Silent Lies: Epilogue

Drago

Several years later

 

I cross my arms over my chest and regard the line of women standing in front of me, their backs to the garage wall.

“I thought we had an agreement, but it seems I was wrong,” I say. “So, who was it this time?”

No one speaks. Their hands are clasped in front of them, all four looking guilty as hell. I take a step forward, coming to stand in front of my wife. She’s wearing a blue silk jumpsuit, with silver hearts merrily spanning the material, and sky-high heeled sandals that match the glittery shapes.

“Sienna? Was it you?”

“Of course not, baby.” She gives me one of her bright grins. “You know I would never.”

Giving a nod, I move to stand in front of my eldest daughter. She’s dressed in a matching jumpsuit to her mother’s, but hers is green. “I didn’t expect this from you, Alexandra.”

“It wasn’t me, Daddy. I swear!”

“Mm-hmm…” I move down the line to my middle daughter. She’s gripping the hem of her frilly gold skirt, trying to keep her face serious, but it’s as plain as day that she’s barely containing her laughter. “We had a serious talk after you sprinkled the glitter dust all over the food in the fridge, and we established that some things are not meant for play.”

She presses her small hands over her mouth, giggling. “But I didn’t do it, Daddy!”

I shake my head. Having three daughters is a handful. Having daughters who are all a carbon copy of my wife certainly makes life unpredictable. And exciting. I reach out and adjust the decorative flower holding up Irina’s ponytail, then turn and crouch in front of my youngest girl.

“Did you paint Daddy’s bike tires pink, Dina baby?”

She bites at her lower lip. “Yup.”

“And do you remember how we talked about that it’s dangerous to go into the garage alone?”

“But I wasn’t alone.” She pouts. “Mommy was with me the whole time.”

“Oh, she was, was she?” I throw a look at my wife who’s pretending to be engrossed in her silver-painted nails. “So, Mommy helped you?”

“No. I did it all by myself. Your bike is all black, and I wanted to make it pretty.” Her head bobbles with absolute certainty of her statement.

“Daddy uses the bike for work, Dina.”

“I know.” She smiles, looking all proud of herself. “Now you have the prettiest bike in the world! You can take it to your meeting and show your friends.”

I imagine the looks on my men’s faces when I arrive at an interrogation session on a bike sporting pink tires and sigh. At least, this time, there’s no glitter on it.

“And your helmet will now match,” she adds.

“My helmet?”

“Yes. Irina and Alexandra helped me put small butterfly stickers on it. They are pretty pink, too!”

Jesus Christ. “But no glitter?”

“That’s only for the girls, Daddy.” She scrunches her nose in disapproval. “Can we go to the kitchen now? Keva is making apple pie, and she promised she’d let us taste the filling.”

“Then you should hurry, before Relja eats everything.”

I watch my daughters run to the back door of the house, followed by three dogs wearing huge colorful bows around their necks, then straighten and face my wife.

“It wasn’t you, hmm?” I wrap my hand around her waist and lift her against me, crushing her to my chest.

“It’s only watercolor paint.” She smiles. “It’ll wash away.”

“And the stickers?”

“That one was all girls. I’ll try to peel them off with the nail polish remover.”

“Just leave the blasted things.” I dip my head and press my lips to hers. “How long will that pie keep them occupied?”

“Ten minutes tops. The apple filling is already done.”

“Is it?” I smile.

Keeping Sienna pressed to my body, I reach for my phone with my free hand and dial Relja.

“Go to the kitchen,” I bark. “Take the pie filling Keva had made and dump it in the trash. When she comes after you, just let her know she needs to prepare a new one and have the girls help her from start to finish.”

Relja’s hysteric babbling comes from the other side, but I just cut the connection and slip the phone into my back pocket.

“Keva is going to kill you both.” Sienna snorts.

“Then I need to make sure our impending deaths aren’t for nothing.” I carry my wife inside the garage and hit the button to close the sliding bay doors.

I wonder if her panties match her shoes and the nail polish today.


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