Page 89 of Ivory Oath

“Unless that someone is your husband,” Anatoly says softly. “Mikhail wants to take care of you, Viviana. He doesn’t need you to hide things from him. Whatever is going on with you, he can handle it.”

The question was never whether Mikhail could handle the news.

It was whether I could handle it.

We stay at the park for another hour, letting Dante burn through the endless energy he seems to have. He climbs the rock wall so many times that he can literally do it with his eyes closed by the time we leave. On our way back to the car, he hangs limply over Anatoly’s shoulder, pretending to snore.

That doesn’t stop him from announcing, thirty seconds later, “I want to go swimming!”

Anatoly smiles through a groan. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I want to go swimming,” Dante repeats like that’s answer enough.

Anatoly and I take turns tossing sedentary options at him—puzzles, movies, video games—but Dante is a boy who knows what he wants.

“Fine. I’ll swim with you,” Anatoly relents as we walk into the house through the garage. “But I’m lying on a float the entire time and you’re definitely not going to tip me over into the water.”

Dante giggles, his eyes sparking with the kind of mischief that used to make me wonder if urgent care centers offered frequent flyer miles. “Okay.”

I ruffle his hair. “Go get changed into your swimsuit and then we can?—”

“Daddy!” Dante is a floppy-haired streak down the hall before he launches himself into Mikhail’s arms.

I didn’t even see Mikhail standing there. Probably because I wasn’t looking. I can only get my hopes up so many times before I accept that Mikhail isn’t going to show his face until he’s good and ready.

But here he is.

He obviously heard us come in, and he didn’t dissolve into the shadows like Batman. I try to take it as a good sign, but it’s not like he greeted us at the door, either.

“Hey, kid.” He bends down to hug him without looking at me or Anatoly.

Anatoly pads into the kitchen with an ease I couldn’t fake if I wanted to. “Dante is dragging me to the swimming pool. You wanna come?”

“Please!” Dante pleads, yanking on Mikhail’s pant leg. “Please swim with me!”

Mikhail sighs. “I have a lot to do, but I could?—”

Dante shrieks with excitement before Mikhail even finishes the sentence and whips those baby blues around to me. “You, too, Mama?”

“Oh.” I glance at Mikhail and his jaw is set. His eyes are drilling into the top of Dante’s head like he might be able to plant his own thoughts there. You don’t want your Mama to come with us.

It doesn’t work. Dante slips right back into shameless begging. “Please, Mama! Pleeeease!”

Dante will be so happy we’re all together that he probably won’t even notice his dad and I aren’t talking. I can fight through the tension on Dante’s behalf if Mikhail can. We’re both adults, after all.

I manage a smile. “Sure, bud. I’d love to.”

No sooner than the words are out of my mouth, Mikhail takes a step back and glances at his watch. “Actually, it’s later than I thought it was. I have something to take care of. Sorry, Dante.”

Dante’s face falls, but the words rush out of me first. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl.

Dante gasps. It’s the first time he’s ever heard me curse. I’d be worried about that if I wasn’t infinitely more worried about grabbing the vase next to me and hurling it at Mikhail’s head.

Sensing the dark turn things are about to take, Anatoly swoops in and ushers Dante towards the stairs. “Come on, amigo. Last one to the pool is a rotten banana.”

“It's a rotten egg,” Dante laughs.

Anatoly scoops Dante up and balances him over his shoulder, fleeing the kitchen like it’s on fire.

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