“Because this is how I do things, Sofiya.”
Are you keeping me at a distance? I felt it the moment he pulled away from the kiss. Even though Mikhail has asked me to give my entire self over to him, he’s still keeping me at a slight distance. I can feel it.
“What if I want to have sex in our bed?” I ask.
“I’ll gladly fuck you for however long you want.”
I flinch. He didn’t say “in our bed,” though.
Sighing, he walks over to me and pulls me up to stand. “Come here.” He wraps his arms around me, and I cling to his back, stuffing my face into his chest. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like what we did?”
I can’t deny it. “Yes.”
He cups my face in his hands. “My good girl.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then steps back. Playtime is over. It’s time for me to go back to our bedroom, where I get the sense I’ll be spending the night by myself again.
Not wanting to be alone, I gather Vik and Mila, and we converge in Vik’s room. There’s an unspoken promise between Vik and me that we won’t tell Mila what happened between Mikhail and me.
Mila doesn’t need to know.
“I’ve missed eating chips,” Mila says, stuffing a handful of chips into her mouth. “During the season, I never get to eat anything unhealthy.”
“Ballet is our lives,” Vik says, snatching the bag of chips away. “You shouldn’t be eating these.”
“Come on, Vik. Let Mila eat them. In fact, I’ll eat some myself.” I grab the bag back, take out a huge chip, and stick the whole thing in my mouth, making Mila giggle.
“Remember when Father would stuff a heaping mouthful of food into his mouth?” Mila asks. “It always grossed Mom out.”
“I do remember. That man could eat like no other.”
Vik crosses her arms and leans back against the headboard. “And it was disgusting. Mom had it right.”
“Mom always had it right,” I say softly. “I miss her. So much.”
“Oh, no,” Vik says, wagging her finger at me. “No more crying over our parents.”
“Yeah,” Mila agrees. “Let’s share some fun memories of them. Think of the good times.”
“You were the only one who had any good times with Father,” Vik says.
Mila frowns and nibbles on a chip. “Not true.”
Vik and I share a glance. “It was true,” we say in unison.
“You were always Father’s favorite,” Vik says, grabbing a chip and tossing it at Mila’s face.
She flinches and flicks a chip at Vik in return. “Fine. Then how about our mother? We all got along with her.”
“Remember the time our parents took us ice skating?” I say. “Father kept falling over and getting embarrassed. I don’t think he was prepared to be bad at something.”
Vik smiles slightly. “Mom kept teasing him about it.”
“Oh!” Mila sits up. “Remember when Father took us camping?”
“Oh god,” Vik groans. “I do.”
“We ended up glamping instead.” I smile at the memory. “But instead of being disappointed he only had daughters, he gave in and let us glamp.”
“Mom brought an espresso maker with us,” Vik says. “Father just couldn’t understand that we didn’t want to camp in the woods.”
“I remember when some bird pooped on his head.” Mila laughs. “I thought it was the funniest thing ever.”
“That’s because you were seven,” Vik reminds her.
“It was still funny.”
“It was pretty funny,” I say, laughing to myself at the memory. Mila begins to laugh harder, and soon, we’re full-on belly laughing. Vik smiles, watching us.
As I laugh with my sisters, eating a bag of chips, all I can think is that I haven’t laughed this hard since my parents died.
Chapter
Fourteen
