With one arm and painkillers that make my head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, I’m playing at a four-year-old’s level.
Ava tries to drag me down to help her, sending a spike of pain through my arm, and Nina catches my wince. “Honey, Art can’t do that. He’s injured.”
“Sorry, Art,” Ava says, her eyes wide. My shoulder aches, but I refuse to miss a second of this.
Nina’s glowing, her face the happiest I’ve seen her in years, as she watches me teach Ava croquet. Her love for her daughter is palpable, but I swear I see her swipe away a tear.
Then we decide to let Ava loose on the course and I have to hold back from laughing.
Ava is determined to hit the ball, but can’t quite line it up. Her face scrunches in concentration as she aims for the hoop. Eventually she gives up and drags the mallet around, sometimes smacking it at the grass and bringing up a clod of mud.
“Innovative use of a croquet mallet,” I comment.
“I can tell her not to destroy your lawn, if you like.”
I shake my head.
“Excellent croquet skills, Ava,” I call out and she grins, tearing back over to us with the blue croquet mallet in hand.
“The ball wouldn’t go where I wanted it but ‘s okay now.” Shepoints over to where she has made a hole in the lawn, the ball sitting on top of it proudly.
“That’s a point,” I declare. “You won, Ava.”
“I know,” she says confidently, taking Nina’s hand and storming back to the house.
That night, when Vanya’s cooks serve us a banquet just to impress a child that she mistakenly believes is mine, the doubts come rushing back.
When we’re alone again, after putting Ava to bed in the room next to ours, I have to ask.
I can’t stand it any longer.
“Who is he, Nina? I have to know.”
She continues dressing for bed, yawning. “Who?”
“Ava’s father.”
Nina whirls around, her face brimming with ire. She’s stunning in the lemon silk nightdress she’s wearing with her hair loose around her shoulders, but her amber eyes burn into mine so sharply that I have to fight the urge to look away.
“What do you mean, who’s the father?”
I press on, staring her down. “Who is he? Some guy you met when you left the city?”
She freezes for a second, then her mouth drops open, her plush lips parting in a gasp.
I don’t understand her reaction at all.
Then, to make things even more bewildering, she starts to laugh.
“Oh, you told me your family was poison, but I always thought you were exaggerating.”
Nina steps forward, placing a hand on my cheek. This is the first time she’s initiated physical contact with me in years.
I don’t understand anything right now. She’s looking at me with half-amazement, half-disbelief.
“You really don’t know, do you?” she breathes.
God, she’s so close and I want to kiss her. But I need to find out now, or it’s going to kill me.
