She picks up a fork, jabs it at the table. “Pancake?”
I can’t help smiling. “Pancakes, coming up.”
We wait for room service in silence, Lily tracing a pattern on the table, humming to herself. When breakfast arrives, I help her with the food—cutting pancakes, making sure there’s enough syrup, wiping her hands when she drips juice down her chin.
She offers me a bite of her pancake, looking at me solemnly. “Eat?”
I take it, nodding. “Thank you.”
She grins, syrup on her cheeks, and I feel something shift inside me—a kind of warmth, sharp and unfamiliar.
When Bella appears, Lily lights up. “Mama! Pancake!”
Bella smiles at her daughter and then glances warily at me, still half-wrapped in sleep and caution. There’s gratitude in her eyes, but also that familiar reserve, like she’s waiting to see what my angle is. She ruffles Lily’s hair and crouches beside her, brushing syrup from her cheek with a napkin. “Did you say thank you?”
Lily nods, then points at me, grinning. “Pancake.”
I give a small shrug, offering a faint smile. “She knows what she wants.”
Bella sits across from me, pulling Lily onto her lap for a moment, hugging her close. The quiet in the room settles around us—a softness that doesn’t come easy to me, but I let myself sit with it anyway.
For a little while, I just watch them—Lily babbling about her breakfast, Bella whispering encouragements, both of them wrapped up in something I’ve never really had.
Bella presses her hand to Lily’s forehead, a soft look on her face. “Her fever is down,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Thank God.”
I set down my coffee and offer, “If you want, I can call a doctor here. Just in case.”
She shakes her head, her tone shifting, more guarded now. “No, thank you. She just needs rest. I’ll handle it.”
There’s an awkward pause that settles between us, heavy with all the things we haven’t said and everything from the night before. Bella keeps her eyes on Lily, focused, as if that might be enough to close the distance she’s putting between us.
I nod, letting it go, watching as she brushes Lily’s hair out of her face. There’s a firmness in the set of her jaw—she’s grateful for the help, but she doesn’t want to owe me anything more than she already does.
Nikolai appears in the doorway, crisp and composed as always, his voice just above a whisper. “The car is ready downstairs.”
Bella gathers Lily, who’s clinging to her hip, and checks their bags, her movements efficient and distant. I help with the door, but she avoids my eyes, holding Lily a little tighter.
We’re halfway down the hall when I reach out, meaning to stop her—just for a word, something honest or reassuring, I’m not even sure what. My hand hovers for a second at her elbow.
She glances back, wary. I open my mouth, but then something in me hesitates. I feel the words tangle, heavy on my tongue. For a beat, I stand there, caught between the impulse to keep her close and the urge to let her walk away clean.
“Never mind,” I mutter, letting my hand drop.
We move on, silent, the elevator ride tense and close. Downstairs, Nikolai leads the way through the lobby, scanning every shadow, every face.
As we step outside, sunlight slanting off the glass, I feel it—a prickling along my spine, the sense of eyes tracking us. I turn, searching the sidewalk, the flow of early commuters, hotel porters, guests checking out. Nothing. No one lingers. No one stands out.
Still, the unease clings to me as we approach the waiting car.
Lily is wedged between us in the back seat, clutching her bunny and a half-eaten cracker, humming something tuneless under her breath. Nikolai drives, eyes on the road, Boston sliding past the windows.
For a few minutes it’s almost peaceful.
Then Bella turns to me. “So,” she says quietly, “when you say you ‘manage operations’…what does that actually mean?”
I feel my neck tense. I glance at Lily. She’s focused on her cracker, but I know better than to underestimate what small ears pick up.
“Not in front of her,” I murmur.
