Andrei (Quintessence Book 7)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “Life isn’t fair, Liebchen.”

  Her throat felt tight as she managed to whisper, “Okay. I’ll think about it some more. It’s a big move.”

  “That’s all I ask—that you think about it. Think if it will make you feel better.” He studied her a second. “Don’t forget, we’re all heading to Veronia for at least four months, and then, if you want, we could go and stay in LA for a while. There’ll be a shit ton of PR going on at some point in the future.”

  She cringed. “You know I can’t be involved in that.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, but you can still be in LA.”

  “Devon won’t fly that far.”

  “He would for you.”

  A wistful smile curved her lips. “Do you think? I thought he hated being near the ocean.”

  A snort escaped him. “If you’re in the ocean, then I’m certain he’ll be there, too. Let’s just not take him scuba diving, okay?”

  When he winked at her, she had to laugh, and as the laugh escaped her, a warm feeling took its place.

  She could do this.

  Not only because she had no alternative, but because she had these men at her back. Men who would brave planes and oceans for her, who’d move their lives from a metropolitan city to a country backwater, all for her.

  With her five guys, the world was her oyster.

  It was about time she started remembering that.

  Andrei eyed the bundle in Sascha’s hand. “What is it?”

  Sascha shrugged and placed the package on the coffee table. “I don’t know. But it’s addressed to Sean.”

  “Unusual time to have something delivered, isn’t it?” Kurt questioned, his gaze moving to the carriage clock on the fireplace.

  She slipped between them on the sofa. “I guess. It was hand delivered.”

  Andrei tensed. “It was?”

  “Yes.” She frowned at him even as she nestled into his side. “That’s not unusual. You know messengers come for him at all times.”

  “I guess.” Uneasily, he eyed the box. Sascha was right. Messengers came for Sean at all hours, just rarely at five-to-eleven at night. So, where this churning in his gut had come from, he wasn’t sure, and knew he’d have to watch this new tendency he was battling. One that made him want to wrap Sascha up in cotton to keep her safe. That box held no danger. He was just being stupid. “Why didn’t you take it into him?”

  “Because he called out and said he’d be here in a minute.” She reached forward, her hand hovering over her Kindle a second, before she grabbed a magazine she’d placed on the coffee table earlier. Tucking her knees under her, she settled the blanket over her knees.

  She’d been reading more, he’d definitely noticed that. Her wistful, watchful gaze darting from side to side as she devoured whatever she had on her e-reader at all times of the day and night. The magazines were new, too. She’d never read them before, but now, in the center of the L-seater sofa, on the lower shelf of the driftwood coffee table, there were piles of them.

  Hell, piles was an understatement.

  This month alone, she’d gone through around five a week. Everything and anything from travel guides to fashion journals. Things he’d never have imagined inspiring her.

  She was changing. The stillbirth had done that, and he knew she was still trying to find level ground, but it was odd to learn that his woman continued to have the ability to surprise him.

  The fire flickered, reflecting the golden tones in her auburn locks, and his gaze settled on the play of light for a few seconds while she settled deeper into the cushions, then he turned his attention back to the box.

  “He’s been working hard recently, hasn’t he?” Kurt murmured quietly, and Andrei saw that he, too, was looking at the package.

  “I figured he was using it as a coping mechanism.” Sascha drew her finger over a picture of Mexican flautas. The recipe seemed to hold her attention for a second until she murmured, “We all have our ways of dealing with things.”

  “What’s your way?” Kurt asked, cocking a brow at her.

  Andrei could sense the question had surprised her. She stiffened, her finger suddenly pinning the page hard to the blanket beneath her. Because her tension filled him with sorrow, he leaned down and rubbed his chin against her hair. He needed to shave, so the silken strands tugged against his stubble, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  Kurt reached for her hand, the one she was using to skewer the magazine to her knee. “You can talk to us.”

  She frowned. “I know I can.”

