Page 98 of Secret Husband
“I have to go.” I pulled on my sweatpants. “Gunnar’s coming over to help me paint.”
“Perhaps I can see you later. I would like to talk about what happened all those years ago.”
N to the nope. “What’s the point? It’s the distant past.”
“It’s about my father’s work in Russia.”
I was ready to bolt, but his statement sparked my curiosity. “What about it?”
“All those years ago, when I told you that there was no future for us, I did it for your safety.”
“My safety?”
“My father’s work was in anti-corruption, challenging the people who are desperate to hold onto their money, power, influence. People who will do anything to maintain it. Who would hurt people. Even kill them.”
I was lost for words. Was he saying he did this to protect me from shady politicos or shadowy figures in the Russian underworld? What was I supposed to do with this information?
“I’ve heard a lot of excuses for not wanting to date someone, but this takes the cake.” I pulled my hoodie on and picked up my Lululemon sports top, stuffing it in my pocket.
“The day we graduated, I found out he had been arrested.”
I snapped my head back. “You said he was ill.”
“It was easier to explain it that way. I had to return to Russia, and I did not know what the future held. For him. For me. For us. It seemed best to let you go.”
Seemed best? This was too much. Instead of confiding in me, he had decided deceit and lies were the better strategy.
When I didn’t respond, he said, “Stay for breakfast, Lauren. We can talk about it more.”
The man had never told me a thing, and now he wanted to debrief over a plate of pancakes?
“I don’t think so, Alexei. I’ve had it with all this talking that says nothing.”
After stabbing feet into my sneakers, I headed downstairs. As I reached the last step, the front door opened, and an elderly man was led in by a dark-haired woman dressed in scrubs.
Mr. Nazarov.
He had aged considerably since the last time I saw him, but more than that, he looked forlorn, as if the entire world had beaten him down.
“Oh, hello,” I said, conscious of how I looked. Half-dressed with sex hair and the guilty flush of a great orgasm.
He squinted at me. “I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t. I’m Lauren, a friend of your son’s.” I held out my hand and he shook it.
“You have a good handshake.”
“So I’ve been told. I used to play hockey, so the hand grip has always been strong.”
Something flickered in his eyes, a flame coming to life. “My son plays hockey.”
“I know. He’s a superstar.” To the nurse, I said, “Sorry, I’m Lauren. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
She smiled. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m Maya. We had a nice walk around the park, fed the ducks. Now we’re going to have a snack.”
“A snack,” Mr. Nazarov said. “We don’t know each other, do we?”
“No, we don’t. We just met.”
