Page 92 of Ivory Ashes

This is… different.

Especially as Dante ducks his head and tries to slyly grab another piece of bacon without Viviana noticing. She lets him get all the way to the plate and lift a strip of bacon before she rears back and swats it out of his hand.

“Stuffed!” She picks up the bacon and takes a bite. “Get that outta my house, Dante. You aren’t sneaky.”

He sags in disappointment, but he can’t quite stop a smile from spreading across his face. Viviana ruffles his hair and pours him some more milk.

It’s normal, but also bizarre. Watching them feels like watching some nature documentary. Because this is nothing like breakfasts in my family.

My parents weren’t playing with me or gently reminding me to eat my fruits and vegetables. We weren’t smiling and laughing together. I can’t remember a single time my entire family sat down to share a meal.

The only reason I woke up early this morning and ordered a big breakfast is because I couldn’t stay in bed with Viviana for another minute.

She was asleep next to me, her lips parted, her lashes fluttering as she dreamed. I could have stayed there next to her for hours. But I knew when she woke up and rolled over that I’d be done for. She would blink up at me, a sleepy smile on her face, and I’d want her too fucking much. More than is good for either of us.

What are we doing, Mikhail?

I have no fucking idea.

So I got up and took a cold shower, but here I am anyway.

Wanting her.

Even worse, I want whatever Viviana and Dante have. This ease that lets them love each other and coexist.

They’ve had five years of practice, so it makes sense that they’re good at it. But it still makes me wonder if this is what things would be like if I’d known Viviana was pregnant with Dante.

Would breakfast together be the norm? Would I be the one blocking his attempts to wolf down an entire package of bacon in the morning and ignore his fruit bowl?

No.

Everything would have been different.

I never would have been that parent. We never would have been that kind of family. We can’t be. I stood over Alyona and Anzhelina’s graves and promised I’d never replace them. Anzhelina was so young that I barely even know what being a father was like, anyway.

Viviana’s hand lands on my wrist. “Mikhail?”

I jerk away from her touch and don’t miss the hurt that flashes there.

She would leave if she could. I can see it in her eyes when I look at her. If I gave her the opportunity, she’d take Dante and run. I can’t forget that.

She tips her head towards our son. “Dante said your name.”

Dante is looking up at me out of the corner of his eyes. He’s chewing nervously on his lower lip. Viviana does the same thing when she’s nervous.

“What’s up?” I ask as cheerfully as I can.

He shifts in his seat. “I like Mrs. Steinman and the games she has. She taught me checkers and sometimes, I get to color with markers. But I want to go back to my school.”

Viviana stiffens, but doesn’t say anything.

“Mrs. Steinman is your school,” I tell him. “She’s your teacher now.”

Dante looks from his mom to me, trying to make sense of this. “Am I ever going back to kindergarten?”

“You’re in kindergarten right now.”

He shakes his head, huffing in frustration. “Am I ever going back to my friends? To my normal school?”

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