Chapter 67

By the time we get back to the penthouse, I’m completely drained.

I cried most of the way here. Now, I’m just… I don’t know.

Existing.

I don’t know what I envisioned for my life in the long run. A husband, kids, successful career? Yeah, but… I also wanted my family to be there. I thought I’d be able to see my babies giggle and run to their loving grandparents, who in turn would move heaven and earth for them just to see them smile.

Maybe I wanted what I knew I could never have.

Maybe now, I’m finally accepting that this is how things are.

“I’ll be okay,” I mumble to Dom at the elevator. “I’ll text you when I’m up?”

He nods. “I’ll hold you to it.”

When Pasha first introduced me to this life of constantly being surrounded by bodyguards and security personnel, I thought it would drive me insane. I didn’t trust the team he assigned to me, and I didn’t like the feeling of having my freedoms stripped away.

Now? I couldn’t be more grateful. I can’t even drive with how big my stomach is or how swollen my feet are. After all the shit my parents and Conrad and Brittany have put me through, I feel safer knowing I’m never without protection.

And maybe being my friend isn’t in the job description, but my new guards have stepped up to that plate in little ways that add up to a whole lot more than that.

Like driving through for an ice cream, while I’m sobbing in the back seat, and ordering a triple chocolate sundae that I didn’t know I needed until Dom quietly handed it to me.

The elevator door opens on my floor. I grab my phone to text Dom that I’m in, I’m home, he can go do whatever now. I’m probably just gonna go lay down. I send the text and close the door behind me.

As soon as I do, Asya pops her head around the corner from the kitchen. “Solnyshka! I had this feeling that you might be lonely. I made us some tea…”

Her smile fades when she sees my tear-streaked face.

“Daphne, sweetheart…” She rushes over to me and pulls me into her arms. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

I don’t have the words. Only tears. They break through the dam of my self-control and I slump in her arms, sobbing all over again.

The fact that Ophelia never once held me when I cried is made all the more evident by the way Asya Chekhov does exactly that.

It only makes me cry harder.

Asya leads me to the couch. She lets me lay my head on her shoulder and stain her sleeve with my tears and smeared makeup.

After a while, I’m able to hiccup myself back together. I pull away, but she captures my face in her hands so she can wipe the tears away.

“Now, moya dochya, tell me what is the matter.”

I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “I, ah… I had to…” I take a deep breath. I need to be able to say it. “I had to disown my parents.”

Pure warmth and sympathy fills her eyes. “Oh, Daphne, I am so sorry.”

That’s confusing. Why isn’t she telling me to go back and undo it? Why isn’t she scolding me? Berating me?

“It is not something we wake up one morning and decide to do,” she says quietly. “It is years of pain and betrayal and heartache that build up to the point where you have no choice but to rid yourself of your own flesh and blood. For that, for your pain… I am sorry.”

She’s right—this has been years in coming. Decades in the making.

Still doesn’t make it any easier.

“That’s just it.” Something else she said pokes at my fears. “They’re in me. They are me. My flesh and blood. Does this mean I’m gonna turn out as terrible of a mother as she is?”

Oh, God. Please don’t let me turn into Ophelia.

“Just because you come from someone doesn’t mean you’re destined to be just like them. You have a choice. I think you’ve already made some of the best ones. You’re both doing a far better job than you give yourselves credit for.”

“Wait… Pasha?” I scrunch my nose in disbelief. “He’s worried?”

Asya nods. “Oh, yes! He was so terrified he’d become just like Kostya…” She sighs. “But he is so unlike that man. I would know; I’ve been watching.”

“He’s going to be a great father.” I rub my belly when I feel Baby Chekhov roll over and press her hands out. Asya’s eyes light up, so I move her hand in place to feel the flutters for herself. “Our baby is going to be so overwhelmed with love. And I want her to see that I’m in this for her. I’ll always be on her side. I’ll always…” I blink back a fresh batch of tears and focus on Asya’s hand rubbing my stomach. “I’ll always fight for her. For our family. Just like you do for yours.”

“Which includes you, sweetheart. Don’t forget.”

Another tear falls for that.

I happen to see her phone flash on the coffee table. I can’t read Russian, but I recognize the man in the profile picture. “So… tell me all about this Arlo guy…” I say, desperate for a change of subject.

“Oh! He’s just, ah…” She swipes her phone from the table and stuffs it into her sweater pocket. “He’s an old friend of mine. From way back. We’re just… catching up.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, trying to play casual. But I see something a little purple, a little pink, and a whole lot like the hickey I’ve got on my own neck peeking out from under her ear.

“Asya!” I fake-gasp. “Are we rekindling an old flame?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Emphasis on old. I’m amazed he even gives me the time of day.”

“You’re stunning. He’d be stupid not to. And blind.”

The way her whole face lights up tells me everything I need to know.

Knowing Pasha has probably read her the riot act already, I decide to show a little mercy and leave her to her secrets. “I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve to be swept off your feet by a handsome man from across the sea…”

“Here’s hoping my children don’t try to sink his ship,” she mutters.

“They’ll get over it. If you love him, and he loves you, don’t let anyone or anything stop you.”

Her brow lifts up. “Is that what you’re doing with my son?”

I pat my stomach self-consciously, feeling the blush rise in my cheeks. “Well, it’s been a little convoluted. We got some of the steps backwards. But… yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” She slaps her hands on her thighs and pushes herself off the couch. “Now, I’m going to pour us some tea, and you are going to tell me all the baby names you are thinking of. I know you’re not Russian, but there are some beautiful options from our language…”

Her voice fades into the kitchen. I don’t know much—who I love, or how, or what the future holds, or even what my baby’s name will be—but I do know one thing beyond a doubt now.

I may have lost my birth parents, but I still have a mother.

The kind of mother I’ve always needed.