Page 58 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

With a sigh, I scroll down my contact list. It would be better to call Mom and Dad instead. Their voices are a comfort, even from thousands of miles away.

As the line rings, I sink back into the couch. When did we grow so distant? It's been months since I've seen them in person, their adventures whisking them away. Bali, Machu Picchu, Tanzania—I can hardly keep track.

“Quinn, Darling!” Mom's melodic voice fills my ear. “How are you, Sweet-pea?”

I smile. “Oh, you know. Same old. Working too much, cooking too little.”

Dad chuckles. “We'll have to fix that. I've got a new recipe for you.”

“Oh really?” I ask, even though finding a new recipe is the last thing on my mind. I thought speaking to my parents would help me, but it only reminds me of Mark and what I’m missing.

“I’ll email it to you!” Dad promises.

We chat about their latest safari, laughing over Dad's sunburn and Mom's fear of elephants. Their love is a constant, even now.

“And Quinn, you won’t believe what your dad did last week!” Mom chimes in.

“What?” I ask, her infectious energy spreading through me.

“He said he booked us a flight to Botswana, but turns out he totally forgot and only said it to get me off his back. The day we were supposed to fly out, he covered his tracks and tried to book us a flight, but couldn’t find one. I was livid!”

“For like five minutes,” Dad chimes in.

I laugh. “Oh, look at you two. Always in love.”

“Not always,” Mom laughs. “Last week reminded me of our earlier days.”

“What are you talking about?” I tease. “You two were born in love with each other or something. Thirty years of being happily married, without any major fights. That’s huge, you guys!”

“Quinn, Sweetie, we weren't always this way, you know. Your father and I... we had our rough patches.”

“What?” I squeal. “This is news to me!”

“We were business rivals,” Dad tells me.

“And your father was a total playboy. Oh, how I hated the sight of him! I found him once, trying to flirt with my secretary!”

“What? Dad was a playboy?”

“The baddest in town,” Dad laughs. I hear Mom smack his shoulder. For some reason, this part of their story calls to me, as though it’s an answer I’ve been looking for. If Dad were a playboy and my parents are where they are today, then maybe Mark and I…

“What happened?” I ask, nearly in a whisper.

I hesitate. Do I really want to dredge up ancient history? But curiosity gets the better of me. “How did you two go from enemies to...this?”

Mom chuckles. “Oh, it was quite the scandal at the time.”

“We were young, driven by ego more than good sense,” Dad adds. “I had my East Coast conglomerate. Your mother ruled the West Coast. Each was determined to crush the other.”

I try to reconcile this cutthroat picture with the gentle parents I know. “What changed?”

“Over time, the lines of battle blurred,” Mom says. “Bitter rivalry turned into begrudging respect.”

Dad jumps in. “Then, one fateful conference, we got trapped in an elevator together. Forced to talk without posturing for our companies.”

“We saw each other clearly for the first time. Understood we weren't so different after all.”

“The rest is history,” Dad says softly. “We combined our companies and never looked back.”

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