Deep Trouble with You

4 Rescuing the Injured

“Just so you know, the PlayStation’s disappearing before your parents get back! You’ll come over to my place and play there!” I lay down extra conditions for the little bastards. “They won’t allow it anyway, and I don’t need drama with your folks!”

“Fine,” Egor snorts, giving me a serious look, and we shake hands to seal the deal.

“There’s just one small issue,” Andry says, all business. “What are we doing about Mom?”

“Which mom?” I don’t catch on right away.

“Uncle Nazar,” those green eyes stare at me meaningfully, like don’t play dumb. “What are we telling that lady about our mom?”

I look at them and realize they’re going to crush it in business one day. Iron grip, sharp minds, catching every detail.

“Yeah, Mom…” I chew my lip, trying to cook up something believable. “You’ll say she left us all. Yeah. Moms come in all types. Ours just happened to be irresponsible. Soli, you understand what game we’re playing?” The boys I trust. The little one could accidentally blow the whole thing.

“I get it,” the tiny one smiles, flashing angel eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

What is happening to my life?

“You’re going to send me to an early grave with that vocabulary!” I groan, clutching my head. “Don’t you dare talk like that in front of your parents! Alright, I’ll go first. You come up a bit later like you need something. Make it convincing.”

After handing out instructions and quickly going over the details, I head back to the bench where my gorgeous stranger sits. She’s still pretending I don’t exist, and I’m still staring at her tempting figure for a solid ten minutes.

“Dad!” I hear a worried shout and look up to see Egor running toward me. “Soli fell off the slide!”

For a split second, I actually panic. Then I notice how my brunette is staring wide-eyed at me and my “son.” Got you, little bird. I switch into concerned, caring father mode and bolt toward the scene.

“Soli, you okay?” I ask, examining the scrape on her leg. She’s sitting on the ground, wincing dramatically.

“Dad,” she gives me a pointed look that clearly says don’t mess this up.

I exhale in relief. So it’s part of the act. For a second I nearly lost it. Damn kids could’ve warned me!

I scoop up the groaning, suffering, Oscar-worthy little actress in my arms and carry her straight to… of course, the same bench. The performance needs its audience.

The tiny performer lets crocodile tears roll down her cheeks and clings to me pitifully. And people believe girls’ tears after that?

“Easy, sweetheart,” I settle my little “injured” one onto the bench. “Let me see what you’ve got there,” I say with practiced concern and fatherly worry, comforting Soli.

I see that the arrogant disdain in the brunette’s eyes has completely vanished. She’s looking at the boys and Soli like they just dropped from another planet, then glancing at me with very readable surprise.

“Daaaad!” my niece wails, clutching her leg. “It hurts so much!”

“Easy, sweetheart. I need to look at your knee,” I carefully roll up her leggings and inspect the knee, which, by the way, has absolutely nothing on it.

“Do you need help?” my stranger snaps out of it and holds out a pack of wet wipes, which I gladly take, noting the warming shift in our relations.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, almost shyly. “With kids, something unpredictable is always happening.”

“I understand,” the brunette smiles unexpectedly warmly, and I get stuck on the cute dimples in her cheeks.

Focus, Nazar. There’s a rescue operation going on here.

I pull out a few wipes and gently clean the “injured” spot on Soli’s leg. She puts on a dramatic show, hissing and groaning, while the boys stand there, dark and silent, watching.

“Miss, thank you so much!” Egor says dramatically. “Ever since our mom left us, Dad’s been a mess! He didn’t even bring basic wipes to the playground. And he has three kids! At this rate, he’ll forget one of us somewhere out of sheer distraction…”

I shoot the little bastard a sharp look, silently telling him not to overact.

“I’m not forgetting anyone,” I grumble, pulling Soli’s leggings back down. “See, sweetheart? There’s nothing serious there. You got more scared than hurt.”

“It still hurts,” the little actress sniffles theatrically. “Dad… kiss my knee…”

I look at this manipulator, and I’m completely powerless. Tears in her eyes, and the faintest sly smile on her lips. What a tiny fox.

“Of course!” the brunette suddenly chimes in. “Didn’t you know that if you kiss the sore spot, the pain goes away immediately?” she says seriously, hiding a smile.

You witches teamed up on me. Fine.

I bend down and kiss the little rascal’s knee. Instantly, a smile spreads across the princess’s doll-like face, and she springs off the bench like nothing ever happened.

“Thank you again,” I tell the stranger, handing back the wipes. “I really can be pretty absent-minded…”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” the girl says unexpectedly, looking guilty. “I judged you by appearances and said a lot of unfair and hurtful things. It’s just… your image doesn’t look anything like a father of three.” She lowers her eyes shyly. “You know… usually fathers with a lot of kids look more… how should I put it… domesticated.”

I give a faint smile at the comparison, fully understanding what she means. But that description doesn’t fit everyone. Take Kirill, for example. He’s a shark in business, steel-nerved, ruthless in his decisions. Women stare at him constantly, even though he’s a happily married father of three.

Although… the moment his kids or Vicky enter his field of vision, his gaze softens noticeably, and nothing in the world can pull his attention away from his family. Maybe that’s what “domesticated” really means.

“Don’t take it to heart,” I wave it off casually. “I wasn’t always like this. After my wife left, I decided to change my image.”

Why the hell am I lying like that? Nobody’s twisting my arm. But for some reason, in front of this girl, I want to seem like the best version of myself. I don’t want her looking at me like some cheap womanizer. I want her to see a serious, worth her attention man.

“Dad,” Egor suddenly cuts in. “You seem to have forgotten, but you promised us ice cream and cotton candy,” he says slyly. “Let’s treat the lady too. She helped, after all…”

Clever little bastard. For creativity alone, I could shake his hand.

“Well, if the lady and her son agree…” I glance at the brunette with an unmistakable smile.

“We’d love to,” the girl answers shyly, a light blush touching her cheeks. “My name is Ann.”