Mikhail squeezes my knee under the table, soothing away the worries I haven’t even consciously thought of yet.
I meant what I said. I trust Mikhail—with my life and Dante’s.
After dinner, the woods beyond the window are dark. All I can see in the glass is the three of us reflected back. Mikhail at the sink with Dante on a chair next to him, me hovering in the background like I’ll scare it all away, this whole blissful domestic fantasy, if I get too close.
Mikhail washes while Dante rinses. I join in with a towel, drying our plates and filing them away in the cabinet.
It’s a peek at the life we could have had—if we were different people in a different time.
“Can you read me a bedtime book?” Dante asks.
I’m about to agree before I realize he’s tugging on Mikhail’s sleeve, not mine.
Mi
