Page 24 of Her BRATVA Protector
“Aye, lass, ye do. And from now on, ye also have a Roman.”
Jasmine opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Adam reaches into the pocket of his sweats, pulls out a freakingwad of bills the thickness of a folded newspaper, and slides it across the counter to her.
“Pocket money.”
My kid stops chewing.
“…What?”
“Walking-around money, lass. Bit of shoppin’ on the way home if ye want.”
Jasmine puts her fork down, looks at the cash, then at me. Then she looks back at Adam.
I say, very quietly, “Adam.”
“Aye, love?”
“That’s too much.”
He shakes his head, his handsome face serious, almost scary. “It’s not.”
“It’s more cash than either of us has ever handled.”
“Aye.” His expression doesn’t change. “And that ends today.”
The kitchen goes very quiet. Adam holds my eyes for a long second. He’s not flexing. He’s making a point. He is telling me that the part of my life where I count change is over.
Jasmine, very slowly, takes the cash.
“Thank you, Mr. Maksimov.”
“Adam, lass.”
“…Adam.”
He nods with a small smile. She sits there with the wad of cash on the table next to her plate, and her face open… my daughter’s face is open…and she starts telling us about her professor who pronounces her name wrong. Adam laughs loud from the chest. A real laugh, deep and beautiful. The first I’ve heard out of him. And it’s like a gift. A door opening. The future, shining brightly on me. Oh God, have I only known this man for less than a day?
Jasmine giggles and tells us the rest of the story…the professor said Jas-MEEN on the first day, she corrected him three times and now he just calls her Miss Venn. She laughs again. Like a girl who is not Ray Venn’s grieving daughter, but just a twenty-year-old at her kitchen table with her mother and a giant man who finds her funny.
I drink my coffee, trying very hard not to cry.
I’m watching this man, this stranger I have known for sixteen hours…sit in my kitchen in sweatpants, bare feet, take care of my girl. Put money in her pocket. Have a driver ready for her at the gate.
I press my mouth against the rim of my mug because if I don’t, I might sob.
Jasmine finishes her plate, wipes her mouth, and stands.
She kisses the top of my head as she passes, and the lump in my throat gets worse. Then she stops at Adam and looks up at him. He looks down at her. She hesitates. Her hand comes up like she’s going to reach for him and then drops back down. Like shedoesn’t know if she’s allowed. Adam reaches one big arm out and gently pulls her into a side-hug.
“Have a good day, Jasmine. Be safe.”
“Thank you.” But she doesn’t move. She is, I realize, fighting tears.
He pretends not to see, turns back to the stove, picks up the pan and rinses it under the tap. He gives her the privacy of his back so she can collect herself, and Jasmine wipes her eyes fast with the back of her hand and turns and runs up the stairs.
Adam stands at the sink with his back to me, rinsing the pan, and I sit at the kitchen table with my hands wrapped around my coffee mug, realizing I don’t know how to live in the world that began this morning.
Three minutes later Jasmine comes back down.
