The Breath Before Forever Read online

  THE BREATH BEFORE FOREVER

  THE BEAST OF MOSCOW – A SAGA: PART FOUR

  BETHANY-KRIS

  For every woman who loves a beast.

  CONTENTS

  THE BREATH BEFORE FOREVER

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS

  Copyright

  1.

  “Happy birthday, to you. Happy birthday, to you.”

  One wouldn’t think Vaslav Pashkov was the type of man to serenade his wife on her wedding night—even if that night also happened to be her birthday. Yet, he did exactly that, crooning happy birthday softly to Vera, and out of earshot of the scattered, few people that remained in the sitting room.

  Mira promised Vera a wedding dinner worthy of celebration with her family and friend and delivered. After everything had been said and done, and the plates cleaned, Mira even refused help from anyone when she took her leave to tidy up.

  “Enjoy your time,” Mira had told Vera earlier.

  And oh, she was.

  “Happy birthday to you, my Vera,” Vaslav finished, keeping the same harmonized tone. She hadn’t realized how good his gravelly voice sounded signing a song and made a mental note to get him to do that again later.

  Despite the song being over, he kept them rocking in a slow semi-circle, some bastardization of a waltz. Wrapped in his arms with her face tucked—hiding, and smiling—against his throat, she didn’t care if they danced properly or not. Every soft kiss he grazed upon her forehead during and after his serenade, cemented her right there with him.

  Present.

  Pleased.

  “How does twenty-seven feel?” Vaslav asked her.

  Vera laughed. “I don’t know; you tell me. You’ve been here before. I’m still brand new.”

  Basically. That’s what she planned to tell herself every year as she got older, anyway.

  Even Vaslav chuckled at her joke while one of his hands stroked dangerously low on the small of her back.

  Vera tipped her head back to see Vaslav’s almost wistful gaze finding something to focus on at the far end of the room. It wasn’t her mother who stood in the entry alcove between the dining room and a connected space meant for entertaining. Her father helped Igor to shove the leather sectional aside earlier. Doing so offered plenty of floorspace to dance.

  Claire, busy showing off her pictures of the day to her husband, didn’t seem to notice the other two people talking quietly, and very close. Only a few steps away in the corner, Igor and Hannah didn’t notice the room, either, lost in their own conversation.

  Staring at one another.

  Vera couldn’t help but pick up on it.

  Nonetheless, whatever Vaslav found that interested him over her shoulder, it couldn’t be important. In a blink, his attention came right back to where she wanted it.

  On her.

  “It’s been a minute since I was that young, that’s what I’ve settled on saying,” he said.

  Ah.

  That’s what had him looking lost in his eyes. She understood getting lost in another time of one’s life. Even if that time hadn’t necessarily been better.

  He shrugged, too. Nonchalant.

  The fading smile on his lips told her that he hadn’t offered the entire truth. Or rather, he did, and simply phrased it differently than she might expect.

  Complex people; complex thoughts.

  “Are a lot of years like that for you?” she asked, choosing her words as carefully as he clearly had. “A lot of time?”

  The edge of his mouth twitched like he almost answered without first thinking. Of course, he caught himself and only muttered, “If not fragmented, it’s practically not there at all. Like white space and noise. I’m told that’ll get worse.”

  She was ready for his next puzzle piece—the bit of information that helped to explain something else about this fascinating man. He only offered them occasionally, and she understood the reasons for that now. Part of him didn’t always know what the real story was; the rest, he held terribly close.

  She hadn’t expected him to outright answer her with the truth, or rather—the reality he so easily handed to her with his words. That wasn’t his typical way, and for a second, it took Vera off guard.

  She didn’t have a quick reply.

  Vaslav was already moving on, saying, “Although, what I know of it, it couldn’t have been too bad of a year. My release was coming up.”

  Vera tried to imagine herself from thirteen to beyond her current age, under incarceration. How did something like that change a person? She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, or maybe the living, breathing man holding her was a testament to why she shouldn’t.

  Even though she shouldn’t ask, Vera was too curious to stop herself. “What was that like—growing up in those places?”

  Pulling in a deep breath and pausing to hold it before releasing the air in a long woosh, Vaslav’s brow lifted in his contemplation. “How do you explain it if you don’t know anything different?”

  She had never thought of it like that, either.

  Vaslav then untangled his left arm from hers to circle his fingers around her wrist before dragging their connected hands high enough for him to kiss her engagement ring, and the new matching band made of simple white gold resting beneath the larger diamond.

  He picked the wedding band out. A classic choice, and she absolutely loved it. His, also one he chose, was a thicker band in the traditional gold. Amongst his many others, the wedding ring wasn’t that amazing, and it certainly didn’t stand out between ones topped with rubies and onyx stones.

  Except she hadn’t asked him to wear a wedding ring at all after they married, but he did so anyway. Without prompting, his band showed up wrapped in a similar box to hers from the same jeweler, according to the invoice. And now, she couldn’t see any of his other rings except the one he chose to represent her.

