10: Beauty without brain

Maksim spat out blood. Poor maid. She would have to redo the cleaning. Pinching his nose to ease the bleeding, he grabbed the tissue box on the table and stuffed some of it up his nostrils. Papa drew closer, but Maksim stood his ground, ready for another attack. He should have expected the first.

“She was right,” Papa said, stabbing him in the chest with his finger. “You’re a bastard.” 

“Papa.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

“I. Don’t. Know her,” Maksim said.

The lines on Papa’s forehead deepened, a sign that this was a futile conversation. His father always believed the worst of him. Why should today be different? He had long accepted that fate. Gently pulling out the soiled tissue, he tossed it to the trashcan by the door and sank down on the table.

“One bastard is enough for the family,” Papa said. “You don’t know her, yet she&rsq