After breakfast, I began clearing the table, getting ready to take Stella to kindergarten. Igor stood. "I'll take her," he said, flat and unquestionable.
"No—"
"Listen to me, Elena," he cut in. "I'll take her, then I'll drive you to your studio."
I opened my mouth to argue, but when I saw Stella's excited face, I sighed and let it go. "Fine."
Half an hour later, we dropped Stella off. She ran in, bounced, turned, and waved at us like we were a normal pair of parents. My chest tightened with that familiar, ugly knot.
"Go to your studio now," Igor said, already opening my car door.
He walked into the studio as if it were his right. Anna, my assistant, froze when she saw him—nearly dropping the fabric she held.
Igor's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned. "I have to take a call," he said, moving to the corner.
Anna leaned over at once, whispering, "Elena, who is he? God, he gives me chills. I couldn't even get a word out."
I rubbed my forehead and said softly, "An old friend."
Anna's eyes flicked toward me, then she smiled, a little slyly. "The mystery guy who sent you flowers—was that him?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Turns out it was."
She patted my arm. "Well, at least he's someone you know. That's something you can relax about."
I returned her smile, but she didn't know Igor was a devil in a nice suit. He wasn't someone you relaxed around.
I forced myself to work, burying my attention in sketches and swatches while he sat on the sofa like a hawk, eyes never leaving me. Then Anna brought bad news. "Elena, Milan emailed again."
"About what?"
"They rejected our new designs. Again. They're threatening to cut ties. You know how picky they are—if we lose them, it will do real damage to the clothing line's reputation."
My head started to throb. Milan had been our first big clothes client, but he was impossible. I'd reworked designs until I could draw them in my sleep, and still they'd say no.
"Let me see their feedback," I said, tired.
I buried myself in the drawings for hours. My eyes blurred, colors bled together. I rubbed my temples, trying to push the pressure down.
"Take a break."
Igor's voice behind me made me jump—I hadn't noticed him move. "I'm working," I said without looking up.
"You've been staring at that page for fifteen minutes and nothing's changing," he said. "This isn't working, it's torturing you."
He was right. I had gone round in circles. "I need to fix this,"I insisted.
"I can help," he offered, reaching for his phone.
"No." The word snapped out. "Not now. I want to try on my own."
He didn't press. He went back to the sofa, but I felt him watching every line I drew.
The day passed in revisions until evening finally offered a small mercy. "Time to pick up Stella," I said, gathering the scattered sketches.
Igor rose, grabbed his coat. He was coming with me.
We picked Stella up and returned to the apartment. She chattered all the way about kindergarten, and I laughed at the funny parts; Igor asked questions like he belonged. The moment we walked in the door, the bell rang.
