Page 64 of Ivory Ashes

That bears repeating: Viviana won’t change any of my plans.

I’m going to make sure of it.

23

VIVIANA

I follow the sound of Dante playing down the hallway and into the sitting room. He’s standing on the leather ottoman, a pillow held over his head. Anatoly is curled up on the ground in the fetal position.

“Have mercy on me!” Anatoly screams playfully.

Dante cackles hysterically as he dives off the ottoman. Anatoly catches him in mid-air and takes a pillow directly to the face for his efforts. He turns away and grins when he sees me, his hair mussed in every direction. To be fair, so is mine.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Finally ready to join the living?”

“It’s only—” I check the clock above the fireplace. “Wow. Is that clock right?”

Anatoly nods just before Dante assaults him with another pillow to the face.

I can’t remember the last time I slept in. Definitely before Dante was born. Probably before I was engaged to Trofim, even. Years and years ago. A lifetime ago.

That’s why my brain feels so jumbled. It has nothing to do with hugging Mikhail last night. And his bare chest? What could be mind-scrambling about that? Not a darn thing.

I’m not distracted because I’m waiting to hear his voice or wondering what surprise he has planned for the two of us tonight. No, it’s all of the extra sleep that has me out of sorts. That makes the most sense.

“I didn’t realize it was so late.” Before Dante can swing his pillow a third time, I grab the end of it. “Have you had breakfast yet, little gremlin?”

“Stella made me pancakes!”

“Stella made pancakes?” Anatoly groans. “I can’t believe I missed them.”

“Wait. You didn’t wake him up this morning?” I ask Anatoly.

He shakes his head. “When I came downstairs, Mikhail was already with him in the kitchen.”

Dante is well taken care of in this house. Mikhail would never do anything to hurt him. I know this, but it doesn’t stop that rotten bitch Mom Guilt from rearing her ugly head. She has been my constant companion since Dante was born.

“You could have come into my room after you woke up this morning. I would have eaten with you.”

The same way I’ve eaten with you every single morning for the last five years.

Two days in this house and my son doesn’t need me anymore. It’s not true, but it feels true right now.

“I got Mikhail instead. I wanted to tell him I was brave last night.”

I can’t stop sheer shock from spreading across my face. “You went into Mikhail’s room? While he was sleeping? And woke him up?”

I do manage to stop myself from asking my small child if Mikhail was shirtless. That would be inappropriate. Not to mention useless information. I don’t need to know how Mikhail sleeps. It’s of no consequence to me.

Dante makes a jumping swipe for the pillow, but I hold it out of his reach. He groans like this is the most boring conversation he’s ever had, whereas I have never been more riveted.

“Talk to me and then you can beat up Anatoly,” I tell him. “You woke Mikhail up this morning?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “I ate pancakes and brushed my teeth, too. I did all the things I was s‘posed to.”

It takes nothing short of a full half-hour of pleading and screaming to get Dante to finish his cereal and use the restroom every morning. To get out the door on time, I’d have to sacrifice baby lambs on an altar somewhere.

But in Mikhail’s house, Dante can take care of himself with no prodding whatsoever.

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