Page 148 of Ivory Ashes

“It doesn’t help,” I mutter softly enough that only Mikhail can hear me.

His shoulders stiffen, but he keeps talking. “Let’s put a pin in this for today.”

Dante wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“It means Mikhail wants to talk about this another day,” I explain. “He and I are going to think this over and talk more about it. Nothing is decided, okay?”

It’s not a lie. Not really. Mikhail’s mind might be made up, but that doesn’t mean for a single second that I’m going to let him take my son away from me. Not when I’ve worked so hard to keep us together.

Dante’s lower lip wobbles, but he nods. “Okay, Mama.”

Mikhail reads him a book about dragons throwing a taco party and Dante laughs when Mikhail pretends to breathe fire all around his room. But as soon as the book is over, I see the worry crease between my baby boy’s brows.

I hate that he is wrapped up in this.

I hate that Mikhail dropped this stress on his shoulders.

I hate that there’s nothing I can do to make it better.

By the time I kiss his forehead and step into the hall, whatever malaise settled over me the last two days is gone. I don’t want to lie in bed and cry—I want to breathe fire.

Mikhail closes Dante’s door and I’m there in an instant, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You’re a liar.”

He sets his jaw. “Let’s do this somewhere else. I don’t want Dante to hear.”

“Oh, now, you think about Dante? You weren’t thinking about him when you announced at dinner that you were planning to ship him off to the middle of nowhere!”

“Russia is hardly the ‘middle of nowhere.’”

“It’s not here with me!” I snap. “That’s all that matters. Do you understand that he is only five years old? You can’t rip him away from his mother!”

Mikhail snatches my finger out of the air and hauls me against his chest. My heart gallops. The smell of him wraps around me and I have to fight the instinct to lean into the warmth of his body.

Despite everything, pressing myself to him like this is the only thing I’ve thought about the last two days. I want to lay my cheek over his heart and breathe in time with him. I want him to comfort me the way he’s always been able to.

Except the man I want to comfort me isn’t the man standing in front of me right now. Hell, maybe that man never existed. For all I know, this has all been a trick to get to this moment: Mikhail stealing my son.

Mikhail peers down his nose at me. “If I don’t rip him away from you now, someone else will, and in a way that’s much more permanent.”

I rise onto my toes, ready to fight him tooth and nail. But as our bodies slide together, Mikhail’s facade cracks.

His throat bobs. His eyes flicker across my face. For the first time, every thought in his head is plain to see.

He wants me the same way I want him. Probably against his will.

More than that, he doesn’t want to send Dante away. I remember what Pyotr said the other night: No one is enjoying themselves right now.

Instead of arguing with him, I go for a gentler approach. I press my palm to his stubbled cheek. “You aren’t the same man you were back then, Mikhail.”

He stares down at me, unreadable and unrelenting.

“You’re different,” I continue. “You understand the risks and you’ve done everything to account for them.”

When he understands what I’m saying, he jerks away. “Don’t.”

He spins around and pushes through my bedroom door. I follow him across the hall. “Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth?” I ask. “Don’t tell you that I trust you to keep us safe?”

“Don’t act like you understand anything.”

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