Page 3 of Nine Months to Love
She meets my eyes. “Matvey was going to kill Vasily. Kill me. Maybe even Stefan, for the sheer audacity of being a witness to his humiliation.”
“But Stefan said his father killed himself.”
“Did he?” Natalia’s smile droops sadly, like a wilted flower. “My poor boy. Still believing what he needs to believe.”
“You’re saying Matveydidn’tcommit suicide?”
“I’m saying, as with everything else in our lives, the story is more complicated than Stefan knows.” She stands and goes to the window again. She’s as composed as ever, but as I spend more time with her, I’m starting to see an anguish in her that can’t be faked—and I start to wonder if maybe her story is more truth than lie. “The night Matvey died, he came home drunk. Angrier than usual. He had photos of Vasily and me. He said he was going to make us watch each other die.”
My stomach turns.
“Stefan was sixteen. Already tall, already strong, but still just a boy.” Her voice fades to a whisper. “He tried to protect me. But Matvey backhanded him so hard he flew across the room.”
That’s another picture that ruins me. Teenage Stefan, a boy of gangly limbs and fierce protectiveness, trying to shield his mother, and wearing his father’s knuckles on his cheek as a result.
“That’s when Vasily arrived. He’d been following Matvey. Said he just sensed that something was wrong.” She turns from the window. “What happened next was chaos. Fighting, noise, things breaking, yelling. Matvey had a gun. Vasily tried to take it. Stefan jumped in. It’s all just such a mess.”
“Who pulled the trigger?”
“Does it matter?” She gazes at me. “Matvey died. The gun was in Stefan’s hands when it was over. He assumed what he assumed… and I let him.”
“You let your sixteen-year-old son think he killed his father?”
“Better that than the truth.”
“Which is?”
She looks at me for a long moment. “That I did it. That when I saw my son bleeding on the floor, when I saw Matvey pointing that gun at him, I didn’t hesitate. I took the shot.”
The room feels airless. The only sound is my pulse in my ears.
“But Stefan was holding the gun after?—”
“He grabbed it from me. Immediately. Instinctively. Protecting me even then.” Her eyes are wet now. “I should have told him the truth. But he was already so angry, so cold. I thought if he blamed me for the affair but not the murder, maybe he could move on.”
“Instead, he spent years planning revenge.”
“Yes.” She wipes her eyes carefully, preserving her makeup. “By the time I realized what he was doing, it was too late. He’d already built his empire. Already become his father’s son.”
“So you faked your death?”
“I disappeared and left him to remember the past however he wanted.” She straightens. “It seemed kinder that way.”
“Kinder? You let him believe he killed his own father! You let him think you betrayed him.”
“I did betray him. Just not the way he thinks.” She perches back on the edge of her chair, puts her elbows on her knees, and leans forward to look me in the eye. “Every day I stayed with Matvey Safonov was a betrayal. Every bruise I hid, every excuse I made—those damaged my son far more than any of his father’s blows ever did. I taught him things that cannot be untaught. I showed him love, and in his eyes, it looked like a horrible, horrible thing.That’sthe real betrayal. That’s what I took from him, Olivia. That’s what he cannot undo.”
“He’s not his father. Not with me.”
Her eyebrow raises. “Are you sure? What was he planning to do with you, dear? Love you? Or use you?”
I wince, but my voice still comes out on its own, insisting, “He says he changed his mind.”
“Or did he just change tactics?” She pats my hand reassuringly. “My son is very good at telling people what they need to hear.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
She smiles, acknowledging the hit. “Exactly like I’m doing now. The difference is, I’m admitting it.”
