She didn’t reveal anything on her face at the mention of his name. “How domesticated you’ve become.” Sadness darkened her eyes into the color of rain clouds. “I mourn what you could’ve been, Elena. I will always grieve the future you could’ve had if men didn’t exist.”
Domesticated? I would’ve laughed had the sadness of her words not resonated with me. “I mourn what you could’ve been as well, Tatiana. Truly.”
Tatiana’s jaw twitched. “I want you to go now.”
I nodded. “I’ll leave you to rot in peace.”
I signaled to Agent Kavinsky.
He stepped forward. “Right this way, Dr Tarkhanov.”
Tatiana jumped to her feet. Animation returned to her as she said, “Doctor?”
It was the first time she had ever looked like at me like I was something to fear–the same way we all used to look at her. I almost saw a sliver of respect in her expression.
“You didn’t really think I had been domesticated, did you, Tatiana?” I asked. “Come on now. Do I look like I have a penis?”
I didn’t wait for her reply. I couldn’t be bothered to listen to it.
When I returned home, I stacked a pile of books and wrapped them up in brown paper. Konstantin caught me as I tied string around it. He didn’t ask; he already knew.
A few weeks after I sent the books, I got a request for more. Only Kon knew about the packages I handed to Kavinsky through rolled-down car windows.
It was smart making sure there was a connection with Tatiana still.
After all, Kon and I might be done with her, but the rest of my family wasn’t so lucky. Tatiana would enter our lives again, tomorrow or in a few decades. Who knew when, who knew why, but she would. She was the weed in our lives we couldn’t quite find the root of, forever ruining our garden and choking the other flowers.
I forgot my father’s face and ex-husband’s name, but I remembered her.
The night after I saw her for the first time in years, I was scared I would dream about her. I didn’t. Instead, I dreamed of my husband and sons, all of us together in our garden. When the flowers bloomed and pollen dust rose into the air like stars, we linked hands and fell back, our laughter ringing in my ears like music.
When I awoke, only one word remained with me. Love, love, love.
Epilogue
Konstantin Tarkhanov
I grabbed Nikolai’s arm when he started forward.
“Gently,” I warned. “Or else you will frighten her.”
My seven-year-old paused momentarily, his eyes dancing over Duchess. He could barely contain his excitement, but he did heed my warning and slowly approached the mare. For a child so wild and careless with his life, Nikolai did have a natural knack for settling animals and connecting with them.
Nikolai stretched his palm out to Duchess, who sniffed it for carrots. Her ears turned back when she realized her favorite Tarkhanov hadn’t brought her any food. But all three of us knew, as soon as I turned my back, Nikolai would sneak her some apples or molasses.
“Can I get on now, Dad?” he asked eagerly.
“Have you checked your girth?”
Nikolai scrunched up his face in thought.
Technically, he didn’t need to check his equipment. I had already checked it multiple times for even the slightest indication of danger. There was no way I was letting my son up onto a horse without making sure it was as safe it could be.
His mother would kill me.
Nikolai double-checked his saddle, making a bit of a show about it. Once he had made sure I’d watched him tighten the girth, Nikolai turned back to me expectantly.
“Now can I ride?”
I slipped my hands into my pockets. “What do you think?”
The anger that crossed his face made him look so much like his mother I almost laughed. “I think yes,” he replied. “I’ve checked everything.”
“Up you go, then.”
When he was little, I used to lift him up onto the saddle, but now he was insistent on getting up onto a stool and mounting Duchess himself. With a push, Nikolai swung himself into the saddle, adjusting himself into the correct position and securing the reins expertly.
Duchess huffed.
I went to lead the mare to the arena but Nikolai said quickly, “No lead, Dad.”
“Very well.”
Nikolai urged Duchess into a walk, directing her towards the arena. I followed closely but careful not to coddle Nikolai. He was getting older now, as painful as that was, and meant he no longer needed a protector but instead a teacher.
The air was crisp, the chill in the air turning harsher and crueler as we left November and went into December. Snow was in the forecast, but it would be a month or two until snowflakes fell from the sky. Until then, Nikolai was trying to get as much time outside as he could–especially with Duchess.
I held the gate open for Nikolai as he turned Duchess into the arena, but instead of entering behind him, I closed the gate and leaned up against it.
My son’s eyes brightened at the sudden show of trust.
“Behave yourself,” I warned.
Nikolai didn’t acknowledge me. He quickened Duchess’s walk, warming her up before he trotted and jumped. Nikolai had an expression of concentration, which, if you knew Niko, was a very rare expression for him to have. Just like the first moment he had met a horse, back when I was a stranger to him and him to I, Nikolai was completely focused.
So, focused he didn’t notice Evva Fattakhov, his best friend, skip down the hill and to my side. I could tell she wanted to leap onto the fence, but she would be thinking: would I startle Duchess? Would she kick Niko off? Would he hurt himself?
I appreciated all the Fattakhovs more cautious sides. It evened out my boys–and the Malakhovs.
“Are you warm enough?” I asked her, noticing the unbuttoned coat and loose scarf she wore.
Like her mother, Evva carried a sense of grace and elegance with her wherever she went. However, she had gotten her father’s watchful nature and his quietness. But that didn’t mean she was as anti-trouble as her parents. Mischief bubbled in her blood, and often, Evva was the brains behind the operation.
Nikolai and she were always cooking up some trouble, and had been chewed out by a furious Elena more than once.
“Yes, Uncle Kostya,” she said politely. “I ran here so I’m warm.”
“I see.” I peered in the direction she had come. “By yourself?”
Evva shook her head.
The children knew they weren’t allowed to go far without someone with them. We did try our best to give them a normal childhood, but some facts couldn’t be painted over with soothing lies of ethereal creatures and magical wishes. They were the heirs of the Tarkhanov Bratva and had been born into a world of danger, a world where people would see them hurt.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask her who else had come with her, figures stepped out from the trees. I spotted the blond heads of my sons, paired with the dark hair of the Fattakhovs. Leading the herd of children was my wife.
She wore no shoes, and her hair was unbound. A loose green sweater hung over her form, paired with comfortable, if dirtied up, leggings. I watched her lean frame venture towards us, moving over the earth with familiarity and ease.
Like she felt my gaze, Elena turned her head up to mine, green eyes narrowed.