Page 92 of Unveiled

“Put your hands on either one of them again,” he says, his voice a low growl, “and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body. Slowly.”

My father’s eyes widen in fear. “You wouldn’t?—”

“I would. And I’d fucking enjoy it.” Still fisting my father’s shirt, he marches him to the back door with cool authority. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He kicks the door open and shoves my father into the bitter cold, slamming the door behind him, before he turns back to us.

Stefan goes to him first. I stare, stunned. “I told him to leave her alone,” Stefan tells Semyon. “Just like you told me to.”

Oh my god.Just like you told me to.He told my little brother to protect me?

“You did good,” Semyon says, ruffling Stefan’s hair. His eyes meet mine. “Anya?”

“He didn’t touch me,” I whisper. I still feel tender and shaken, but then in the next breath, something happens that makes my heart melt. Semyon’s hand stretches out to Stefan, palm up. No words.

Stefan’s small fingers curl around Semyon’s larger ones. Holding his hand. I blink back tears.

Semyon’s voice is softer when he says, “Let’s go home. Someone has a field trip tomorrow.” How did I completely forget about it? I take Semyon’s other hand. And it feels… right. Good.

I kiss Semyon’s cheek. “Thank you.”

He kisses me back. “I’m sorry that happened.”

We close the bakery up, and when Stefan goes to get his bag, I turn to Semyon. Wordlessly, he reaches for me. I bury my head on his chest and let him hold me. “I wanted to hurt him,” I whisper. “But Stefan…”

“Me, too. And it wasonlybecause of Stefan I didn’t put him through that fucking wall. He’s out of warnings, though, baby.”

I nod. Good. We won’t be bullied by him any longer. “Tomorrow, Stefan is going to the museum.”

“And we’re heading to the Romanovs.”

It feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I immerse myself in the feel of the mundane and predictable when we go home. Stefan showing me how Zoya taught him to chop carrots, Semyon boiling the water for pasta while I set the table. We don’t talk of my father.

Semyon stands at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, rinsing a coffee cup for the third time. He’s so methodical and always like this –quiet, controlled, fully at ease, and somehow…softer around the edges now.

Stefan heads up for a shower after dinner, and I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop. The bakery bills need to be paid. Semyon’s phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a name I don’t recognize. He looks and nods. “I’ll take this call in the office. I might be a while. You went to bedwaytoo late last night, Anya. Fix that tonight, yeah?”

He leaves before I can answer as warmth floods my chest.

It’s the way it is now. Comfortable. Familiar. I don’t ask questions about what he does, unless they directly pertain to me, and thankfully most of the time they don’t.

I let myself exhale the tension of the day. I haven’t had time to really process what happened, but I can still feel my shoulders up around my ears. I open my accounting software and prepare to find the flashing red notices for the bills that are usually overdue.

Except—they’re paid. Every single one. Not just paid for the month, but in full.

Semyon.

My hands shake as I go through my emails, scrolling quickly to see what I need, when I note an email from the school.Shit.The field trip permission slip was due today, and I?—

Transportation secured. Permission forms received. Please remember to send fees in an envelope with your student.

I shake my head. I know I didn’t do this. I stare at the kitchen door, bewildered.

Did Semyon…?

I swallow hard and close my laptop.

I take care of what’s mine.

I’m his. Semyon Kopolov’s. I walk in a sort of daze to where Stefan’s backpack hangs off the hook by the front door. I smile to myself when I remember the times he’d fling it off and let it land with a thud and my husband would calmly remind him that wasn’t where his bag belonged before he made him try again. He’s learning.

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