Page 72 of Ivory Ashes

Today is my second day back at work since moving in with Mikhail, so my internal clock is still adjusting back to my work schedule. I have to drag myself out of bed and into the shower. Afterward, I twist my hair into a clip and toss my makeup bag in my purse.

Yesterday, I curled my hair and put on a full face assuming I’d be riding to work with Mikhail. But when I got downstairs, it was just Pyotr waiting for me in the driveway.

Today, I’ll do my makeup on the drive.

My shopping spree with Stella and Anatoly included new work clothes, so I slip into a gray pencil skirt and cashmere sweater. This outfit alone is more expensive than the entirety of my combined work- and non-work wardrobe before meeting Mikhail. The cashmere feels like being cuddled by a flock of adorable baby sheep. It’s so comfortable that it takes a concerted effort to not feel any gratitude towards Mikhail as I walk across the hall to wake up Dante.

But thoughts of Mikhail and baby sheep fly out of my head when I open Dante’s door…

And find his bed empty.

“Dante?” I call, pulling back the blankets even though I know he isn’t there.

I check the closet, but it’s empty.

Shoving down gnawing panic, I check the sitting room and the kitchen, but they’re empty, too. I don’t see Stella or Anatoly. Dante’s tutor, Mrs. Steinman, won’t be here for another hour, at least. Out of desperation, I ask a maid I don’t recognize if she’s seen Dante, but she says something in Russian that lets me know neither of us are going to understand each other.

I sprint down the hallway back towards his room. “Dante! Where are you?”

Did Mikhail take him? Are they gone? Am I ever going to see him again?

I’m blinking back tears—seconds away from calling Mikhail for help or to scream at him, depending on if he’s kidnapped my child or not—when I hear a muffled shout from the end of the hall.

From Mikhail’s room.

I throw open the door and step inside.

The shades are drawn and the room is dim, but I can still see the rumpled, king-sized bed where Mikhail slept last night. Fully against my will, I breathe in the mint and cedar scent of him. It’s stronger here than anywhere else in the house.

“Dante…?” I whisper as if Mikhail is going to lunge at me from behind a door.

“I’m in here,” a little voice says tearily.

I turn towards the closet. The door is cracked open and I see a small, socked foot poking out of the shadows beyond.

Getting to my knees in my pencil skirt is an ordeal-and-a-half, but I manage it and crawl into the closet with him. Thankfully, Mikhail’s closet could fit our previous apartment two times over. Claustrophobia won’t be an issue.

“What are you doing in here, bud?” I ask softly. “Are you okay?”

Dante swipes a pajama sleeve across his nose. “I was looking for Mikhail.”

“I think he’s already at work.” If his text at the buttcrack of dawn was any indication, he starts work in the middle of the night. “Did you need something?”

You could have come to me. You can always come to me.

The jealousy taking root in my chest is ripped up the moment Dante lifts his face and I see his chin wobbling. His blue eyes are glassy with tears.

“What’s the matter, honey?” I wipe away his tears with the baby-sheep-soft sleeve. “Did something happen?”

“Is he leaving again?” he wails, throwing his arms around my middle. His face is buried in my stomach. “He came back, but he’s leaving us again.”

“No. He isn’t going anywhere. He didn’t—When did he leave us before?”

“When I was a baby,” he cries. “That’s why he wasn’t there. It was me and you, but I… I want it to be Mikhail, too. But he’s gone. He wasn’t here before bedtime or when I woke up. He’s nowhere.”

When I stroke his cheek, I can’t help but see his father in every inch of him.

“He’s been away.” I stroke his cheek and can’t help but see his father in every inch of him. “But he’ll be back soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

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