Is the warmth she gives Anya calculated, the smiles she distributes to everyone else rehearsed, the care she demonstrates so effortlessly just another mask worn by another woman who learned that the fastest route to power in my house runs through my daughter?
Katarina did it. Katarina did it so well that I didn’t see the seams until the damage was already structural.
I don’t think Elizabeth is performing.
But the itch is there. Faint, persistent, scratching at the underside of every moment I watch her, whispering the question I despise myself for needing to ask:What if you’re wrong again?
Our eyes meet the moment I enter the room, as if her body has registered my approach before her brain could confirm it, the same way mine registers hers. She looks away immediately. A flicker. The only crack in the composure.
I sit and apologize for being late. The table fills with the sounds of the household settling into an unfamiliar arrangement — Mikhail at my right, Alexei across from him, Anya beside Elizabeth. A perfect family dinner that is not quite a family but is the closest any of us have.
Angelina brings the food. Roasted lamb, potatoes, and a salad that Anya will ignore. Wine for the adults, water for Anya.
It’s been months since we’ve done this. The table was smaller then. Just me, Mikhail, and Anya. Alexei was running an operation in the suburbs. Anya ate in silence. Mikhail made conversation that I half-attended. The meal was an obligation performed and dismissed.
“So,” Mikhail says, pouring wine, “tell me. How are the lessons going, Anya?”
Anya looks at Elizabeth. A quick glance — checking in, the way she does now, confirming that the adult she trusts is present and approving. Elizabeth gives her the smallest nod.
“Good,” Anya says. Then, as if remembering that good is no longer sufficient, “We’re readingCharlotte’s Web. Ellie does the voices. She makes Charlotte sound wise and Templeton sound rude.”
“As he should sound,” Elizabeth says. “Templeton is a menace.”
“He’s misunderstood,” Anya counters.
The word makes Mikhail’s eyebrows rise. My chest tightens.
I don’t know what Elizabeth did to achieve this. Anya is always so quiet with people, even Mikhail, whom she’s known all her life.
I should be satisfied. This is what I hired her for.
Instead, I’m watching Elizabeth cut Anya’s lamb into small pieces without being asked.
My mouth fills. Not with hunger, but with the memory of her.
I shift in my chair. The erection that had subsided is returning.
I reach for my wine.
The conversation moves on. Anya describes Bernard the sparrow’s latest adventure, involving a swimming lesson and a crow named Helena who is skeptical of water.
Alexei asks questions with the genuine interest of a man who has no experience with children but is trying. Anya answers with an openness that would have been impossible two months ago.
Elizabeth listens, contributes occasionally, and laughs at Anya’s descriptions with a warmth that transforms her face — the guarded expression she wears around me dissolving into a bright and unprotected reaction, entirely focused on the child beside her.
She doesn’t direct that warmth at me. Not once. The smiles go to Anya, to Mikhail, to Alexei. I receive the professional nod. The composed acknowledgment. The careful maintenance of distance that I created, and she’s now enforcing.
The main course is cleared, and the conversation drifts.
“My niece is growing up too fast,” Mikhail says to Alexei, gesturing at Anya with his wine glass. A casual comment, but then his eyes flicker.
Elizabeth’s gaze lifts from her plate. “Niece?”
The table adjusts. Alexei’s jaw tightens a fraction. Mikhail’s posture shifts.
I could redirect. Change the subject. The instinct to control information is reflexive. Every enemy I’ve ever had has known that the fastest way to destroy a man like me is through the people he loves.
But Elizabeth is looking at Mikhail with genuine curiosity.