  “So, why don’t you, katyonok?”

  “What’s to say?”

  “I thought Americans loved talking about their feelings,” Kurt teased gently, squeezing her fingers in an attempt to coax a smile out of her. It worked, but it was wan. Not like the usual beaming grin that made Andrei’s cock hard.

  “We do. But I’m not American. I’m British.”

  “Technicality,” Andrei retorted, casting a look at Kurt. They both nodded at one another, having decided now was the time to discuss this matter. “You’re American where it counts, and living two decades there counts the most. Plus, you switch back and forth to whatever suits your purpose.” His tone turned amused. “Brat.”

  He felt her swallow, then she whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you’re not making a decision, and you need to,” he informed her quietly, pressing his nose into her hair. “We need you to.”

  “But why?”

  He hated the tears in her voice, and by the strain on Kurt’s face, he did too. “Liebchen, we wouldn’t pressure you if it wasn’t important. Yet, this house is obviously an issue for you. You wouldn’t have raised the subject with Andrei if that were not so.”

  She lifted her chin and murmured, “Sean would never leave London.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” asked the man himself, and Andrei peered over at the doorway and saw him standing there, leaning against it.

  Sascha gasped a little in surprise. “You love London.”

  “No, I don’t.” His smile was wry as he stared at her. “Don’t put words in my mouth, darling,” he chided.

  “I’m not. You’re the reason everyone moved here. You all lived in Oxford originally,” she retorted, her voice close to a squeak with indignation.

  “I moved for the work. This was where I needed to be. But, more than that, it was the best place to be for transport. I can get anywhere in the country, and the world, by being here. That was my principal decision all those years ago, Sascha, but things have changed.”

  “You’re as dedicated to your job as ever, and living in the countryside isn’t exactly something I can see any of you doing. You’re the least countrified people I know.” She sniffed. “Kurt likes Starbucks too much even though he claims I make the best coffee in the country, Andrei loves Savile Row, Sawyer likes his twenty-four-hour gyms. …”

  Sean shrugged. “So? We can work out something there. Kurt mentioned the other day you were talking about the Jacobie family estate.”

  “Goddammit, you go crazy when I talk about any of you with the others. That was like the first thing you shared with me, that if I want answers, I have to ask the man himself.”

  “You’re fair game,” Kurt retorted, squeezing her fingers again. “You’re all that matters to us. That means we need to discuss where your head’s at, and honey, of late, I haven’t had a damn clue where that is.”

  She gulped. “How can I tell you something when I don’t have the answers myself?”

  “Do you blame us for the baby’s death?”

  Sascha instantly ducked her head, and Andrei shot his friends looks. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then, what is it?” Sean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Moving over to the L-seater sofa, he sat down on the lounger sectional and pressed his elbows to his knees. Behind him, the fire roared, turning his hair darker, and putting half his face in shadow. “Why haven’t y
ou named her, Sascha?” he asked, his tone gentle, soft. Andrei recognized it as his ‘psychologist’ tone of voice. He’d have rolled his eyes if he didn’t think Sascha needed to hear that from Sean.

  “It’s silly to name—” She cut off the words, tears clogging her throat before she could carry on.

  “You cut yourself off there to refrain from lying to us,” Andrei murmured, trying not to sound annoyed and failing if the way she stiffened at his side was any indication.

  “I’m not lying,” she whispered.

  “Give her a name. Let’s put her properly to rest. You know we still haven’t picked out a tombstone.”

  Sascha reached up with her free hand and tugged at her lip. Then, after a minute, she stated, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I,” Kurt finished, all of them in total agreement.

  “What’s the point? She’s dead. I failed her.”

  Sean frowned. “How did you fail her? You made a decision that had no bearing on the baby. You wanted to go into the city. Whether you were pregnant or not, you could have fallen.”

