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“I’m not. I won’t.”

“Good.” She picks the mug back up and walks to the door. Then she stops, and looks back over her shoulder. “He wasn’t my first, Volkov...” She trails off but her meaning is clear.

Evaria comes down dressed for school. Navy dress, yellow cardigan, her dark hair braided back neatly, a canvas bag full of picture books over one shoulder. She looks nothing like the woman who was tangled in my arms two hours ago.

Then she sees me at the kitchen table, and she blushes all the way down her throat, and she looks exactly like her.

Milana is sitting opposite me eating cereal. She looks from me to her sister and back again, and spreads her mouth in the widest grin.

“Don’t say a word,” Evaria says, pointing her finger at her sister.

“I was going to say good morning.” Milana smiles sweetly, but her eyes twinkle full of mischief.

Evaria picks up a slice of toast and throws it at her.

It’s not a hard throw. It barely clears the fruit bowl. Milana catches it, delighted, and takes a bite.

“Second time in her life,” I say, “that she’s thrown bread at a person.”

Evaria glares at us before turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen. Milana laughs so hard she chokes on her cereal, coughing and sputtering.

“Well,” I declare, carrying my dishes to the sink and cleaning them. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Milana waves her spoon at me, distracted by something on her phone, and I head out to the hallway to grab my jacket.

The office door is half open. Through it, I can hear Zhenya’s voice, low and flat.

“...could still walk away, Eva. Margaret said there might be...”

“There isn’t anything. You heard her.”

“I heard her say the trust can’t be broken. I didn’t hear her say you have to marry him.”

A pause. Long enough that I stop with one arm in my jacket.

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Evaria says quietly.

The breath punches out of my lungs.

I know what she means. Some part of me knows. The house, the trust, something about a sealed schedule, her sisters. I know there are a hundred reasons she could mean it.

But I hear it the other way first. The way Galana said it on the driveway in her fluffy socks. That’s not really the same as being allowed, is it?

I finish putting my jacket on. I don’t knock on the office door. I walk out to my truck, and I drive away without saying goodbye.

Every day. The truth, even when it’s ugly.

That’s one ugly truth she has been keeping to herself.

***

Kira’s house has its lights on, even in the daytime.

It’s an old brick place behind iron gates on the north side, with trees along the drive and a porch swing that Anton pretends he didn’t buy just for Kira. Mila meets me at the door wearing a tutu and a fireman’s helmet. She tells me she’s getting married too, to the dog next door, and that I’m not invited because I didn’t bring her anything.

I promise her a horse ride later. She reconsiders adding me to the guest list.

My sister is in the kitchen with Pasha on her hip, stirring something on the stove. She takes one look at my face and hands the baby to Anton.