I smiled, letting the sight of them carry me. “Not this time, sweetheart. This is your adventure.”
Chapter 16
PENELOPE
Vanya walked up to me, and Dmitri moved toward the house, his strides long and purposeful.
The tension of the car ride still weighed on him, the rigid lines of his shoulders betraying the anger he’d been holding at me. Yet with Vanya, he softened, chatting easily, his voice lighter, a brief smile breaking through. He set his own frustrations aside just to make my boy happy—admirable, infuriating.
But the moment Vanya slipped back into my arms, the warmth vanished. Dmitri’s jaw tightened, the anger flaring up again as if I were the only one to blame.
But before he could reach the steps, Vanya wriggled free of me and ran to him.
Catching up in a few quick steps, his small hand shot out and grasped Dmitri’s much larger one.
Vanya looked up at him with those wide, earnest eyes—eyes that could soften even the hardest of men.
“Is it Mom who made you lose your mood?” Vanya asked innocently, swinging their joined hands. “Did she talk to another man at the party?”
I froze on the gravel path, heat rushing to my cheeks. What on earth?
Dmitri’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. He ruffled Vanya’s dark hair affectionately, the gesture softening the hardlines of his face. “She said some words that got to me, that’s all. But I’ll be fine, little man.”
Vanya wasn’t deterred. He tugged on Dmitri’s hand, forcing him to slow down. “What did she say?”
“Vanya,” I started, stepping forward, trying to reclaim some authority, “that’s enough—”
But Dmitri crouched slightly, meeting Vanya at eye level. “I thought she cared about me—because I’m her husband, even if it’s temporary. Turns out, she’d worry the same for anyone. And she still sees me as a stranger. Wants me far from you both, I guess.”
“I never said I wanted you far from Vanya!” I protested, my voice sharper than intended, the heat rising in my cheeks.
Vanya turned to me, unflinching. “Mom didn’t mean it like that. You’re a man—how can you take a woman’s words so seriously? She does care about you. Haven’t you seen how she looks at you when you’re not watching? Come on.”
I stared at my son, mouth agape. Where had he learned to speak like this? Dmitri straightened, a genuine chuckle escaping him—the first real lightness I’d seen in him since the terrace.
“Hm. You might be right,” he said, eyes flicking to me with a warmth that made my stomach twist.
Then, to my astonishment, he scooped Vanya up effortlessly, settling the boy on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I think your mom might already be catching feelings. She’s just pretending not to.”
“I think so too,” Vanya agreed solemnly, wrapping his arms around Dmitri’s neck. “She blushes every time I mention you.”
“What! When?” I exclaimed, mortified.
Both of them burst into laughter—Dmitri’s deep, amused, and Vanya’s high and boyish. The sound harmonized in a way that twisted something sweet and painful inside me. Dmitri carried Vanya toward the door, one hand steady on thehandle. Just before they disappeared inside, Vanya shot me a conspiratorial wink, as if he’d orchestrated the entire scene.
Who taught these boys such tricks? I wondered, shaking my head. Had Vanya been watching too many videos on that laptop Ruslan gave him?
I hurried after them, chastened and laughing softly at my own disbelief.
Two hours later, I sat at the long dining table with Vanya, the room softly illuminated by the glow of overhead chandeliers and the flicker of candles Giovanni had insisted on lighting. It was nearly eleven, far past Vanya’s bedtime, but he had refused to sleep until we ate together.
Giovanni moved quietly around us, placing steaming plates of pasta carbonara and fresh bread before us—simple, comforting food after the extravagance of the gala. The rich aroma filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of lake air drifting through the open balcony doors.
Vanya chattered excitedly about the party, the golden boat, and the little adventures he wanted to have with Dmitri the next day. I smiled, watching him mimic Dmitri’s deliberate way of walking, the exaggerated gestures of a man Vanya clearly admired.
“Shouldn’t we eat with Dmitri?” Vanya asked, nudging his pasta aside to make room for the small toy speedboat he’d been obsessed with all evening—a bright red thing with spinning propellers that whirred softly as he pushed it along the tablecloth.
I followed the imaginary wake it left behind, my gaze drifting to the empty seat at the head of the table. “He’s probably busy,” I said lightly.
