For the rest of our night, Dad and I didn’t speak about it. We ate dinner together and went to sleep at our respective times with no resolution. Oddly enough, Matteo seemed to respect whatever temporary order my father must have thrust upon him when I wasn’t listening and only texted me once more to say goodnight.
Sighing as I reflect back on the tense evening, I finish the rest of my morning protein shake and set my glass aside. Smooth, silky chocolate dances on my taste buds but it doesn’t feel as sweet as it should. I almost wish it were Sunday. I don’t typicallycrave breakfast but after such an eventful night, pancakes sound pretty appealing.
The morning sun is still low and warm, almost pink in some spots along the skyline as footsteps sound against the patio floor. I don’t have to look up to know that my father is coming to join me.
Unsure how to greet him, or what his mood might be, I choose to continue to watch the sky instead. A few fluffy white clouds have formed in the distance, and the way they move is captivating enough to keep my attention.
“You’re upset with me.”
Not a question.
Not a greeting.
“Justifiably so,” I mutter in response.
“Anya…” His voice has gone soft.
Still, I don’t look at him.
“Dochen’ka.”
The nickname is pleading, and the sound of it would make me wince if I wasn’t compelling myself to remain stubborn and stiff.
“You forced your way into my bedroom,” I say, my voice coming out harder than expected. I didn’t expect that I would confront him at all, actually. “You took my phone and kicked me out of my space because you were eavesdropping and heard something you didn’t like. You said I deserve privacy and then you trampled over it as if I don’t matter?—”
“You matter more than anything.”
The way he cuts me off isn’t angry, it’s desperate.
Flattening my lips to keep them from trembling, I finally give him my eyes. Even as I do, I worry that they might be watery.
“Then why did you do it? Why did you refuse to talk to me afterwards,Papochka? What did I do wrong?”
“Nyet, you must not think like this?—”
I sniff, cutting in. “What else am I supposed to think?”
“That your father is an imperfect man. That he overheard something by mistake, something that he misinterpreted and reacted to it poorly. You did nothing wrong, mydochen’ka.” Sighing, he lowers himself into the seat across from me and drags a hand down his stubble. “I meant what I said when I told you that you deserve privacy. But you’ve grown up before my eyes, and it’s not easy to let go of this instinct to protect you.”
My heart softens at his sincerity and I look down at my lap. “I don’t think you need to protect me from Matteo, Papa. He’s nice.”
“He may be nice to you,” Dad concedes. “But he’s a made man, Anya. It’s going to take a lot before I trust him at all, let alone with you.”
When I frown, he mirrors it.
“And still, I can’t make my skepticism your problem. You’re free to communicate with him however you like, and I won’t step in again. Call, text, video-chat, whatever you want. As long as you know our deal stands. If you begin to regress because of him, I’ll have no choice but to step in.”
I blink, surprised by his abrupt change in tone. His reluctant but firm approval feels like it came out of nowhere.
“Is this what you needed to think about all night?” I ask, almost dumbfounded. “You’d already given your permission before.”
“Da, I did,” he agrees gruffly. “But that was before I heard him calling you beautiful like it was the most natural thing in the world.”
My face heats, and I shake my head. “He didn’t mean it the way you think he did. Matteo was only being friendly, Papa.”
“I don’t know whether you truly believe that or not.”
I don’t know either. I couldn’t hear all of their conversation, especially the beginning parts. My heart was beating so fastthat it was swimming in my ears, muffling their voices. But I’m almost certain I heard Matteo telling my father he wasn’t looking to date.
