Lev tugs my hand, leading me over to the table without letting go, like he’s afraid I might disappear. He climbs back into his seat and pulls me onto the chair beside him. His hand stays wrapped around mine as he reaches for his orange juice with the other. I don’t even try to take it back.
“How about we let Sloane eat, Lev?” Kirill says as he rises to make me a plate.
“Don’t you dare.” I narrow a playful gaze at him. “I’ll have you know I’m very good at eating one-handed.”
That causes Lev to laugh under his breath, and Kirill grins at seeing his son happy. Who wouldn’t be? That’s what we want for our kids. For them to have a good life, to be loved and cared for.
Sharp panic hits my chest at the thought of Milo eating alone without me, my sister probably snapping at him over spilled milk the way Mom used to snap at us over anything she could find.
I force the image down before it can drown me. I can’t get upset in front of Lev.
Instead, I eat with my free hand, awkwardly spearing pancakes with my fork, and I don’t care how ridiculous I look. Not when Lev’s beaming beside me like I’m the best part of his morning. It’s a good feeling being wanted like that.
Kirill watches us from across the table, taking sips of his coffee. His eyes keep drifting lower, like he’s processing the fact that Lev is holding my hand.
Does he not do that? I don’t want to ask, not when Lev is here to hear it.
We eat like that: Lev content holding my hand while Kirill glances occasionally, taking it all in. After we’re done, Lev wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns toward his father.
“Piano,” he says.
Kirill tilts his head. “You want me to play?”
Lev nods, eyes bright.
He plays the piano? I can’t picture it. This big, dangerous man at a keyboard, those hands doing something that gentle. Then again, he’s been gentle with me.
“Ladno. Paydom.” Kirill straightens from his seat, glancing over at me. “Come. He likes it when I play.”
I follow them through the hall until we reach the grand piano by the foyer. Kirill slides in first, settling on the edge of the bench while Lev sits on his lap.
Hovering near the side, I wait for the first note, but Lev reaches his hand out toward me. He doesn’t say anything, just waits with that sweet expectant look, like I’m meant to be part of this.
I sit beside them, and my thigh brushes Kirill’s. It’s barely anything, a simple contact, but it hits like a spark anyway, lighting up nerves I’m trying not to acknowledge. His shoulder grazes mine when he shifts, and the warmth of him sinks in fast, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
His gaze collides with mine and doesn’t let go, heavy enough to pin me in place. It drops to my lips, slow and possessive, like he’s deciding whether he’s going to kiss me or make me beg for it, and my mouth parts, offering without meaning to. But instead, his features tighten and he turns back to the keys.
The moment his fingers touch them, I stare in wonder. The sound is soft at first, then it swells into something haunting and beautiful, something that builds in my chest like a memory I never had. I don’t recognize the piece, but it wraps around me all the same, notes curling into the space, drawing every emotion from me. Joy, sorrow, pain, regret. It’s all there, drifting in the air around me as though he summoned it.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes before I even realize they’re coming. I blink them back, swallowing the lump in mythroat, trying to fight past the throbbing that rises up out of nowhere.
I don’t know why it hits me this way, but it does. Maybe because it’s so unexpected. Maybe because there’s something about watching this man—this hard and terrifying man—create something so beautiful with his hands while his son sits on his lap. But I’m lost to him.
And for one fragile moment, as I continue to watch him play, it feels like we’re something close to a family.
Something real. Something just as haunting and beautiful. And altogether ours.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SLOANE
Kirill’s SUVis quiet on the drive to Mandy’s, broken only by the occasional shift from the backseat when Lev hums to himself. I sit in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap, too aware of how close Kirill is, of the space between us that feels heavier now than it did when we were pressed together last night.
I can’t get the way he played out of my head. It was beyond beautiful. The melody keeps looping in the back of my mind, and I already know it’s going to be one of those things I carry around with me, something I’ll think of on a bad day when I need to remember what it feels like to be happy.
The silence between us keeps growing and I don’t know what to do with it, not after last night and this morning. Taking out my phone, I text Mandy that I’m coming by to just grab my car from her driveway, and she replies immediately.
Mandy
