I text one of the mothers from Kira’s class. Masha’s mom, Natasha, has offered to take Kira for playdates before, and she’s reliable.
Any chance Kira could come to your place after school today? Emergency work thing came up.
The response comes within minutes.
Of course! Masha will be thrilled. Pick her up whenever you’re done.
One problem solved. A hundred more to go.
When my last student leaves for the day, I find Pyotr in the kitchen making coffee. He’s been watching me all afternoon, and I know he knows something is wrong. But I can’t tell him the truth about this.
“I’m going out tonight.” I keep my voice casual. “Meeting an old friend for dinner.”
He sets down the coffee pot and turns to face me. “What friend?”
“Someone from Moscow. She’s in town for work and wanted to catch up.”
“I didn’t know you had friends in Moscow.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’ve arranged for Natasha to pick up Kira from school and keep her for the evening. You should take the night off. Go do whatever you do when you’re not babysitting us.”
Pyotr eyes me, and I can see him weighing my words, looking for the lie buried beneath them. He’s good at reading people. Too good.
“What’s her name?” he asks. “This friend.”
“Elena. We went to conservatory together.”
“And she just happened to be in St. Petersburg the same week your ex-husband threatened to come here?”
“That’s a coincidence.” I wave him off.
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Then believe what you want.” I grab my purse from the counter and head for the door. “I’ll be back by eleven.”
“Daria.”
I stop with my hand on the doorknob. His voice is quiet, but there’s a warning underneath it.
“If you’re in trouble, you can tell me. You know that, right?”
I want to. God, I want to. I want to turn around and tell him everything. About the photograph. About the dinner. About the fact that my ex-husband is in this city right now, watching our daughter’s school, and waiting to destroy what little I have left.
But telling him means involving him, and involving him means putting him in Bogdan’s crosshairs.
“I’m fine,” I say without turning around. “Don’t wait up.”
Pushkin Restaurant is the kind of place I never would have chosen.
Crystal chandeliers dangle from vaulted ceilings. White tablecloths drape over tables spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy. The silverware is real silver. It’s much too flashy for my taste. I’ve come to appreciate simplicity.
Bogdan is seated when I arrive. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly, and his dark hair is styled with the same meticulous care I remember from our marriage. He looks the same as he did three years ago. The kind of man who photographs well and charms everyone in the room.
The kind of man who breaks bones behind closed doors.
“Darling.” He rises as I approach and kisses my cheek before I can pull away. “You look tired. Motherhood doesn’t agree with you.”
I sit across from him and fold my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. “What do you want, Bogdan?”
