"I guess being Daniil is less complicated than I thought," he said low into my hair.
I laughed into the pillow. The laugh came out small and wet and it was the first real laugh I had given the dark of a bedroom in three months. I turned my head and I kissed the inside of his forearm where it lay against my chest.
His breath slowed behind me. The big house held quiet on the other side of the door. The lamp on the nightstand was a small warm shape at the edge of my eye and the unfamiliar room went dim around me at the edges. The choice I had made on the front step of this house when I came back through the door for him sat quietly in my chest like a thing I would not be moving for a long time.
Mine again. For tonight.
17
DANIIL
The phone went off against the wood of the nightstand, and the sound cut through the dark like a wire. I had a hand on it before the second buzz finished. Old habit. A call at this hour is never small.
The screen lit my fingers gray. Mikhail.
I answered fast. "Yes."
"Important meeting. We need you here now."
"On my way."
I ended the call and lay there a breath longer with the phone warm in my palm. The room was still that flat blue you only get before the sun has decided to come up. Late autumn light, weak even at noon, was hours off yet.
I turned my head on the pillow.
Chloe was asleep beside me. Her cheek crushed soft into the linen, mouth open just a sliver. One bare shoulder out of the blanket. Hair a mess across her face. She made a small sound that was not quite a word and pulled the cover higher with one fist without ever waking.
I smiled. I could not help it. It happened before I noticed I was doing it.
I leaned down and pressed my mouth to her forehead. She smelled like sleep and the soap she used and something my brain had decided meant safe. She did not stir. I let my lips rest there a second longer than I needed to.
Then I got up.
I cleaned up at the sink, splashed cold water on my face, dragged a hand through my hair until it agreed to lie flat. I dressed quiet. Black sweater, black slacks, the watch slid on at the last second. The small scar on my left index knuckle was a pale seam in the lamplight. I tugged the sleeve over it out of habit. I did not check the mirror.
I should have checked the mirror.
The meeting room smelled like coffee made too strong and left on its second pot. Alek was already at the head of the table, eyepatch in place, his working blue eye flicking up the moment I walked in. The thick scar from temple to jaw caught the lamplight. Mikhail sprawled in his chair like furniture was a personal insult to him. Ivan stood by the window with his arms crossed, built like a refrigerator, the bare branches outside framing his shoulders.
Alek looked at me. Looked at me a little too long.
"Are you showing off that hickey?"
I stopped halfway to my chair. "Where?"
I genuinely did not know. My hand went to my throat without me telling it to. The collar of the sweater sat a touch loose on the right side. Of course it did.
Mikhail lost it. He sat up so fast the chair squeaked. "Look at that face. Look at it. He has no idea. Brother, you walked in here like a man going to confession, and the priest is your throat."
"Mikhail."
"What? You came in like you were about to ask Alek for a raise. Meanwhile your neck is publishing a book."
Ivan exhaled through his nose. Slow. Like a kettle that had been thinking about whistling and decided against it.
"I woke up before the sun for a meeting. Not for a tour of my brother's sex life."
Mikhail turned in his chair. "Easy, Ivan. Are you pregnant?"
