Page 26 of Pregnant Behind the Veil (Brides for Greek Brothers #3)

“It’s not my story to tell, Sarah.”

She looks back at the paintings. Heartbreak is written across her face in the deep lines on either side of her mouth, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“How can I look at them? How can I possibly even have them in my house knowing that my son had to give something to that hideous man?”

“He wanted to do it.”

Sarah’s head whips back around.

“Michail loves you so much. It was worth it to him—”

But she’s shaking her head. “Do you know why he’s named Michail?”

I shake my head.

“Because I went back to that bastard one more time after my parents cut me off. I called him, begging, pleading for money, a place to stay, anything.” Shame drips from her voice, but she doesn’t back down.

“He offered me five thousand dollars. Five thousand if I would name my son Michail. The Greek version of the archangel Michael.”

Michael. Raphael. Gabriel. My heart sinks in my chest.

“And I took it.”

Her breaths are coming in rapid gasps. I go to her and try to hold her hand, but she stands and starts to pace.

“It was the only thing that got us into that hellhole we lived in for thirteen years. From what little I know of Gavriil’s circumstances, I imagine Lucifer offered his mother a similar deal.

” She throws her hands up in the air. “And I don’t know what’s worse.

The fact that I took the money, or that that man had such a sadistic sense of humor that he wanted his sons named after archangels.

I asked him why, and do you know what he said?

” Her voice pitches up. “Because it amused him. It amused him and I still took that money. I accepted every payment he offered me for years in exchange for a photo, an update, even as he teased and taunted that one day he would finally meet Michail.”

She collapses back into her chair, her body shaking. I go to her, kneel before her and wrap my hands firmly around her trembling fingers.

“Sarah, you were young. You had nothing.”

“I still have my pride.” A shudder passes through her body.

“Or I did before I let that man brand my son with a name of his choosing. Let him string Michail along with promises of visiting and threatening to cut off my payments if I denied him. It took my son getting threatened with expulsion in school to realize how badly my own weakness had played a role in the pain he was suffering.”

One of her tears drops onto my skin, slowly slides down the back of our joined hands.

“What did he have to do?” she whispers again.

A board creaks behind us. I look over my shoulder to see Michail standing in the doorway. I flinch at the furious anger burning in his eyes.

“Alessandra.”

I stand. “Michail, she—”

He brushes past me and kneels before his mother.

“I never wanted this,” Sarah whispers. “We made it. We were free of him.” She reaches out and cups her son’s face. “What did he make you do?”

“Mom, I made a choice. And I don’t regret it.”

Sarah starts to protest, but he shushes her. “I promise you the price I paid was minimal, and I would do it over and over again to get back what he stole from you.” He squeezes her hands. “Are you…?”

She slowly shakes her head even as her eyes slide away from his. “No. I’m not in danger of going back there.”

Confused, I glance at Michail, but he’s refusing to look at me.

“All right.” He stands and kisses Sarah’s forehead. “Give me a moment to speak with Alessandra, and then I’ll be back. We’ll talk.”

He turns and stalks past me, doesn’t even look at me. The chill I felt on the back of my neck when we first arrived pierces my skin, spreads through my veins like ice water.

I follow Michail out the front door and onto the porch, closing the door softly behind me. He’s standing at the railing, hands braced, shoulders bunched.

“You told her.”

“No, I—”

“You said something.”

“She made the connection. I wasn’t prepared for it.”

“So you told her.”

Irritation firms my voice. “No, I didn’t. I told her it wasn’t my story to tell.”

He whirls around so fast I take a few steps back. “But you didn’t deny. You didn’t tell her that everything was fine. Instead, you let her fall back into a past she has worked for decades to escape.”

My mouth drops open. “Are you blaming me for this?”

“Yes. She was happy, Alessandra. Happy. Content. Who knows what this will do to her?” He runs a hand through his hair. “This could set her back years, all because I trusted you, and obviously I shouldn’t have.”

My body goes numb. There’s one split second of the most intense, heartbreaking pain I’ve ever experienced. And then it’s gone, leaving behind a void where there’s no emotion, no anger, no heartbreak. Just nothingness I wrap about myself like a shield.

Michail stills. His breath comes out in a heavy rush.

“Alessandra—”

I hold up a hand. “Don’t. You said all you needed to say.”

He swears. “Look, I—”

“I know.” I drift over to the railing, stare out over a field of flowers clinging to the fading warmth of summer. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“What?”

“I mistook what we shared in the last week for something more.”

He grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. “Don’t. Don’t erase what happened between us this week.”

“Why not? You did.”

Something that might be pain flashes in his eyes, tightens his jaw. But I don’t care. Eventually, when I crawl out of this numbness, I know the ache I will experience will be ten times what he’s feeling now.

“I thought maybe something could develop between us, something that would go beyond a year.” His eyes widen a fraction. “But I was wrong. You told me from the beginning that you struggle to trust, to let people in. You told me, and I should have listened.”

He reaches for me, but I step back.

“I’ll honor our agreement for a year. I still want you to be involved in the baby’s life. But I’m moving back into my apartment.”

His eyes blaze. “No.”

“Yes. Unless you want to explain why you locked a pregnant woman up in your penthouse, you’ll let me go. No more pretending. No more playing house. I have a job. My own apartment. You have your penthouse. I’ll accept help for the baby, but that’s it. Nothing unless it’s for the child.”

“Damn it, Alessandra, this isn’t a game. I care about you.”

The word slices through me. I care about him, too. In fact, a part of me was starting to embrace the depths of my feelings for him. To accept that I was falling in love with my husband. I’d even started to hope he might be falling for me, too.

But love without trust is nothing. No, it’s worse than nothing. It’s having the promise of something wonderful and beautiful, only to have it crumble into ashes as if it never existed.

“You care, but not enough to trust me. You said so yourself just now. I should have listened weeks ago, but you can bet I’m listening now.”

I start down the stairs. Each step feels like I’m walking through wet cement.

“You’re running away again.”

I stop, one hand clenched on the railing. A frisson of anger darts down my spine. Slowly, I look back at him.

“It’s not running away if you’re leaving something that’s not good for you.”

I turn and walk toward the car. The driver is still waiting. As I climb into the back seat, a stupid, foolish part of me waits for him to call out. But as the driver closes the door and there’s no sound but the thudding of my pulse echoing in my ears, I know I’ve made the right choice.

Even if it breaks my heart.