Page 57 of The Brigadier
If we lived.
I’d be damned if Damien didn’t giggle and somehow, he’d dressed himself. I wanted to clap and jump up and down.
Even if the shirt was inside out.
I couldn’t give myself high fives, but just the little boy being able to act like an intelligent four-year-old allowed my heart to sing.
Damien came running into his daddy’s arms, giggling like any normal and very happy child would do.
I could tell Nikolay enjoyed the hug, taking just a little bit more time than I’m certain he wanted. When he pulled back, he playfully pinched Damien’s cheek. “We are going to go on an adventure. Would you like that?”
“How?”
“Well, do you remember when I took you to the other beach house?”
Damien nodded.
“You loved it there.”
The boy clapped his hands. “Building sandcastles.”
I wasn’t certain if Nikolay wasn’t going to burst into song. “Exactly. I thought we’d go there for a couple weeks. Would you like that?”
I could see Damien clearly, his contemplation including a scrunched-up face. “Only if Chantel comes.” Then he folded his arms as if being stubborn.
Nikolay peered up at me. “I assure you, little man, Chantel is now going to be a part of our lives.”
“Then yay!” Damien jumped back, clapping as he turned in circles.
I couldn’t swear on a bible, but I was pretty positive Nikolay added another word during the playful commotion.
Forever…
Protection.
It was interesting how protected one could feel while still worried about every person, every vehicle. I think both Nikolay and I were grateful Damien was excited about the trip, helping me decide which toys and books to pack. I had no idea how long we’d be there, the clothing I had abysmal, but Nikolay mentioned we could easily shop for more once we arrived.
I knew of the area, the expensive homes in the millions. Not that I had been there. My father never liked to leave LA for another American city, as he so often said. Mexico was fine. The Caribbean was perfect. Switzerland. I’d never questioned but had to wonder if he’d wished he was living in Russia.
God forbid.
While the powerful Russian of my own insisted on driving one of his sports cars, an SUV remained in front of us, two behind the entire trip. The drive time was only two and a half hours, although we hit some traffic. Damien jabbered a good portion of the time until I’d read him a story and he’d fallen asleep.
After being forced to stop for gas, I’d switched to sitting in the front passenger seat, still trying to process what he’d told me earlier.
“Vadim and his wife are okay?”
“They’re fine. Vadim doesn’t like being pushed into a corner though. He’s a bull,” Nikolay said quietly as he glanced into the rearview mirror.
“So are you. Any idea who was responsible?”
He exhaled as if as exhausted as I felt. “We have an idea but it’s yet to be confirmed. If we’re right, it could damage our family.”
That both intrigued and terrified me. Who was he talking about?
“But they’ll try again.”
“I have to consider that a distinct possibility.”