Page 18 of SINS & Riley
“A bookshop?” I echo.
She nods, eyes wide. “We read about it in Sally Squirrel Builds a Bookshop. And do they have toys?”
“Like Nipples,” Misha chirps, tugging his little plush mouse from his pocket.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard. We’re all pretty sure he means to say Nibbles, but after a month of failed corrections, we’ve officially surrendered.
“Mm-hmm. Just like Nips.”
The second it leaves my mouth, I have to clamp my lips shut, because if I let even one laugh slip, I’ll be on the floor.
“And cookies?” he asks, clutching little Nips to his chest.
I nod quickly, not sure if I’m about to laugh or cry. These two have never been to a bookstore. And I hate that.
I brush sweaty bangs from Katya’s forehead. “Bookshops are… magical. The shelves stretch taller than you—rows and rows like endless hallways. Some have toys and cookies, sometimes even story time.”
“Really?” Misha bounces onto my lap, expectant, hungry for it.
“With other kids?” Katya asks.
My arms fold around him instinctively. “Yes. You can wander forever, lose yourself in stories you never even knew existed. It’s…” I falter, the ache curling sharp under my ribs. “It’s freedom.”
Their eyes sparkle with wonder. Hungry for things I can’t give them. Because they’re trapped here. Same as me.
“Maybe I’ll take you one day,” I whisper.
“No, you won’t.” Dominic fills the doorway, every line drawn tight. Anger personified.
And all of it aimed squarely at me.
The tension slips, replaced by a rare softness. “Go help Babushka,” he says, voice warm but firm. The universal language of fathers trying to win a small battle.
They don’t budge. Arms pretzeled tight.
Misha shifts deeper into my lap, small body pressing closer.
Dominic doesn’t blink. “There’s medovik on the counter.”
Russian honey cake. Bribery at its finest.
They still hesitate, so I nudge them gently. “Save me a piece for later? Please.”
That does it.
They drift toward the door, the sound of small feet fading down the hall.
And then it’s just me and Dominic’s scowl.
I’ve crossed the line before. Blown past boundaries. But this time, it’s so much worse.
And, yes, I know all the places I’m not supposed to go because Zver drew an eerily precise map showing me. Dates. Times. Every one of my botched escapes sketched like a rap sheet.
And around it all, a fat red circle in Sharpie, branded with four words: Places Riley Can’t Go.
But it’s worse because I lied. Lied right to Dominic’s face.
How many times did I promise Dominic he could trust me? That if he loosened the leash, even an inch, I wouldn’t pull?