  “I should have been more careful. It was my duty to take more care—every pregnant woman knows that. You’re men,” she hissed. “You don’t understand what it’s like. Every time I knocked my belly into the damn counter, I felt guilty. Every time you stretch a smidge too far, or do a little bit more work than you’re supposed to do, you grimace and promise that you’ll rest in the morning. It’s what moms do.”

  “Of course, you do. That’s normal. And you went shopping that day. Whether it was for a Christmas gift or to buy a burger. Either way, it doesn’t matter. It was an accident, Sascha. There is no one to blame for that.”

  She sniffed. “I disagree.” Then, even as Sean was narrowing his eyes at her, she tilted her head to the side and murmured, “I prayed that day, did you know that?”

  Her hollow tone had Andrei frowning down at her. “I didn’t even know you were religious.”

  “I’m not. But when I was in that ambulance, I prayed. I prayed so damn hard. And I carried on. When I hit the ER, when they told me there was no heartbeat. I carried on begging for God’s help. I-I even begged him to take me instead. To let her live. I said that even though I knew I’d be leaving you all behind.” Her fingers tightened on the magazine. “It didn’t work.”

  Silence fell at her words.

  Then, Kurt cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t.”

  “Of course, you’d say that,” she bit off, her words waspish.

  “Nothing and no one is worth sacrificing you, Sascha. You’re it for me,” Kurt murmured, lifting their bridged hands to his mouth. “I loved our daughter, and I would give anything for you not to have gone through what you experienced, but I’d never swap her for you.”

  “That’s because you’re not a mother.”

  “No, that’s because I’m. . . .” He gritted his teeth. “You weren’t in your right mind then, Sascha. You weren’t, because if you truly had been, you’d have been grateful you weren’t injured, that you weren’t being taken from us. What would Tin do without you? How would he feel? What life would he have without his mother there for him? And what about us? We need you, Sascha. You know our relationship is different than anyone else’s. How could we move on without you?” His nostrils flared. “We couldn’t. That’s how. If you’d left us, if you’d made that sacrifice, we’d have been like ghosts.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she whispered, but she’d dipped her head again and was refusing to look any of them in the eye.

  “I’m not being silly,” Kurt immediately countered, then more stridently, he repeated, “I’m not. I mean it. We’ve waited a hell of a long time for you. Every child we have is a blessing, but you’re the biggest blessing of all.” Before she could make any kind of denial, Kurt released her hand, tucked his around her waist, then dragged her out of Andrei’s arms and tugged her onto his lap. Before she could do more than squeal, his fingers were cupping her chin, and he was forcing her to look into his eyes. “You’re my life, Sascha. You’re our world. I don’t care if that sounds intense. I don’t care if it’s extreme. We’re men of extremes. We’re men who live on the outside, on the fringe, and you’re what makes us whole. These past three years have made me wish we’d known you sooner. You bring a light to our lives that no other possibly could.

  “So, don’t you dare tell me that you’d have swapped places with our daughter, because I won’t have it. You’d have saved one life and sent the five of us and Tin to our personal hells.”

  She was trembling when he’d finished. Andrei saw the tremors quiver through her body like miniature earthquakes. But he also saw the tears and knew that somehow, Kurt’s words had gotten through to her where other conversations on this topic hadn’t.

  Even as she was sobbing, Sean murmured, “Sascha, what should we name our daughter?”

  A louder sob escaped her. Yet another, and another, until his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. The agony in those sounds pricked his eyes with tears, and the need in him to soothe this pain was so immense, his body strained with tension at the inevitability of knowing there was nothing he could do.

  When, eventually, she blurted out, “Camilla,” he almost gasped with relief.

  Hearing it, Andrei shot Sean a relieved look. The man who was like his brother nodded at him, his own relief evident. “Tomorrow, I will contact the stone mason, and have him create the tombstone.”

  She shuddered in Kurt’s arms as he pressed her tighter into his embrace. He began to rock her from side to side, as though she were the baby, and as he did, he mumbled words to her in German. Though Andrei spoke the language, it was hard to hear the words Kurt uttered for he spoke so low. The words meant for Sascha alone.

