My son, who needs me.
“I’ll go put him to sleep,” I tell Yulian.
I tuck Eli into bed and push Garfield into his arms. “See?” I force a smile. “Safe and sound.”
The truth is, all I want to do right now is cry. I want to curl up and sob, curse myself for being such a horrible mother, for letting my kid put himself in danger like that. For giving him nightmares for the rest of his life.
But Yulian’s still here.
So I wipe my eyes, wait for Eli’s breathing to even out, and go back into the living room.
I find him in the kitchen.
“I made some warm milk,” he says. “To help him sleep.”
It’s the sweetest thing he could have done. “Thanks,” I whisper. “He’s down again, but I’ll take that.”
Yulian offers me the cup. Our fingers brush as I take it. His fire, I’ve come to learn, is almost as dangerous as his ice. Even now, when it’s warm as a hearth, it’s more dangerous than ever to me.
Because all I want is to curl up into that warmth, sob into Yulian’s chest, let him hold me. Like he did earlier tonight.
But that’s not part of the deal.
I pour honey into the milk. Yulian’s eyes go wide when he sees how much.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just wasn’t aware you were courting diabetes.”
I roll my eyes. “We all have our vices.”
“And yours is milk and honey.” His eyebrow rises. “Most people would go for something stronger.”
“Cheap wine tastes horrible.” I sip my drink, relishing the sugary warmth on my tongue. “So does beer. Too bitter.”
“I feel like you’re taking the concept of ‘sweet tooth’ to a whole other level.”
“You’re not the first,” I sigh. “Brad loved to tease me for it.”
Realization dawns in Yulian’s eyes. “That’s why he calls you?—”
“‘Sweet thing’? Yeah.” I grimace. “Can you believe I used to like it? Now, I can’t hear it without wanting to throw up.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He makes a disgusted face. At least we’ve got this in common: not being able to fucking stand Bradley Baldwin. “Has he always been that slimy?”
“Oddly, no.” My mind goes back to that summer. To the sweet way it started. “He was kind of a dick, but no more than any other Hamptons guy. He still thought himself human, back then.”
“When did he stop?”
I grip my cup tighter. “When his father died.”
Yulian pauses. Perhaps, for the first time, he’s feeling something close to kinship to Brad. This is the one thingtheyhave in common—losing someone they shouldn’t have lost, too young to know what to do with the void it left behind.
“What happened then?”
“He inherited everything. He wasn’t supposed to, you know. His dad believed you had to make your own fortune, even if you were born lucky. Brad was supposed to graduate business school and then support himself. Become an asset to the company, or fund his own. He didn’t seem to mind that at the time. Said he’d rather be a capable rich jerk than a useless rich jerk.” The memories keep flooding in. “But then his dad died, and overnight, he was worth billions.”
“And it went to his head,” Yulian fills in.