  “I can think of better times to have this particular conversation, no?” he asked before kissing her hand, and ring, again.

  His gaze never left hers. They were still terribly close, too.

  How was she to argue with that?

  Vaslav arched an eyebrow, waiting for her reply.

  Vera only whispered, “Fair enough.”

  On the room stereo, where Hannah had connected her phone via Bluetooth to play through a playlist of songs she created for the evening, the tune changed. Vaslav and Vera’s semi- not-quite-a-waltz came to a stop. Too busy getting lost in the arms of her new husband—was that so bad?—and she hadn’t noticed the lyrics of the singer sweeping through the space until her husband had stopped them on the spot. A song meant for a father and his daughter.

  Although, no one else in the room except for them seemed to notice the change in tune first. Vera didn’t step back from Vaslav right away, but his tight hold around her didn’t loosen up, either.

  “Did you pick the songs, or no?” he asked.

  She grinned. “I didn’t know Hannah even made the playlist until this morning, actually. I had very little to do with it.”

  Nothing about the wedding had been intricate in the details or planning. It might have seemed like it on the surface, but mostly, things fell together when she needed them to, and Vera was fine to let it happen. Ma
ybe it wasn’t a huge event—instead of the ballroom dance floor at a swanky hotel for her reception, she danced with her husband behind the safe walls of their home.

  And that—all of it—was perfect.

  She couldn’t ask for more.

  Vaslav smiled back. “Ah, well—she picked good songs.”

  Vera had to agree, and made a mental note to thank her friend in a special way once all of this was over, and she had the chance to do something meaningful for Hannah. The girl deserved it for simply coming through to do her part at the wedding when she hadn’t even been asked to in the first place. Never mind the fact that Hannah’s initial thoughts about the marriage had been less than great. What were best friends for?

  “Oh—go, Demyan. I think this one’s for you,” Vera heard her mother urge.

  As her father came closer, Vera noticed Igor slipping past Claire to leave the room. Hannah, and Vera’s mother both had phones at the ready for what was to come.

  Vaslav leaned in, and kissed Vera on the shell of her ear before murmuring, “Dance with your father and make the most of your time. I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight for a few days after tonight. It’s my time with you now, and we both know I’ve earned it.”

  His promise came laced with sin. The kind that set her nerves on fire, and had her mind racing with anticipation. By the gleam in his eye and smirk toying with his lips, Vaslav witnessed her inner war, and reveled in it.

  “You shouldn’t do that to me when we still have guests,” Vera scolded under her breath, but it did nothing for the heat flooding her cheeks.

  Vaslav winked as he pulled away, asking genuinely, “Do what?”

  Vera shivered from his question; his dark words caressed her skin like the silk of her gown did with every movement she made. Despite picking a second, more appropriate dress to wear after the ceremony, she continued wearing the heavy gown. Tight to her body, it had been a risk. Silk always was a risky choice when without much structure underneath, the fabric could be unforgiving to parts of a woman’s figure that she might prefer to hide. Soft and constricting at the same time, Vera couldn’t stand the thought of taking it off.

  Especially not after the way Vaslav had visually approved of her choice and wedding dress at the altar.

  Demyan, too close for Vera to ignore now, cleared his throat. “Are we dancing?”

  Vaslav held on to Vera’s hand right down until only the tips of their fingers touched, before he finally let her go. “You are, comrade.”

  Cheeky prick.

  He knew good and well what he was doing.

  Vera would play along.

  For now.

  “Yeah, Papa,” Vera said, turning with open arms ready for her father, “I think Hannah picked this one for us.”

  *

  Hannah was sweet enough to add a second song to the playlist that was geared toward a father and daughter that gave Vera extra time to linger close to the safety of her father wrapped in his hug. Her forehead rested against Demyan’s cheek while he regaled her with another of her childhood antics that had them both in stitches. Her favorite in the bunch so far. That one, in particular, was how she’d decided that her younger brother, Roman—the only biological child between her parents—would be allowed to stay as a part of their family. After his birth, of course.

  “He wanted to come for this,” Demyan assured her.

  For the fifth time. At least. He wasn’t the first—even Claire said the same thing.

  Demyan also pulled rank. Roman, most times unpredictable even when on his best behaviour, couldn’t currently leave the country. He could, should his father want to take the risk of travelling his son with fake documents, but he opted not to.

  She didn’t blame him. Demyan was already on Interpol’s watch list for more than a few reasons.

  “I know,” Vera replied. And she did.

  Her father’s sigh lasted just long enough to say he wasn’t particularly happy about it, though. Some things never changed ... or so she was told.

  “I hope you know that I’m so happy you lived, Vera. That you got the chance when every card was stacked against you.”

  With his hand still tucked in hers, she used them both to poke playfully at his chest, earning her laugh. “You had a lot to do with that, too, Papa,” she told him.

  Lifting her head to see Demyan nod at her, she smiled wide.

  “That, too, is true,” he said. “I guess.”

  There was no guesswork to it. She lived, and he did everything he could to let her do it.

