“Smug.”
“I—” Can’t get my thoughts out fast enough. My attention is called elsewhere.
“Oh, you see Papa Morozov, do you?” Matteo coos nearby, bouncing baby Cesar on his hip. My breath catches, seeing him holding both babies with such love and familiarity. “You want to say hi, hmm?”
My father holds his hands up, face melting into a smile only reserved for his grandchildren. “Hello,malyutka.”Tiny one,I mentally translate, smiling at the term.
Cesar practically throws himself at my father, tumbling into his arms with a wide, goofy smile. The one-year-old begins tobabble senseless words immediately, like he’s diving into an elaborate story to tell his grandpa.
While my father is occupied by Cesar, Matteo comes closer. Isobella is tucked into his side, shyly observing the people around us.
Pausing next to one of my uncles, Matteo notes the lack of any empty chairs. “Any chance you’re going to offer us your seat so I can introduce the girls?”
“Nyet.”
“Lev,” Father warns, voice stern.
Spitting in Russian angrily, my uncle swears,“Ya nablyudayu za toboy, mal’chik.”
I’m watching you, boy.
Scraping his chair as he stands up, my tattooed, brick wall of an uncle glares at Matteo. The youngest Moretti boy is tall, and likely quite strong, but next to Lev, he looks much more slim. As my uncle rounds the table to keep an eye on us while standing, Matteo drops down into his seat.
“Anya,” he greets, smiling happily, wholly unaffected by the tense air my family has created. “I’d like you to meet Isobella Anla Moretti-Morozov. She is one year and one month old, very shy, and very interested in all things pretty. Princesses, pink, unicorns, you name it.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, hearing the way he speaks about her.
“Hello,” I say softly, eyes greedily soaking up every detail of her face. Bright blue eyes, button nose, tiny brown eyebrows, and the cutest plump rosy cheeks.
Matteo gently pokes her stomach through her dress. “Isobella, can you say ‘hi’ to your Aunt Anya?”
Tucking her little chin down, Isobella lifts her hand and waves it ever so slightly.
“Smart girl,” he praises, kissing the top of her head.
“I’ve seen pictures of you,” I tell her, wondering how much she can understand at her age. “Your papa has shown me.”
“You hear that?” Matteo asks, grinning at her. “She’s been waiting to meet you.” Looking back to me, he suddenly asks, “Do you want to hold her?”
More than anything.
“Will she let me?” I ask, biting my lip nervously.
“Of course,” Matteo says with a wave of his hand. “She’s very shy, but very brave. She knows Uncle Matteo wouldn’t trust just anyone with her.”
I hold my breath as he lifts Isobella up and carefully places her in my lap. He doesn’t even come close to touching me, obviously being mindful of my space and his. The small weight in my lap feels incredibly light and delicate.
With wide and curious eyes, my niece looks up at me and reaches for my hand. She holds it against her stomach, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine. Almost like instinct, I lean down and set my chin against the top of her head. Her little brown locks of hair are so soft, it almost makes me choke up.
“Do you want a picture?” Matteo asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Yes,” I reply automatically.
I hate photos, but something tells me that I’ll regret not capturing this moment. I don’t have any recent pictures of myself, and I don’t have any pictures with the twins at all.
“Smile.”
I avoid looking at the phone and instead smile down at Isobella, waiting until the flash goes off to look back up.
