Chapter 203 Epilogue Mason POV
I pull each chair out for my daughters before they sit. Both of them thank me automatically, polished little voices full of manners Elena drilled into them from the second they could speak.
Elena is an absolutely incredible mother.
All of the kids are far too poised for their ages, too mature, too aware of themselves whenever we’re out in public. Sometimes I wonder if that’s because of who their parents are.
I glance up just as my mother and sisters enter the restaurant.
We’re having high tea at the Marigold. Once a week, without fail, I bring the girls here. It started after little Catori was born—or “Little Catori,” as my father insists on calling her despite the fact she’s nearly as tall as her mother, Katia too.
My family slowly started coming around again after her birth. They’re all exceptionally pleased with my progress these days.
I took the CFO position at Jones Entertainment three years ago. I co-parent well with Elena. We’re friends now, somehow. Real friends. Functional. Stable. Adult.
Most days.
She’s never lacked male attention. We were never going to be anything more and I am fine with that. I’d be lying to myself if I pretended I didn’t enjoy being her fucktoy for that year after she adopted Constantine, though. That whole period feels ancient now. Like another version of us entirely.
“Grandmother!” Catori and Katia say together the second my mother reaches the table.
“Girls, you both look lovely as always,” my mother says warmly.
Katia isn’t biologically mine, but she calls me Dad anyway. Just like Catori calls Ivan Dad.
Liam, however, they call Liam.
I know that has to hurt him, even if he pretends it doesn’t.
Both girls are dressed in matching tweed sets with tiny handbags hanging from their wrists, their hair tied back into sleek low ponytails. They look adorable and expensive, exactly like miniature versions of their mother.
The second my mother and sisters sit down, the conversation immediately shifts to fashion.
Always.
If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s my sisters kidnapping both girls at least once a month for outrageously expensive shopping trips. My father secretly loves when they stop by his office afterward for lunch. The terrifying old bastard melts for his granddaughters.
“How are you doing?” my mother asks softly, placing her small hand over mine.
“I’m good, Mom,” I tell her honestly. “Work’s great. The kids are good. Everything’s good.”
I take a sip of tea while the girls briefly glance toward me before diving right back into an animated discussion about the new Dior line. Apparently some ladybug bag is the center of the fashion universe this week.
My mother studies me carefully.
“I worry about you being alone,” she says finally. “You need…” Her eyes flick toward the girls before she lowers her voice. “Companionship.”
Really? Companionship is the word we’re using?
“I get plenty of that,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.
“I don’t mean from your secretary,” she says sharply.
God damn it.
Does everyone know I fucked my assistant?
To be fair, Ana is not my secretary. She’s my executive assistant. Also, it only happened a handful of times, and afterward we agreed to keep things professional. Which we have.
Mostly.
Instead of correcting my mother, I look out toward the Vegas Strip through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. We’re on the hundred-and-fiftieth floor, high enough for the city to look artificial beneath us.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m still single.
I’ve dated. Mostly because my mother refuses to stop setting me up with every wealthy socialite she can get her hands on. They’re all beautiful in the same empty way. Expensive dresses. Hollow smiles. Conversations that feel rehearsed.
None of them are Elena.
I turn back toward the girls, watching them carefully split pastries while arguing over chocolate versus raspberry filling. They are so much like their mother it physically hurts sometimes.
Those blue eyes.
Jesus Christ.
They do something to me emotionally that I’ll probably never fully explain to another living person.
“Oh wow,” my mother suddenly says. “That’s Sofiya Valev.”
Fuck me.
This is a setup.
I turn slowly toward the entrance.
Sofiya Valev is one of the biggest models on the planet. Bulgarian-Russian. Ice-blue eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Cold runway stare that makes grown men nervous. Fashion magazines call her The Black Swan because apparently nobody in the industry knows how to be subtle.
Her story is tragic enough to make people obsessed with her. Raised in Varna by her grandmother while her father sat in prison and her mother disappeared entirely. Discovered at sixteen during some local fashion competition after replacing another girl at the last minute.
By twenty-one, she was everywhere.
Paris. Milan. New York.
Campaigns. Covers. Luxury exclusives.
There are rumors about her constantly. Billionaires. Crime families. Underground boxing clubs. Half the internet thinks she’s secretly dangerous, which only makes people more obsessed with her.
Off the runway, she’s supposedly impossible to interview. Speaks four languages. Chain-smokes when stressed. Collects antique jewelry. Funds women’s shelters quietly across Eastern Europe.
My mother practically lights up as Sofiya approaches the table.
Of course they know each other.
“Darling!” my mother exclaims, standing to embrace her. “You’re in town for the Levant campaign, yes?”
Levant. Of course. Some of the finest jewelry in the world.
Sofiya nods politely while removing her sunglasses. Her gaze lands on me briefly, cool and unreadable.
My mother immediately invites her to join us before I can object.
“Daddy?”
I turn instantly toward Catori and Katia.
“Yes, baby?”
One look at her grin tells me exactly where this is going.
“Can Aunt Lomasi and Aunt Aponi take us shopping?” Catori asks sweetly. “The Dior store at Wynn finally has those bags in stock.”
There it is.
I should say no.
Instead, she smiles exactly like Elena, and suddenly I’m completely fucking helpless.
She’s twelve years old and already has me wrapped around her finger so tightly it’s pathetic. I genuinely don’t know what Ivan and I are going to do once these girls start dating.
Probably drink ourselves into early graves together.
I pull out my card to hand over, but my sisters immediately refuse it.
“We’re treating them,” Lomasi insists.
I give up instantly.
The girls hug me goodbye before disappearing with my sisters, and not even thirty seconds later my mother suddenly stands too.
“Oh dear,” she says dramatically while looking at her phone. “Important call.”
I almost roll my eyes.
The second she disappears, silence settles over the table.
I lean back casually in my chair.
“Listen,” I start. “I don’t know what my mother told you, but I’m not looking to date.”
Sofiya leans forward slightly, her icy blue eyes locking onto mine hard enough to feel physical.
“Who says I want to date?” she asks softly.
Then her gaze drifts slowly down my hands before returning to my face.
“Maybe,” she murmurs, “I wonder what those big hands can do besides beat other men to a pulp. I heard you have quite an appetite for Eastern European blue eyes,” she says, leaning her face into her palm.
I’m in trouble.