Page 34 of The Bratva's Nanny
After a while, I checked my watch. Polly had thirty minutes left until she was officially late for school.
“Not done yet?”
“She is,” Maria answered. “I meant, we are.”
She wiped her palms on the front of her jean skirt, appearing skittish, and didn’t hold eye contact for more than five seconds. She crossed the room, picked up Polina’s school bag, and went outside. I tried to keep my eyes away from the gentle sway of her hips when she moved, but that attempt proved futile a second after. She must have felt my eyes on her because she suddenly stood as stiff as a stick and looked everywhere else but my face.
“Come on, Polly, let’s go.” She stretched her hand out. “Daddy doesn’t want you to be late to school.”
Polina rushed past me in a breeze and fixed her hand in Maria’s. Before they left, my daughter gave me one glance over. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Daddy?”
I couldn’t help it; I smiled. Strutting over, I crouched to my knees and pinched her cheeks lightly. “Daddy’s a big boy, baby. I’ll be fine. Lev’s going to get you strawberries on your way to school.”
The sudden smile on her face was all the motivation I needed to kick-start a plan I had underway.
“Yay!” She pumped a fist in the air and smacked a wet kiss on my cheek. “Love you, Daddy!”
“Love you, too, baby.”
Soon, they were off to Polina’s school, but I didn’t miss the warm smile Maria flashed my way before they disappeared down the hallway.
***
When I shut the door, tiny dust particles rose and flooded underneath the ray of sunlight pouring in from the high-up and close-to-the-ceiling glass window. I went past the tall bookshelves and loveseats and stopped by the door behind an old shelf with loads of archaic notes from B.C. philosophers arranged atop.
I opened the door and stepped in, and it didn’t smell like books anymore.
Lev was by the coffee-brown table, his blond head buried in heaps of paperwork and a stick hanging loosely from his lip, the butt glowing cherry-red. I walked past him, went round the table, my steps muffled by the plush brown carpet under my feet, and assumed my seat.
His head perked up briefly, acknowledging me with a curt nod, before going down again to scan through the files scattered across my table. I observed the mess, and then, I observed him.
He wore red today: a red double-breasted suit jacket, a black dress shirt, a black tie, and black pants.
Interesting.
I felt a smile settle on my lips.
Lev never wore red.
I kicked my feet up on the table’s edge, crossed them one over the other, and inclined on the leather-back swivel chair. Reaching for the stress ball, I tossed it in the air.
“I sent a memo.”
The rustle of paper filled the silence between us when he flipped a page. “Strawberries for Polina?”
“Uh-huh.” I squeezed the ball.
“Got it. I had Niko send it over.”
More rustling of papers, and then, his fingers went through his hair. He sorted through that one file, shifted it aside, and started another. The office stayed quiet, and I watched him work. I tossed the ball in the air again and caught it with a resounding smack.
“What’s the occasion?”
The corner of his lips went up. He took a drag on the stick, closed the current file, and pulled the laptop closer. When he talked, he didn’t look at me. But his head was up now, with green eyes fixated on the screen, and the red smeared across the breast pocket of the jacket was visible.
“My cousin’s wedding,” was all he offered, the reason for his reluctance as clear as daylight—respect. He thought he could be exempted from his personal life because he believed it held no importance.
Screw that.