Page 62 of Secret Heir

I open my mouth to answer and realize I don’t have one. I know Alexander as my brother’s right hand and someone Nikolai trusts more than anything.

But personally? I know almost nothing about him.

“He’s Nikolai’s friend, not mine,” I say finally. “But Nikolai trusts him completely. That should be enough.”

“Should it?” She looks at me with those dark eyes, and there’s something in them that looks like fear. “What if Nikolai is wrong?”

“Nikolai is never wrong about people,” I immediately say, years of loyalty behind them. “And if you have an actual concern then voice it. Otherwise, you need to accept that Alexander will be around.”

She shuts down completely, her face going blank in that way that means she’s retreating somewhere I can’t follow.

I suddenly feel bad, like I’ve pushed her too far. I reach for her. “Aria, I⁠—”

She dodges out of my way. “I’m tired,” she says flatly. “Can you please leave?”

I want to push and demand she tell me what she knows, but I can see it won’t work. She’s locked herself away, and no amount of pressure will get her to open up.

“Fine.” I turn toward the door. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

I leave frustrated, feeling like I’m missing something crucial but having no idea what.

The next afternoon, I take Daniel fishing to give Aria space. And maybe to give myself space to think.

We sit by the estate’s pond with our rods, Daniel practicing his casting while I bait hooks and enjoy the quiet. The July sun is hot on my back, but there’s a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. It’s peaceful; the kind of moment I missed for eight years without knowing I was missing it.

“Maks?” Daniel’s voice breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What was Russia like when you were growing up there?”

I smile, remembering. “Cold. Very cold in the winter. Snow up to here.” I gesture to my waist, smiling wider at Daniel’s shocked exclamations. “My brother and I used to have snowball fights that lasted hours. Our mother would have to drag us inside because we’d forget to come in for dinner.”

“You had snowball fights with Uncle—with Dyadya Kolya?” Daniel sounds amazed, like he can’t imagine the stern man he met yesterday playing in the snow.

“He wasn’t always so serious. When we were young, he used to laugh more.” I cast my line. “Our father was stern, but fair. He expected a lot from us, but he loved us. And our mother was warm and loving. She used to sing to us in Russian, old folk songs her grandmother taught her.”

“What happened to them?” Daniel asks quietly. “Your parents?”

I sigh, thinking back to my parents. Even though it’s been nearly twenty years since they died, I still miss them. “They died before you were born. Our father first, then our mother a few years later. She never really recovered from losing him.”

“Oh.” Daniel frowns. “That’s sad.”

“It is. But they had a good life together. They loved each other very much. And they loved us.”

Daniel is quiet for a moment. “What did they call you? When you were little?”

“My father called me by my full name. He was formal like that. But my mother…” I smile at the memory. “She called me solnyshko. Little sun.”

Daniel mouths the word. “What does it mean?”

“It means ‘my sunshine.’ It’s a term of endearment. Like when your mother calls you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘Danny boy.’”

Daniel repeats it carefully, his pronunciation clumsy. “Sol-nysh-ko.”

“Close. Sol-NYSH-ko. The emphasis is on the middle syllable.”

“Solnyshko.”