My heart is starting to race, my palms slick with sweat. A barrage of worst-case scenarios crosses my mind as I race out onto the terrace and check the pool. Thank God, she’s not there, but neither is she anywhere within view. A harsher sense of dread thickens my throat as I run to the dock. I’m almost too horrified to scan the water at first.
But…
The boats are still here, as are the lifejackets left inside the one we took out. I don’t see any sign of a tiny body floating on the water. I’m so relieved that I have to bend over, bracing my hands over my knees. And then I hear it—faint, soft laughter, riding a gust of wind.
Out here with little noise on the property, sound travels far. Blindly, I plunge beneath the trees, following the laughter through brambles and faded trails for what feels like an eternity.
“Magda?” My heart is a constant hammering pulse by now. I feel like I might vomit, and a call to 911 is my next course of action until I spot a tiny flash of scarlet between two trees. “Magda!”
I throw myself into the underbrush and crash out on the other side.
“Oh, thank God!”
Magdalene stands just a few paces away, her red dress wrinkled, her shoes muddied. Otherwise, she looks none too worse for wear—as does the blond girl standing beside her. Both watch me, wide-eyed in a way that makes me question my own appearance. I’m panting, my skin slick with sweat.
“Sweetie, don’t you ever take off like that again! I was worried sick! And I’m sure your mother is worried about you too,” I tell the girl.
Magda shrugs, her tiny lips pursing. “Can I visit her pony?” she asks. After a moment’s hesitation, she adds, “Please?”
“Yeah!” The little girl pitches in. She’s beautiful—the blond equivalent to Magda’s dark-haired visage. Her tiny riding habit is secured by a bright pink ribbon, the fabric every bit as expensive as the one Vadim bought Magda. Something tells me that despite their feud, the two brothers share the same inclination when it comes to spoiling the children under their protection. “My house is right over there,” the girl adds, pointing through the woods. “We can play whenever we want!”
“Ainsley!” In a scene that I assume must mirror my appearance just seconds ago, a woman staggers from a copse of trees. “Don’t you ever run off like that. I—” She breaks off, her brown eyes flitting in my direction.
Again, I’m struck by just how young she is. Especially when paired with a man like Maxim, who—while no old man by any means—is certainly far older. And stronger. And bigger. I’m so lost in the mental comparisons that I barely notice when she speaks.
“Ainsley, come back to the house.”
“And we should be leaving too.” I step forward and take Magda’s hand. Surprisingly, she doesn’t resist.
Instead, she turns her eyes on me, deploying an as of yet unseen ability—puppy dog eyes brimming with as much intensity as her trademark icy glare.
“Can she come over to play? And see my pony? …please?”
“I, um…” I make eye contact with Maxim’s fiancée. Francesca, I think that’s her name. Without a word spoken, I sense that we share a mutual understanding—these children may be innocent in the affairs of the adults around them, but it’s better not to touch that dynamic with a ten-foot pole. “We’ll talk about it later, sweetie. Come on, your lunch is getting cold. Maybe after we can go pet Dasha, hmm?”
She follows as I tug her along, but cranes her head back to watch as Francesca does the same to Ainsley. The two girls wave at each other while my insides squirm uncomfortably. How utterly cruel is it to deny a child a potential playmate merely because their guardians hate each other?
Very, I decide once we return to the house, and Magda’s frown makes a dramatic reappearance. I cajole her into eating, and we’re in the middle of another game of Monopoly when the front door opens. I turn only to choke on my relieved sigh; Vadim isn’t the one who storms into the kitchen.
“Mr. Vadim no come back,” Ena declares. “Business. Be back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I try to keep the panic from my voice. “Can I call him? Do you have his number—”
“No call.” Ena crosses his arms, and I have enough sense to suspect that point is non-negotiable. “He busy. You see him tomorrow.”
“But what about…” I trail off, glancing at Magda. This isn’t her fault. I can discuss the whole “how dare you abandon me with your child” issue with Vadim at a later date. Instead, I force a grin and pick up the dice. “Ready to get your butt kicked, kiddo?”
She smirks, apparently more than eager to accept the challenge.
Chapter Fifteen
I figure I should be far more pissed at becoming a forced babysitter than I actually am. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Babysitting?
Because, as I’ve told myself repeatedly, Magda isn’t mine. I shouldn’t enjoy losing to her at Monopoly for the umpteenth time. I shouldn’t find an odd sense of pride in the fact that she allows me to pick out her pajamas—a pink, gossamer nightgown—while she takes her bath. Brushing her hair is far too personal a task for a glorified babysitter, as is tucking her in and ensuring that both of her dolls are within reach.
“Goodnight, sweetie.”
I return to Vadim’s room alone, finding the bed huge without him here. And as I huddle beneath the silken sheets, a wave of doubt crashes over me with such brutal intensity, I almost can’t breathe beneath the onslaught. Where is he? Is he safe? Or has something happened? Something that drove him off on one of those emotional benders he’s hinted at?
I spend the night tossing and turning as those various fears torment me, robbing any anger I should feel of potency. I’m exhausted by the time I finally crawl out of
