Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Stefan sits at a table, eating a snack and working on schoolwork. He freezes, his hand suspended in the air holding a pencil.
“Stefan,” I say quietly. “Go to the back, please.” Thankfully, Stefan is much better at listening these days and quickly scoots behind the counter and to the back.
I turn to my father. “You’re not welcome here.”
He ignores me, of course. He always does. His bloodshot eyes land on me with disdain. “You think you’re too good for me now? Playing princess with your husband? You owe me.”
I stand my ground. “I owe you nothing. You need to leave.”
“The fuck I do.” He walks past me and pushes the swinging door to the back open. I know exactly where he’s going—the safe, that’s tucked away in the back. Have I changed that passcode yet?
I follow behind him. “I told you to leave.”
Semyon’s nowhere to be found, though the back door’s partially open. Stefan, however, stands facing us, his feet planted on the ground and his hands on his hips.
“She said leave,” he says bravely, even as his little voice wavers.
“Stefan—”
“Anya said to leave,” Stefan repeats. My father ignores him, pushes past him, and opens the cupboard where the safe is.
“Don’t you dare—”
“No!” Stefan yells, reaching for my father’s arm.
Oh no.
My father shakes him off and grabs Stefan too hard. Stefan winces and cries out as my father growls, “You mouthy little shit, just like your sister. I owned this bakery.” He shakes Stefan, lifting him straight off his feet, as he raises his palm.
“No!” I scream.
The next moment’s a blur of movement and sound. The sharp crack of a body hitting the wall. Stefan falls to the floor, running to me, as Semyon fists my father’s collar and slams him against the wall, his fingers flexing as if he’s trying to decide how many bones he’s going to break. His face is carved from ice.
“Did he hurt you, Anya?”
I shake my head. My voice trembles. “No.”
“Stefan?”
Stefan shakes his head. “He grabbed my arm, but I’m okay.”
“Put your hands on either one of them again,” he says, his voice a low growl, “and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body. Slowly.”
My father’s eyes widen in fear. “You wouldn’t—”
“I would. And I’d fucking enjoy it.” Still fisting my father’s shirt, he marches him to the back door with cool authority. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He kicks the door open and shoves my father into the bitter cold, slamming the door behind him, before he turns back to us.
Stefan goes to him first. I stare, stunned. “I told him to leave her alone,” Stefan tells Semyon. “Just like you told me to.”
Oh my god. Just like you told me to. He told my little brother to protect me?
“You did good,” Semyon says, ruffling Stefan’s hair. His eyes meet mine. “Anya?”
“He didn’t touch me,” I whisper. I still feel tender and shaken, but then in the next breath, something happens that makes my heart melt. Semyon’s hand stretches out to Stefan, palm up. No words.
Stefan’s small fingers curl around Semyon’s larger ones. Holding his hand. I blink back tears.
Semyon’s voice is softer when he says, “Let’s go home. Someone has a field trip tomorrow.” How did I completely forget about it? I take Semyon’s other hand. And it feels… right. Good.
I kiss Semyon’s cheek. “Thank you.”
He kisses me back. “I’m sorry that happened.”
We close the bakery up, and when Stefan goes to get his bag, I turn to Semyon. Wordlessly, he reaches for me. I bury my head on his chest and let him hold me. “I wanted to hurt him,” I whisper. “But Stefan…”
“Me, too. And it was only because of Stefan I didn’t put him through that fucking wall. He’s out of warnings, though, baby.”
I nod. Good. We won’t be bullied by him any longer. “Tomorrow, Stefan is going to the museum.”
“And we’re heading to the Romanovs.”
It feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I immerse myself in the feel of the mundane and predictable when we go home. Stefan showing me how Zoya taught him to chop carrots, Semyon boiling the water for pasta while I set the table. We don’t talk of my father.
Semyon stands at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, rinsing a coffee cup for the third time. He’s so methodical and always like this –quiet, controlled, fully at ease, and somehow…softer around the edges now.
Stefan heads up for a shower after dinner, and I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop. The bakery bills need to be paid. Semyon’s phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a name I don’t recognize. He looks and nods. “I’ll take this call in the office. I might be a while. You went to bed way too late last night, Anya. Fix that tonight, yeah?”