question it. Just gave my parents his blessing. And off they went.” He glances at me. “Eleven months later, I was born.”

“In Russia?”

“Yeah. Moscow. My parents started over, built a new life. But my father never forgot his loyalty to Matvey. When Stefan needed training, needed guidance after his father’s death, my father stepped up. He trained us together when we were eighteen. And in the process, Stefan and I?—”

“Became besties?”

He snorts. “Something like that. I was the cool kid who got all the girls, and Stefan was the dorky loner who read too many books and brooded in corners.”

“That I can believe.”

We’re pulling into the harbor now, and I recognize our destination immediately. “That’sThe Antonia.”

“She’ll be so pleased you remembered her.” Taras parks but leaves the engine running, then walks around to help me out.

“Does Stefan outsource all his dirty work?” I ask as I take his hand to struggle out of the seat.

“Only the parts he thinks he’ll fuck up.” He closes my door behind me, then offers his elbow. “Which, when it comes to you, is apparently everything.”

I think about spiting him, but on second thought, I kinda need the help with my balance. These heels aren’t exactly boat-shoe practical.

Then I stop short.