Epilogue
Polina: Big brother, you worry too much. This new research project is calling me. I’ll be fine. [Insert eyeroll emoji]
P olina finished her graduate degree in one area of entomology, but she’d moved on to something else now.
She’d decided it was time to specialize in another field, so she had enrolled at Purdue, which had a forensic program.
Apparently, mating crickets weren’t her sole focus anymore.
I had looked up the forensic bug stuff and was promptly freaked out, which was surprising since I once enjoyed stuffing someone alive into a grave.
I wondered what drew my sister to it, but she wasn’t talking.
I’d even had Galena try to speak with her, but she hadn’t gotten any further either.
We had gone up to see Polina at school on her breaks, and she’d come to New York when possible.
It had hit me hard that she felt disconnected from the family.
That was something that was my fault—a failing of mine.
I’d been trying to protect her as the youngest, but instead, I’d made her feel like she wasn’t part of the little unit we’d created.
That hadn’t been my intention at all. The last few years, I’d worked hard to change things with her. I hoped she had felt the difference.
Me: Alright. But I want to hear all about it. We want pictures in the family chat so we can keep up with your life.
That was something else we’d changed. We (my wife) started a family text chain that included all of the Anthakos clan.
We kept it full of jokes and teasing photos.
It had been an excellent way for us to connect with Polina and for her to feel part of our lives here in New York.
Galena and Theo both made a big effort to include photos of their days or pictures of Vaso, Kostas, or me.
Some of them were gotchas. There was one of Vaso swiping a taster from behind Evgenia’s back, and her smacking him by accident in the balls.
There was one of Conall and me wrestling the potter’s wheel up the spiral staircase and almost not making it.
Theo posted one every day of baby Zeke’s antics.
Polina: Okay, but don’t say you haven’t been warned. Love you. Kiss Zeke for me.
Me: Will do.
I clicked off as I stepped out of the car, checking my watch.
I was sure I’d find Galena immersed in her sketching or her pottery that she’d recently taken up.
We were supposed to leave right now for a family dinner, but I was a few minutes late as it was.
A smile slid onto my lips as I heard the whir of the pottery wheel.
I loved her so much it was almost unbearable.
Every day with her was a blessing. She brought light to every corner of my soul in so many ways.
I’d finally started to get into a rhythm with Kostas and Vaso at the company where I consulted with them part-time.
That kept me free and able to spend time with my wife as I pleased.
I picked up additional consulting jobs here and there and worked with the Commission on other projects.
Galena
The security panel buzzed, interrupting the music as Ilias entered the brownstone, but I would have known anyway. Whenever he was home, it was as if the air inside our house changed to accommodate his presence, making it almost magnetic, like that charge just before lightning strikes.
I looked at the clock and grimaced. Yikes.
I hadn’t meant to get so caught up in my work.
I was running late. My hands were elbow-deep in cool, gray clay, trying to center a stubborn lump on the wheel, and my clothes were a mess after spending the afternoon in my art studio.
Even after three years of marriage, I could sense Ilias before I ever heard his footsteps. My heart tugged toward the door.
" Galena mou ," came that warm, low voice that still did things to me, lit sparks under my skin. "You're still covered in mud." The words were tinged with a smile as he leaned in the doorway. “We’re supposed to leave for your brother’s.”
"It’s the clay’s fault,” I said over my shoulder, smiling as I tried not to let the wheel wobble.
I was determined to make something symmetrical today—a bowl, maybe.
Or something that looked less like it had gone through a war zone.
I hadn’t gotten good at it yet, even though I’d been diligently taking classes with Cora.
Somehow, my sketching prowess didn’t translate to the clay, but I still loved it.
Ilias had put the potters wheel in my studio after my second class, and I’d come home with a lump of clay.
He lounged in the doorway to my studio, his tie loosened, jacket slung over one shoulder. His dark hair was wind-tousled, and the faint creases around his eyes only made him more beautiful. Three years hadn’t dulled it. If anything, I was more obsessed with him now.
He leaned against the doorframe, taking me in. "I like it."
"The bowl?" I looked at the lump on the wheel skeptically, disappointed that I’d have to give up for the day.
"No. You. With clay on your cheek. It’s a nice look. Those sexy little overalls. Those are my favorites.”
I laughed, finally lifting my foot from the pedal. The wheel slowed to a stop. "Flattery, Mr. Anthakos, will not get us to my brother’s house on time."
