Page 101 of Scarlet Thorns
The silence stretches so long I start to think he won’t answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is hollow, scraped raw.
“They’re gone.”
I pull in a sharp breath. “You mean…?”
I can’t finish the sentence because the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. There’s a world of pain there, grief so profound it seems to have carved permanent shadows beneath those sharp cheekbones.
Oh my God.
Galina is dead.
And so is their baby.
“Oh God, Osip.” The words escape as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t respond, just stands there like a statue carved from marble and pain. But I can see the cracks in his armor now, the places where loss has worn him down to something almost human.
Without thinking, I reach for him. My fingers find his hand, larger and warmer than mine, scarred in places that tell of violence I don’t want to imagine. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. Just lets me hold onto him like an anchor in whatever storm is raging inside his head.
“That’s why you want a baby,” I say quietly, understanding flooding through me. “You’re trying to replace what you lost.”
“Da.” The admission is soft, broken.
My heart breaks for him. For the man who carries this kind of grief like a stone in his chest, who’s so desperate for family that he’d make business arrangements with strangers rather than risk his heart again.
I step closer, bringing our joined hands up to rest against my chest. “Osip, look at me.”
When those gray eyes finally meet mine, I see past the careful control to the raw wound underneath. This isn’t just about wanting a child— it’s about redemption, about building something clean from the ashes of whatever destroyed his previous attempt at family.
“I’m not her,” I tell him gently. “I can’t replace what you lost.”
“I know.” His voice is rough, honest. “I don’t want you to be her.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications that go far beyond surrogacy contracts and business arrangements. He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with words he doesn’t know how to voice.
“I want…” He stops, jaw working as he fights some internal battle. “I want to try again. To build something that lasts. Something clean.”
The honesty in his voice breaks something open in my chest. This man who projects such control, such calculatedpower, is asking for something as simple and impossible as hope.
Without conscious thought, I rise up on my toes and press my lips to his— soft, gentle, nothing like the passionate claiming from before. This kiss tastes like comfort and promise, like understanding that doesn’t require words.
He responds immediately, his free hand coming up to cup my face with surprising tenderness. When we break apart, we’re both breathing harder.
“The contract can wait,” I whisper against his lips.
“Can it?” There’s hunger in his voice now, desire that has nothing to do with business arrangements and everything to do with this insane attraction between us.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him, meaning it. “Tonight, just be here with me.”
Something shifts in his expression— relief mixed with want so intense it makes my knees weak. When he kisses me again, it’s with the desperation of a man who’s been drowning and just found air.
And I kiss him back like I might be the one to save him.
Chapter Forty
Osip
