“Some children can be shy in social settings,” I interrupt, driven by an instinct I can’t name to defend a child I don’t even know. Internally I scold myself—despite the irritation prickling in my chest, these people can’t be all terrible. Can they?
“That girl isn’t shy,” Mrs. Robinson says with a sniff. “And with the cost of her education, you would think they’d try harder to drill some social skills into her curriculum.”
“Is that so?” A muscle in my jaw jerks, and I feel my smile twitching. “Well, children do learn by example.”
Mrs. Robinson’s brows furrow. “I’m sorry?”
“I…” Thinking fast, I try to smooth out my response. “As a teacher, I learned that it’s unfair to subject everyone to the same standards.”
Somehow, I maintain my polite tone—but it must crack, because both Robinsons flinch. Good. My hands are clenching, I realize, my nails digging into my palms. With difficulty, I flatten them against the table, keeping my grin firmly in place.
“Her grades are exemplary,” the husband admits with genuine awe.
“That’s the thing. She’s intelligent to an uncanny degree,” Mrs. Robinson says, her nostrils flaring. “Too intelligent. She likes to sing creepy little songs in foreign languages—but she refuses to say what they’re about. She carries that terrifying bear everywhere she goes. I assumed it was damaged at first and tossed it into the rubbish bin, and she threw a tantrum so fierce we had to call Angela over just to soothe her. A few weeks ago, Richard noticed that someone had been breaking into his office at night, using his work computer. The other children wouldn’t dare. When we looked at the search history, we noticed that whoever used it had been looking up drug companies. One of them manufactures a medication Richard takes for a heart condition. What if she was trying to find out some way to—”
“Thank you for coming.” Vadim stands and gestures politely toward the foyer, his posture stiff. “I would hate to keep you, given that you are so busy with your other children. I appreciate you stopping by.”
“Yes, thank you,” I snap, matching his tone as I rise to my feet. From the corner of my eye, I see his hand twitch as if aching to take mine. At first, I deliberately flatten my palm against my side—but then something makes me relent, grasping his.
Together, we start for the foyer, leaving the couple to follow.
Stunned, they blink in unison and share a quick glance. Then they hurry past us as Vadim opens the door.
“Angela is a wonderful social worker,” Mrs. Robinson adds as she lingers over the threshold. “I’m sure if you wanted to look into another child…”
That’s it. I feel my mask slipping, my grin flattening. If I didn’t understand Vadim’s determination to gain custody of Magdalene before, I do now. While unsure, he’ll strive to be a better provider to her than these people could ever be.
As if he’s reading my mind, a muscle in his jaw twitches, and Mrs. Robinson promptly scuttles after her husband. I join him in watching them leave, my thoughts swirling. On the one hand, they seem like the breed my mother used to loathe back in Cali—overly conservative busybodies. At the same time…
The child they painted seems well beyond the skill set of an ex-Sunday school teacher and an emotionally withdrawn businessman. Does he have any idea what he might have gotten himself into? I glance at him, surprised to discover that…yes, he does. His jaw is set, more determined than ever.
And in that lone expression, I see a hint of his daughter, and any doubt dies. Two creatures, easily misunderstood, requiring patience to read. Understand. Love. My fury returns, but wavers the longer I watch him, imagining him with Magdalene, unraveling her own guarded layers. The second he catches me staring, his expression softens, his voice rasping, “Tiffany, wait—”
But I don’t. Releasing him, I turn and head straight up to the bedroom, my heart racing.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
Chapter Three
It shouldn’t be so hard to maintain my anger toward him. Within the space of a few minutes, my thoughts have turned from “make him pay” to… “listen to him, you stubborn bitch.” Fighting to regain my resolve, I shower and change into a sinfully revealing negligee and a barely visible thong that by some miracle doesn’t snag on my healing piercing. Both make for impenetrable armor in this silent war, and when I strut back into the hallway, I’m determined to win the last battle at all costs.
And I nearly run into Vadim. But he’s…different. It’s as if the pleading man from downstairs transformed into a stranger in an instant. A disinterested stranger. His eyes skim over me with barely any notice as he promptly enters a nearby room.
And I nearly trip as my head whips around, tracking him. What the hell?
The room is the same one he pierced me in, I see as I follow him, driven by sadistic curiosity. What could distract him from his groveling?
Redecorating, it seems. The leather chaise is now against one of the walls, the medical instruments vanished. One of those heavy boxes lies open in the center of the room while Vadim rummages through it, apparently assembling something. It’s large and black made of wood. A table?
Square-shaped and about waist-high, it contains a divot with a soft cushion covered in red fabric and two silver fixtures on either side. A detail so unusual, I find myself inching forward just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks.
Nope. The closer I come, the easier it is to identify those objects, positioned upright, made of silver rings—manacles.
And something inside me is brutally savaged by a wave of jealousy so fierce I sway.
“Preparing for your new fake wife?” I ask nastily, grasping for any form of retaliation.
He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he peers at a white booklet that I assume must be instructions. Then he adjusts something at the end of the odd platform