  He’d been right, though.

  Kurt had been right on the money.

  Another man, another family, might survive the loss of their matriarch, but not this one.

  Each of them lived and functioned within their own particular sphere, but only Sascha brought joy to their days. And through her, Tin. Camilla would have added to that joy, but with no Sascha, there was no joy. Period.

  Maybe she was right. Perhaps it was something only a woman could understand. Something only a mother could comprehend, but he wasn’t a mother. He was a father. And he was a man who adored his woman.

  That, and a world with Sascha in it, were the only things that made sense to him.

  When she started to calm down, he reached for the remote and switched on the television. Knowing they needed to take a step back after leaping ahead further in seven minutes than they had in seven weeks, he watched as the background noise lulled her into faint hiccoughs, and he turned on a news channel, preferring that nonsense to the other kind that was on at this hour—reruns of Emmerdale? He shuddered at the very prospect.

  The sight of Sean on the news had him cocking a brow at the man in question who simply grimaced. Sean switched his gaze from the TV and reached for the box on the coffee table. As Sean pulled the two flaps apart, he frowned at the papers inside.

  Andrei, not seeing anything unusual in the content—they looked like black and white photographs, something you’d find on CCTV stills—turned back to the news. He lowered the volume even as he strained to hear more.

  “You never said another child had been taken.” Sascha’s voice was a rasp.

  “I didn’t see the point in upsetting you further.”

  “If I have to talk about things that hurt me, then you have to talk about things that hurt you.” She turned to him, her lips wobbling as she whispered, “I’m not saying that out of tit for tat, I’m saying it because it’s the truth. I never thought about it until Glasgow. Until you arrived there that night.

  “You’re so stoic, Sean, so rigid in some things that it’s hard to believe you could be hurting about a case because you bottle things up. Well, that’s as unhealthy f
or you as it is for me.”

  Sean cocked a brow at her strident tone, but he simply murmured, “There are some things, darling, that you don’t want to know.”

  “Perhaps, but I want to know how you feel.”

  Sean’s eyes trickled over to the news. There was another segment on now, but he replied as though they were still discussing the case of yet another child who’d been snatched. “Useless. That’s how I feel.”

  Andrei narrowed his eyes at that. “Can we help?”

  Sean shook his head as he got to his feet. Reaching for the box, he murmured, “This is work. I need to crack on.”

  Sascha studied him as he headed for the door. “Sean?”

  He half-turned to look back at her. “Yes, love?”

  “Camilla Angelique Dubois-Bennett.”

  Only Kurt didn’t stiffen at the name; but then, why would he? He’d attended the body with Sascha. Had seen the baby.

  “She was his?” Sean rasped.

  “She had his hair,” Sascha whispered, referring to Sawyer’s bright red locks that were, crazily enough, redder than even Sascha’s.

  Both Andrei and Sean swallowed, but only Sean nodded as he closed the door behind him, shutting them into the lounge, and shutting himself out.

  Andrei couldn’t blame him. Feeling floored, he turned the volume up and tried to focus on that. Anything but Camilla Angelique Dubois-Bennett.

  With unease making his brow furrow deeper than usual, Andrei began to pace the barrister’s office.

  Devon, as per goddamn usual, was calm when he should be stressed. He sat opposite their barrister, the attorney who’d be representing them in court, as cool and as collected as Andrei had ever seen him.

  He had his legs crossed, one ankle pressed to his knee as he slouched back in the leather and chrome visitor’s chair. Sean was at his side. He appeared more ruffled than usual but was engaged with their attorney because he was the only one who spoke ‘lawyer bullshit.’

  Andrei had a law degree, but economic and criminal law were so far apart on the scales that they might as well have been on opposite sides of the world. So, even though he understood the legalese, he wasn’t calm.