Page 49 of Ivory Oath

It’s going to be a long afternoon.

22

VIVIANA

“All my stuffies can sleep on the bottom bunk and I’ll take the top.”

Dante steps back, hand on his chin as he assesses this configuration. It’s the fifth one he’s tried. His stuffed animals are apparently a lot pickier about where they sleep than he is.

He immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no.”

I can hear Mikhail moving around the kitchen. I have no idea what he’s cooking, but it smells incredible. By this point in my pregnancy with Dante, I gagged at even the blandest of spices. I couldn’t even put black pepper on my food. But whatever cumin and chicken concoction Mikhail is cooking up has my mouth watering.

“What if your stuffed animals share a bed with you?” I suggest, tossing all of the stuffed animals onto the top bunk. “I’d recommend the top bunk. It’s the most fun.”

I grab Dante and toss him up onto the bed. He giggles and dives under the covers. “This house is the funnest. I want to live here forever.”

For good reason.

When Mikhail told me back at the mansion that we were going to his cabin, I imagined more of an Abe Lincoln setup. A log cabin with drafty windows and a damp fireplace we had to constantly chop wood to feed.

I’m not sure what about Mikhail’s multi-million dollar mansion made me think we’d be roughing it out in the woods, but I knew the second we pulled up that I was dead freaking wrong.

The two-storey A-frame is the stuff HGTV wet dreams are made of. The entire backside of the house is a wall of windows looking out on a huge pond nestled amongst snow-capped pine trees. It’s perfect.

The romantic picture is made even more perfect when we walk downstairs and find Mikhail dishing out plates piled high with grilled chicken and green beans.

If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d walk in on Mikhail cooking me and Dante a gourmet meal in a loosely-buttoned flannel and a dish towel tossed over his shoulder, I would have said, “You’re insane.” Now, I wouldn’t say anything. Mostly because I’m too busy internally screaming and fanning myself like a Victorian maiden on the verge of fainting.

“Are you two ready to eat?” he asks with a smile.

I’m ready for a lot of things.

We sit down and even Dante is excited about dinner—a small miracle, with his six-year-old taste buds. In between bites, he can’t stop talking.

“Dad is going to let me hunt with him tomorrow. In the woods,” he adds, as if there’s anywhere else to hunt. “We’re going to leave early in the morning and pack a lunch. He said we might have to spend most of the day out there because you have to be patient to catch animals. I’m super patient. I can wait for a long time.” He stops talking for all of three seconds. Then he looks back and forth between us, eyebrows wagging. “See?”

I bite back a laugh. “Wow. So patient. I’m sure tomorrow is going to go super well for both of you.”

Mikhail gives me a knowing smile and shrugs. “It’ll be a good time.”

He’s patient with Dante. And gentle. Two things I never would have pegged him as when we met.

“You just make sure you listen to your dad tomorrow, Dante. Hunting can be dangerous if you don’t pay close attention.”

Dante lifts his chin. “He’s going to teach me. I’ll learn. I’m a fast learner.”

Mikhail squeezes my knee under the table, soothing away the worries I haven’t even consciously thought of yet.

I meant what I said. I trust Mikhail—with my life and Dante’s.

After dinner, the woods beyond the window are dark. All I can see in the glass is the three of us reflected back. Mikhail at the sink with Dante on a chair next to him, me hovering in the background like I’ll scare it all away, this whole blissful domestic fantasy, if I get too close.

Mikhail washes while Dante rinses. I join in with a towel, drying our plates and filing them away in the cabinet.

It’s so… normal. Peaceful.

It’s a peek at the life we could have had—if we were different people in a different time.

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