  “I wouldn’t be me without you, in a way. I wouldn’t have been so willing to get out and live a life I wanted had you not expected me to; had you not taught me to.”

  His eyes—Avdonin-blue as their family affectionately called it—the same as hers, softened. “I’ll be honest,” he said with a light chuff, “and say I did have a little hope that you might settle down closer to home. It would be easier to watch your family grow; I envisioned that, getting to do what my father did with me, but I know here is where you’re meant to be.”

  That mattered more.

  He didn’t need to say it.

  “To be fair,” she said, trying to shrug the heavier emotions off her bare shoulders while also attempting not to burst her father’s bubble further, “there are no plans for ... growing, as you said.”

  She didn’t come right out and say she had no intentions of giving Demyan grandchildren. Her statement should have been clear enough.

  “Oh well,” was all he said.

  Not oh-pause-well. No. Just oh well, no surprise at all, like it didn’t even make a difference.

  Their slow waltz never missed a beat. His smile didn’t falter, either. Vera wouldn’t admit that his unconcerned response helped to ease the anxiety about her choice. She was a woman, after all—maybe she wondered if there was something about motherhood that she would miss out on. It still wasn’t quite enough to change her mind on the topic of kids, however. If the question needed a life-altering event to be answered, well that spoke for itself.

  “How long are you and Ma planning to stay in Russia?” she asked, then, redirecting their topic of conversation to a better one. “And did they let you extend your stay in town?”

  “They were happy to,” Damian returned with a grin. “But I’m paying a small fortune weekly for that bed and breakfast—it’s good money. No one smart would refuse, hmm?

  It paid to be rich. So to speak.

  “But how long are you staying?”

  His ability to pay for lodging Claire liked in Dubna was only part of her initial question, and not even the most important one. Vera had a suspicion as to why her father opted to answer one rather than the other. Because he had some scheme going on currently with Vaslav. Evident by their many phone conversations lately that usually occurred in the late evenings. Which meant business.

  Obviously, mafiya.

  Demyan did nothing but stare at his daughter, proving her silent thoughts right, too. “At least a couple of weeks. I assume. There are always things that take time, Vera.”

  She didn’t press for more information, and was lucky to get what she did, likely.

  His scant details about the coming weeks—and her parents’ last-minute plans to stay in the country longer than expected—would have to be dealt with later, or whenever Vera got the time seeing as how she couldn’t forget Vaslav’s earlier promise after their dance. It still lingered on the back of her mind.

  Hannah popped in behind Demyan, and tapped him on the shoulder with a tinkling laugh when she caught him off guard. The song also changed at the same time. Like perhaps her friend had that little trick planned. Hannah’s grin said she might. The song was one with a faster beat, too. Exactly the girls’ style.

  “I can cut in now, right?” Hannah asked.

  Damian didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

  “Are you going to let him do the work of taking off the dress?” Hannah looped their arms together, and flashed a cheeky
grin.

  Vera, already swinging her hips to the faster beat, admitted, “That might have unintentionally been the plan.”

  “Are you doing a honeymoon away from Moscow later?”

  “Probably not, but I don’t care.”

  She was happy.

  Could Hannah see it?

  Her friend glowed with her own inner joy. It was hard to miss. “Well, you know the villa is taken care of with me, right?”

  Vera winked. “Oh, so you’re not planning to throw one of your infamous parties, then?”

  “Are you giving me permission?”

  As quick as ever.

  Hannah couldn’t turn the opportunity down.

  Vera barked a sharp laugh. “Hell no.”

  Hannah pouted her painted-red lips exaggeratedly. “You’re no fun.” She nodded at the sectional where it’d been shoved against the wall. “Let’s sit.”

  Vera’s feet throbbed.

  A little.

  She still didn’t regret opting for the shoes with a small heel, but she didn’t refuse Hannah’s offer when it meant she could rest her feet, either.

  With a sigh, she agreed, “Yeah I need a break. Nobody told me that somebody had created an entire playlist of music to dance to.”

  “You didn’t need to worry about that, too.” Hannah beamed—the smug pride clear—as the two women fell into the plush leather cushions of the couch side by side. Her friend’s eyes twinkled in that familiar way that Vera only associated with Hannah.

  “And thank you for doing that,” Vera said, wanting her friend to know just how much she appreciated every little touch Hannah put on her special day. The memories were absolutely everything to Vera. “The music, the breakfast with my mom this morning. Even—”

  Hannah lifted one shoulder, interjecting with, “At this point, you’re basically my only friend. And that’s fine. I needed to get away from the noise everyone else makes to figure out who I am. Yeah, Vera, I’d do anything for you. You already kind of did that for me.”

  It was that moment when one of the men who had slipped out of the room earlier decided to make a return.

  Igor nodded with a tight smile at Vera’s mother and father as he passed them in the entryway. It softened with more kindness when his attention landed on Vera and Hannah. He came to stand in front of them, folding his hands behind his back. Beside her, Hannah instantly fidgeted; she glanced down but it didn’t hide the new wash of color in her cheeks. Vera couldn’t miss it.