Page 109 of The Brigadier

I was close to having a little panic attack of my own. There were two men who had that tattoo, one described by Nikolay as if I didn’t know it existed. Although I had to admit it was rare I’d seen every inch of the family crest.

On my father.

“You’re certain?”

He nodded again.

I noticed his iPad-like little computer. “Can I borrow this for a second?”

“Yep.”

My hands were shaking as I turned it on, praying the reception was better. And it was. Maybe it was because we were on the second floor. Whatever the case, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I hurriedly tried to find a picture. It took me a few seconds because I was lost in a fog. When I did, I contemplated showing him.

“Do you want to see a picture of him for me? If not, it’s okay.”

His little nose scrunched up again and he looked directly in my eyes. “Yep.”

Fuck. He really did. I wasn’t certain if I was hoping he wouldn’t. I turned the picture around. It was a picture of my father and his wife. God, his wife. My mother. My father had been seeing another woman. The realization should have hit me hard but for some reason, it didn’t.

He touched the picture and sucked in his breath and I became ready for a tantrum, but he was calm, almost mesmerized by the photograph. It happened to be one that showed the tattoo more clearly than almost any of the others I’d seen. “Yeah.”

“That’s him?”

Every time he nodded vehemently, my heart sank a little bit more. “Okay, well, he can’t hurt you at all. Do you understand? Neither your daddy nor I would ever allow that to happen.”

“Tay. Tay.”

As he threw his arms around me again, I sensed it was as if a heavy burden had been removed from his shoulders.

And placed on mine.

But they were broad and Nikolay would know what to do. Right? What the hell did it really mean anyway? Was it completely coincidental my father was having an affair with his nephew’s mother? I honestly had no idea what to think.

My instinct was screaming that this was just another layer of the charade.

“One more question, little man. Then you need to have sweet dreams.”

“What, Chantie?”

“When did this happen? How long before your mommy brought you here?” It was another sore subject that could have set him off, but since the picture hadn’t seemed to adversely affect him, I wasn’t too afraid.

He immediately actively tried to figure out the best answer. “Not long before she said we had to go.”

Not long.

That was good enough. To a little boy, time was entirely different. “Perfect. Do you think you can get some sleep?”

“Maybe,” he said, batting those long eyelashes of his. “If you read me tory.”

He was just trying to be cute, and to get away with something just like little boys could do and I was relieved. “Hmmm… You’re cunning.”

“No, I’m not. Just highly intelligent and precocious.”

There he went again defying all odds. “Well then, Mr. Intelligent, what should I read?”

Thankfully, he suggested a happy story and one that was pretty short. I did my best to snuggle next to him, trying to stay animated while my stomach was doing flipflops. As I’d hoped, by the time I’d read the last page, he was fast asleep.