Page 17 of The Masks We Burn

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Look who’s on time this morning,medovyy.” My mother stands from her white iron chair, her floral dress billowing out with the cool breeze. She holds the top of her oversized sun hat, though there’s not an ounce of sun in the sky, and gazes up at me.

When her eyes meet my hair, I swear the color drains from her face, leaving nothing but the pink blush on her cheeks. Her hazy blue orbs widen and the pupils become saucers as she quite literally clutches her pearls.

I’m not going to lie. This is pretty satisfying—even if it’s only for a moment, before she opens her mouth. Though, instead of the massive scolding I expect, she reminds me why we’re here.

“Eto otvratitel’no.”That’s disgusting. “No matter, Mr. Jacobs will take you regardless.”

“Sofia. Let the girl sit down before you start with that.” My father mirrors my mother, only when he rises, he takes broad steps to embrace me in a hug only a father can give. His warm cedar scent envelops me, soothing the hot flare of anger simmering just beneath my skin. I unhinge my jaw and smile into his chest.

“Hey, Papa.”

He squeezes me once before stepping back, an arm spread wide to indicate an open seat. I move toward the chair and sit, rubbing my hands down my blush skirt, inwardly cursing at my nervousness.

William and I have a plan. It’s simple and effective and should do the job. But I’ve always been taught that what is done in the dark eventually comes to light.

What if my parents figure it out before I’m ready?

You’ll be back to square one.

“How is school,moya lyubov’?” My dad retakes his seat, adjusting his tailored navy suit at the sleeves before leaning his forearms on the table.

It’s such a casual stance for a man of his stature. He’s tall but lean, full of dad muscles packed with a thin layer of fat that keeps him from being sculpted. Salt and pepper decorate the short dark hair on his head to the scruffy beard on his face. His tan skin is beginning to crease around his eyes, and around his mouth where he gives the most warming smiles.

They were the thing I looked forward to the most as a kid. He’d be gone for weeks at a time, searching for a job or working a temporary one. My mom did everything to keep our few clothes as clean as she could, and hold the roof literally over our heads, but the warmth in our home left when my father did. There was just something so vital in his presence that nothing could fill until he came back, and what sucked most was we never knew when that would be.

So, when the time came and he would finally come through the door, nothing else mattered but seeing his smile and being wrapped in his arms. Both my mother and I let whatever happened in the time he wasn’t there melt in his embrace.

We were a family again.

We were safe.

I am safe. Shaking my head, I rid myself of the lingering fear my plan with William won’t work. It will, and once it does, I can prove to them that I don’t need a man for protection or security. Or to make ends meet and keep the storms at bay.

“It’s been good, Dad. Cool thing about a general studies major is most of my classes are electives.” I finally take my table napkin and place it over my lap.

He nods, his dark blue eyes twinkling even under the overcast sky. “What’s your favorite course?”

“Right now? Probably business management.” I may not knowwhatit is I want to do, but I do know I want toownit.

My mother huffs slightly, though she tries to mask it as a soft giggle. “And what business do you think you’ll manage with pink hair?”

I jut my chin toward my father. “Papa would let me run a hotel with my hair, wouldn’t you?”

“At my finest one,doch’.” His soft smile makes an appearance just as the server greets our table.

The kind man, who is overly attentive and proper, takes our order and disappears. Of course, like mother, like daughter, she also hasn’t had closure with our past, hence why she chose one of my father’s hotels for brunch. It’s one of many that has a restaurant on the roof that oversees a port in Washington, and often the Pacific. She needs to be reminded of her wealth and status or else she’ll think this all a dream.

Her gray hair is hidden under a perpetually dyed blonde bob, framing her pale round face. Pearls are always attached to her ears and neck, matching the French manicure that’s been on her nails for the past eight years. I can’t remember the last time I saw her in anything but a sundress, and she always matches the flowers on them to a different perfume.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother and I have our differences, but she deserves the life she has now. She’s a good wife and did the best she knew how as a mother. She just needs to learn to step outside of her fear and trust me. Trust that I know what I’m doing, even though I don’t know what I want quite yet.

Am I about to start that trust built on a lie? Why yes, yes, I am. But I choose not to dwell on that as I take a tentative sip of water.

“Have you given any thought to the venue? Mr. Jacobs loves the water.”

I cut my eyes at my mother, annoyance creeping into my muscles, making them tight. “Who is Mr. Jacobs again?”

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