Page 76 of Scarlet Secrets

There’s even a pile of picture books, some a little too advanced and some in Russian and Sasha looks like he’s king of his own little world.

And as we play, Demyan watches.

At first when he came outside, he was talking to someone, but we were in his line of sight. Now we’re indoors and Demyan sits in a chair, sipping coffee, watching us.

I thought it would be invasive and weird, but strangely, it’s not. He’s not watching for me to fuck up. He’s watching his son. A father enjoying his boy at play.

Father.

For some reason the word sends a rippling thrill through me.

Sasha has a father who wants him. It does something to me, turns something soft, almost gooey inside, something I’d rather be left alone.

But the tearing around, the showing off and the hardcore play is finally too much for a little boy who’s pushing the boundaries of his schedule.

I don’t even know if Demyan has one for him, but if it were us, this is well and truly nap time and he succumbs, getting whiny, then teary and grizzly.

Sasha starts to cling.

“Nap time, baby.”

“No, Mama. Play.” And he starts to cry.

“Definitely nap time.” I glance at Demyan. “He’s late for his regular nap. At least when we used to have nap time.”

Demyan stands and picks him up and Sasha’s so tired he doesn’t go stiff or wriggly. He just flops in his father’s arms, his goat clutched tight by the nose this time, and he rubs his wet face on Demyan’s shirt.

“No, Dane. Play.”

“You heard Mama. Nap time.” He looks at me. “I’ll do it.”

I nod because the man’s looking at me like he wants my approval. Demyan hoists Sasha onto his shoulder and I follow them down the hall and upstairs, into a bright and inviting room.

One that’s been dedicated to Sasha. And on the bed is his pillow. My fingers itch to take over. To take part. To do anything but watch.

Because it’s hard. Reading him a story, tucking him in, making sure he stays in bed, and laughing with him is my job. But Demyan does it like I’m not needed, like he’s been doing this all his life.

When he’s asleep, I kiss Sasha’s cheek, wanting to stay with him, but Demyan gestures to the door and reluctantly Imake my way out. He pulls it shut and leads me into a study, where he hands me a baby monitor.

“I’ve put this off long enough,” he says to me. “I have to go out. I wouldn’t, but… it’s a necessity.”

He crosses his arms, tapping a finger against one elbow, like he’s weighing up his options.

“Please don’t lock me up again.” I run my fingers over the monitor. “I want to be here for him. I want… Demyan, I won’t try to run. Even if I wanted to, the place is crawling with guards and Sasha’s bonding with you, so I promise I’m staying.”

I mean it.

If this had been yesterday or the day before, I’d have been lying through my teeth. I’d have tried to run with Sasha. God only knows how I’d get away, except… except I think I might have, if I was willing to push through. They’d pull guns, give chase, but I don’t think any of his men would risk his child.

But I’m not willing to risk Sasha.

More than that, I’m not willing to put Demyan through what he put me through. He deserves a chance with his son.

There’s no way back to him not knowing, anyway.

He looks me over. “You know you could risk the fact my men won’t shoot if you have him. Of course, some are snipers, and you’d be dead before you got halfway to the gate.”

“I’m not running. You deserve to know your son, Demyan.”

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