But this confession feels different from his prior attempts at practicing praise. His voice reaches down into some secretive, innermost part of me, making it bloom despite myself. Swell. I feel my cheeks catch fire, my throat tightening. The feeling has nothing to do with selfish pride or gratitude—it’s far simpler than that. It’s a desperation I’ve been struggling to ignore. A desperation to feel useful to him. To help him. To make him feel safe enough to keep his wall down around me, even as I mutter something about needing to leave. Boundaries.
“You are incredible,” I tell him, inching closer. I bury my nose into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling him as his arms encircle me, cradling me to his lean frame. I’ve never felt so safe before.
And so very exposed.
A flurry of commotion has me blinking my eyes open to a darkened room, my heart racing. Shadows flicker along the walls, cast by a quickly moving figure darting from the closet. Before the panic can crest, I recognize that surly frown, barely visible through the dark.
“Vadim?” My voice croaks, heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“Go back to sleep.” I stiffen at the steel in his tone. He marches back into the closet, and I hear hangers clanging together. The clock on his nightstand reads that it’s barely six a.m.
“You’re leaving?” I murmur as he stumbles back into the room, wrenching on a pair of loafers.
His gaze cuts up to mine, constricted with visible torment. “I… I need to attend to something. Get some sleep—” He crosses to me, brushing his lips over my cheek in a hasty kiss. “I’ll be back later today. If you need anything, I’ll have Ena stay close by.”
His wary grin struggles to convey a calmness that his stiff posture contradicts. Once he wrestles on his suit jacket and loops a tie into place, he practically races from the room.
Alone, I slump against the pillows, but it’s impossible to fall back asleep. Eventually, I slip into a robe and head downstairs in a futile search for coffee. Vadim, it seems, is a tea man. After heating up a kettle on the stove, I make myself a cup of some fancy French blend I can’t even begin to pronounce. Then I sit at the dining room table and watch the sunrise sluggishly over the water, my thoughts in turmoil.
To distract from his absence—and all the many potential causes for it—I scan the view beyond the window glass, pleasantly surprised.
Vadim’s been making small improvements to the property day by day, it seems. The playground is nearly done, lacking only a completed swing set. Near the water, I can see that the docks now sport two small rowboats that instantly make me imagine lazy days on the water beside him, Magda in tow.
A dangerous fantasy to indulge for sure. One that seems more impossible to attain when tiny footsteps allude to the figure who prances into the kitchen.
The second I see Magda decked out in her riding outfit, my heart breaks. I can barely muster up the strength to meet her gaze, especially as her lips part into a rare, fleeting grin.
“Can we ride my pony now?” she asks. Her eyes excitedly scan the kitchen, presumably for Vadim. And my heart splinters all over again for them both.
“He had to go away on business, honey,” I say thickly. “I’m sorry.”
As if she inherited his internal emotional switch, her expression falls and hardens in a way that triggers a horrible sense of déjà vu. Just like Vadim, she knows how to erect a wall in a heartbeat, closing herself off.
“He’ll take you as soon as he comes back,” I insist, rising to my feet. “I promise.”
But he won’t be back anytime soon, I suspect—though I don’t have the heart to say it out loud. I saw it in his face. The pain of being away from her, even for a short amount of time. Whatever drew him away, might keep him all day again.
And something tells me that Magda knows that as well as I do. She spins on her heel, racing from the kitchen.
“Honey, wait!” I follow her up the stairs, wincing as the door slams in my face. I test the handle, finding it unlocked, but when I finally push the door open, she’s lying face down on her bed. Her shoulders shake though she’s overall silent. Her pale skin reddens, and I imagine her biting her lip as hard as she can to keep any noise inside.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” I sit on the edge of the bed and tentatively place my hand on her back. “I know you’re disappointed—”
“I’m not!” She wrenches away from me and snatches the helmet off her head, throwing it across the room. Then she glares at me, her expression so fierce I suck in a breath.
Until, she breaks. Before my eyes, she transforms from a mini, ice-cold Vadim into a seven-year-old girl whose hopes have been dashed. Tears spill from her eyes, and I can’t stop myself from snatching her into my arms. Boundaries be damned, I hold her even as she squirms until finally, she succumbs, sobbing openly against my shoulder.
“I know, honey. I know…” Helpless, I can only smooth my fingers down her back, letting her cry. A part of me suspects that this emotion has nothing to do with her pony and everything to do with something deeper. Something that makes her melt into my embrace, too exhausted to fight. I rock her, speaking reassurances that I doubt she even hears.
Eventually, I coax her into pulling back enough for me to see her face.
“How about we go pet your pony?” I suggest, wiping away some of her tears.
Her eyes blaze. “No!” She lunges from the bed, storming into a corner, her arms crossed.
“Okay.” Sighing, I start to follow her only to change tact and enter her closet. “Let’s go for a walk instead, hmm?” I take my time
