18
Radmir
Monday morning arrives with fog rolling in from the ocean, shrouding the estate in gray mist that matches my mood. I’ve spent the weekend thinking about Leo’s earnest face and the way he looked at me with such trust. I keep replaying the way Danielle’s expression changed from professional politeness to barely concealed panic when I asked about his father.
I try to focus on business emails and quarterly reports, but concentration proves impossible. Every few minutes, I find myself checking the security feeds to see if Danielle has arrived for work. When she finally appears in the break room with Carmen to clock in, I watch her punch the time clock with hands that seem steadier than mine.
She moves through her morning routine, cleaning guest rooms and organizing supply closets. Nothing in her behavior suggests Saturday afternoon changed anything between us, which makes the restless energy building in my chest more pronounced.
By ten o’clock, I can’t stand the pretense anymore. I need to see her, to look into her eyes and confirm what I already know with absolute certainty. Leo is my son, and she’s been keeping that truth from me for over three years.
I find her in the east hallway, dusting picture frames with focused concentration. She wears her usual work uniform, but something about the way she moves seems more artificial today, like she’s trying very hard to appear normal and failing.
“Danielle.” I keep my voice professionally neutral. “Could I see you in my office? I’d like to review the guest wing organization you completed last week.”
She freezes for just a moment before turning to face me. “Of course, Mr. Vetrov. Should I bring anything specific?”
“Just yourself.”
I walk back to my office without waiting for her response, knowing she’ll follow. The pretense of reviewing her work is thin, and we both know it, but it gives us the framework we need for what’s really going to be a much more complicated conversation.
She enters my office a few minutes later, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her shoulders are raised slightly, and she avoids looking directly at me as she approaches my desk. “You wanted to review the guest wing organization?” She keeps her voice neutral, but I catch the slight edge of nervousness underneath it.
“Actually, I wanted to talk about Saturday.” I stand and move around my desk, noting how she takes a small step backward. “Our conversation at the ice cream shop…”
“It was nice to run into you.” She finally meets my gaze, but only briefly before looking away again. “Leo enjoyed meeting you.”
“Did he?” I take another step closer, and she retreats until her back nearly touches the bookshelf. “He’s a remarkable boy. Very intelligent for his age.”
“Thank you.”
“He has interesting eyes. Unusual color.” I stop just close enough that she has to tilt her head up to look at me. “They remind me of someone.”
Her face goes pale, and I see her throat work as she swallows. “Mr. Vetrov, if there’s nothing specific you need reviewed?—”
“There is something specific I need.” I move closer. “I need you to stop pretending.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” I reach up and touch her face gently, feeling her tremble under my fingers. “Because I think you know exactly what I mean. I think you’ve known since the day you walked into this house. You’ve known for four years, haven’t you?”
Instead of answering, she does something that catches me completely by surprise. She pushes up on her toes and crashes her mouth against mine, kissing me with desperate hunger that tastes like fear and longing and something close to surrender.
The kiss is fierce and demanding, not like the careful exploration we’ve shared before. This is raw need, and it drives every rational thought from my head. I respond immediately, sliding my hands into her hair as I kiss her back with equal ferocity for a moment. “Danielle.” I try to pull back, to regain control of the conversation, but she won’t let me.
“Don’t talk.” She nips at my lower lip, then soothes it with her tongue. “Please don’t talk right now.”
I understand what she’s doing. She’s using this connection between us to avoid the questions I need to ask and the truths we need to discuss. I should stop her and insist we deal with Leo and the truth she’s been hiding before we lose ourselves in this need that consumes us both.
Instead, I lift her onto my desk and step between her legs, my hands already working at the buttons of her polo shirt. “This doesn’t change anything we need to discuss,” I murmur against her throat as I push the fabric off her shoulders.
“I know.” She find my belt, working it free with her soft hands. “That can wait.”
“Can it?” I slide my hands up her thighs through the barrier of her pants, enjoying the way she shivers at the indirect contact. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”
She answers by pulling my mouth back to hers, kissing me with such intensity that rational thought becomes impossible. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel the heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her khakis.
I want to take my time with her, to explore every inch of her body with the reverence she deserves, but the desperation in her touch makes patience impossible. She needs this escape, this moment where we’re just two people who want each other beyond reason. I do too, though I still need and expect answers when we’re finished.
