Page 129 of Ivory Ashes

I gently push her off and stand up. “We need to pack. I’ll call the pilot and we’ll leave after Dante’s bath.”

Viviana looks a little taken aback, but she agrees. Vacation is over.

Within two hours, we’re on the plane.

Dante is on one side of me. He’s wearing a flannel blanket like a superhero cape around his neck, but his head is resting on my arm. He fell asleep on the car ride to the airport and didn’t wake up as I carried him onto the plane.

Viviana tucks her feet up underneath and leans against my other arm. Her breath is warm and even against my shoulder. She smells like vanilla.

Would it be so bad to let them both in? I could be the father Dante needs and the husband Viviana wants. This long weekend proved that. I can be there for them.

But each time I get close to crossing the line, I imagine a life without them.

I imagine standing over yet another set of graves.

I imagine walking through my house and seeing signs of them everywhere; being reminded day in and day out that I once had everything I could ever want… and it was taken from me.

I can’t do it again.

I won’t.

Once the plane lands, the vacation will be over for good. This person I became, whoever the fuck he is, will be dead and gone.

Viviana readjusts, shifting closer to me and tucking her hand around my elbow. Her fingers dig in, squeezing tight.

Just a few more hours.

Then it’s back to business.

46

VIVIANA

The plane touches down after midnight and everyone is exhausted.

That’s what I tell myself, at least, as Mikhail wordlessly gets out of his seat and grabs our luggage. The words run on a loop in my brain as he carries a still-snoozing Dante to the car and buckles him in.

We’re all exhausted beyond words, I think as the ride back to the mansion is perfectly silent.

Mikhail is sitting in the front seat next to Pyotr while I’m in the back with Dante. He’s an arm’s length away, but it feels so much farther. Especially after days of downright casual affection. Hands twined together under the dinner table, brushing my hair away from my face, stroking my hand down his arm.

Touching him like that felt natural.

Not anymore.

Goodbye, Vacation Mikhail and your cuddles. You shall be missed.

When we get to the mansion, Pyotr takes our luggage inside and Mikhail comes around to my side of the car. He opens my door and I think he’s going to offer me his hand to help me out.

Instead, he says, “I’ll take Dante up to bed. Wait for me in the living room. We need to talk.”

Does anyone else hear a funeral march playing or is it just me?

“What do we need to talk about?”

“Later,” is all he says. His mouth is pressed into a flat line and he won’t look at me.

He won’t look at me, but he wants to talk? Raging alarm bells layer in over the funeral march to create the world’s worst symphony in my head.

---