He didn’t mention, Tsarina, thank God.
The doorbell chimes. “Okay,” Dash slaps his hands together and rubs them, “I don’t want to freak her out. She thinks I rented this place for the holidays for my family. I want it, I just need to know if she could too.”
No one jokes. No one fills the space.
We drink our coffee and let the house settle around us, knowing the real verdict won’t come until Noelle walks through the door and Dash can sense if she feels like it’s a home or a statement.
“Holy shhhh,” one of his sisters says as they walk in. “I thought you got an Airbnb, not a freaking mansion.”
“We’re celebrating.” He laughs.
“What exactly?” Celeste asks.
“Briar making the Dean’s list, you on high honor?—”
“I’m always on high honor,” she says.
He looks at his mom, and she tells her. “But you just took over the number one spot in your class.”
“Really?” She beams, and their mother nods.
Briar holds out her fist for Celeste to tap. “So that little AI-using snake Ralph can suck it.”
Faulker chuckles as we all step away from the railing where we’re all watching them. “Can’t wait to have kids.”
“You’d be a good girl dad,” Marshall smiles.
“Oh no.” Faulker shakes his head. “I will be a boy dad only. One dick to worry about, not dozens.”
“Not sure that’s how it works.” I snicker.
We’re all on the roof, it’s unreal. From the dark stone slabs underfoot to the glass railing disappearing into sky. Heat lamps hum softly, fighting the bite of late fall air. Central Park stretches out in front of us, a wide green pause in the middle of the city that reminds you that not everything is about making money. Below us, the sidewalks are packed, and the parade route coils and waits.
Savannah shifts once, settles against me, her tiny, gloved hand pressing against my chest like she’s testing whether I’m real. I am.
“You can’t move when they’ve dressed you in a straitjacket.”
“It’s a snowsuit,” Noelle laughs.
“I know what snowsuits are,” I look at Savannah. “This is a bit much, isn’t it?”
She makes a face like she’s got something to say, but then her eyes dart up over me, and she goes still. I glance back and see it. Not even the balloon yet. Just massive, colored fabric.
Her fingers curl into my jacket like she wants to climb to get a better look.
“Alright, little bit, let’s move for a better view.” I turn and do just that.
She makes this slight, surprised sound, and then she’s tucked against me, arms around my neck, little boots swinging, and then her face presses into my shoulder like the view might hurt her eyes or perhaps her feelings.
This is the first time I’ve held her, and I don’t want her to cry. “Don’t blink, it’s times like this you should always remember.”
When more of the balloon comes into view, Savannah inhales sharply and then laughs, fingers digging into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself to me.
“You’re too young to feel like you have to hold on, but the perfect age to learn who you can trust. Everyone hereMalyshka, will make sure you can reach for the sky without you ever having to be afraid of being swept away. We got you.”
She lifts her head, eyes big, smile growing, and I cannot imagine being a parent like what my brother and I had, battered and abused, or like Mikhail, an extension or tool instead of being terrified to see them in harm’s way but putting them there purposely.
“You’ll be a good father one day,” Faulker says.
