Page 93 of Not Part of the Plan
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she argued, trying not to be dazzled. But it was impossible. Naked Niko was just that. Dazzling.
He crossed to her, and sank down in front of her. “I want you here because you’ve been, among many other things, a good friend. Reconnecting with my dad, jumping into a shoot? It’s a lot. And I need you there to remind me that I can do it.”
Great, now she felt like an ass for making it about her.
She pasted on a bright smile. “I’m happy to be here for you, Nikolai.”
He cupped her chin and made her look him in the eye. “I want you here.”
“I want to be here.”
“Good. Now go get dressed and be ready to help me repair fifteen years of shitty relationship.”
No pressure.
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The driver eased up to the curb of a quiet street in front of Vadim Vulkov’s Brooklyn townhouse. They’d moved out of Niko’s childhood home shortly after marrying, and Niko realized he’d never been to his father’s new home.
He had no emotional connections to the three stories of yellow brick, and he wondered if he’d find an emotional connection with the man that lived within those walls. There had been no argument, no irreparable rending, just a son’s disappointment and a father’s disinterest.
“Ready?” Emma asked, squeezing his hand.
“Maybe we should just go out tonight?”
She squeezed harder. “Nice try. Now slide your perfect ass out of the car,” she ordered.
Niko did as instructed and helped Emma out after him before leading her up the concrete steps to the front door. It had been a year since he’d last seen his father in person. A hurried lunch in Manhattan with lingering silences that had highlighted the gaps in their relationship. A whole year, yet the Vadim Vulkov who answered the door looked somehow younger.
“Nikolai!” His greeting was large and warm, just like the man. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, Vadim looked more like a barroom brawler than a civil engineer. He’d grown a mustache, thick and dark and yet to show the silver that the rest of his hair was sporting.
“Dad.” Niko extended a hand and, when his father took it, pulled him in to slap him on the back. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s been too long,” Vadim agreed. “Now, who is this beauty you’re hiding from me?”
Thirty-three years in the country had mellowed the Russian from his accent, but it was still detectable.
Niko reached for Emma, pulling her into the fold. “Dad, this is Emma.”
His father’s hand engulfed Emma’s. “Emma, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you know you’re the only girl Nikolai has ever brought home?”
“I have a feeling he may have snuck a few past you into his room earlier in life, Mr. Vulkov,” Emma quipped.
His father chuckled and clapped a hand on their joined ones. “Please, call me Vadim. And you clearly know my son well.”
He ushered them inside, and Niko got his first good look around his father’s home. The living room was organized around a small marble fireplace. The furnishings were worn, comfortable. There was a basket of kids’ toys next to an overstuffed chair and its mismatched ottoman.
His father noticed the direction of his gaze. “Toys for the grandchildren when they visit Papa and Oma.”
“You have grandkids?”
“Greta’s oldest has two. Her youngest is unmarried like you.” He turned and bellowed in the direction of the back of the house. “Greta! Our guests have arrived.”
Niko, struggling to absorb the fact that his father was a grandpa, started to turn in the direction of his father’s call when his gaze pinned to the mantel of the fireplace. He blinked, not understanding. It was a picture of his mother, one of the few. She stooden pointein a spotlight graceful as the long neck of a swan, her arms stretched overhead. A single white rose in a delicate bud vase sat next to the heavy gold frame.
He was still staring at the picture when Greta bustled into the room. She was a sturdy sort of woman. Taller and softer than his mother, but her smile was just as warm. Her hair was a soft, fluffy blonde that was beginning to streak silver. She had a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder that she tossed in Vadim’s direction.
“No drinks for our guests, Vadim?” she teased. “They’ll never want to come back!”