"We’re already late," he said, unbothered. Then he stepped inside, crossing the studio in three slow strides. I held up my hands in warning.
"Ilias, I’m literally covered in this stuff?—"
He cupped my clay-slicked face anyway and kissed me. It was soft at first, just the bare press of lips. Then deeper, hungrier. Like we hadn’t seen each other in days instead of eight hours, I melted against him before remembering my hands were still raised in the air like a surgeon.
"You’re getting it on your shirt," I murmured against his mouth.
"Don’t care." He finally pulled back and grinned, then took in the studio. My sketchbooks were stacked near the windowsill, next to several lopsided ceramic pieces that looked vaguely like bowls. A few had glaze tests drying on the shelves. “Looks like you had fun today.”
“You know I love it," I said. “Even when it doesn’t work out. It’s messy, impossible, and meditative. Like sketching, only with gravity involved." Something about it was soothing, allowing me to forget about anything crowding my brain. I could just let everything go.
He glanced at his watch and winced. "We have to go. Evgenia packed everything up, and if we don’t bring that spanakopita, your brother will declare war."
“Sounds serious,” I snorted, peeling off the apron and rushing toward the bathroom. “Give me fifteen minutes!”
We were still laughing as we tumbled out the front door, the clay-smudged shirt of his now exchanged for a clean navy button-down. I was in jeans and a linen blouse, my hair still dotted with specks of clay, but there was no help for it at this point.
The entire car smelled like warm herbs and cheese.
Evgenia had made enough food to feed the entire Commission and all of their minions.
We’d had to bring in a few of the guards to carry it out to the car.
I even had a giant foil tray on my lap and prayed we didn’t hit a pothole because I’d probably end up with it all over my lap.
"Your brother will survive if we’re twenty minutes late," Ilias said, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to squeeze the back of my neck.
I snorted, shifting the tray. “I love how you pretend that Maxim doesn’t have mafia-level expectations about punctuality."
Maxim was a stickler for people being on time, which was funny, considering that he usually didn’t care about any other social rules at all.
He and I had come a long way in our relationship, mainly due to his willingness to put in effort.
He’d made a point to take me on lunch dates, movie dates, and come over and hang out with me while I sketched so we could get to know each other.
It was hard now to believe that I’d ever been afraid of him.
“You aren’t wrong about that. Maxim loves to be on time.”
Maxim and Cora’s townhouse was glowing by the time we arrived. The windows spilled golden light onto the sidewalk, and the distant squeals of kids echoed down the block. Inside, the scent of garlic and wine greeted us before the front door even closed.
Cora appeared first, in wide-leg jeans and one of her signature t-shirts, hair piled up in a pair of chopsticks.
It was one of the things that I appreciated about Cora.
She was unapologetically casual, which gave me permission to show up with clay in my hair.
"You’re late," she said, smirking as she took one of the trays from me.
"Blame the clay," I said with a shrug. “Is Maxim checking his watch?”
“She was working on a bowl," Ilias added, placing a kiss on Cora’s cheek. “Unfortunately, I came home a little too early before it could be fully realized. She’ll have to give it another try tomorrow.”
“That’s too bad about the bowl. I’m sure you’ll get it tomorrow.” Cora was understanding about my clay issues since she was front and center for our classes. She knew the struggle was real. “Don’t worry," Cora said with a wink. "Maxim’s been drinking wine and threatening to call a family meeting."
"Perfect," I said. "It’ll be like Thanksgiving all over again."
Dropping our dishes off in the kitchen, we made our way into the main dining room, where the rest of the chaos lived. The entire table already seemed to groan with the weight of dishes and plates that had been set out as Maxim wedged some of the foil-wrapped dishes that Evgenia had sent with us.
"There you are,” Maxim said when he saw me. “ Sestra , you’re late. I was going to send out a search party.”
“Don’t judge. Art takes time, and we’re here,” I teased, ignoring his eyes narrowing at me, knowing he didn’t mean it. “I’m not sure we have enough food.” It was an enormous amount. Holy cow.
Theo was already at the table with Zeke in her lap, his curly hair bouncing as he chewed on a breadstick. Angelo sat beside her, eyes on her with that quiet devotion he never bothered to hide. He looked up only briefly to say, " Piccola , your breadstick thief is at it again."
"Let him," Theo said, ruffling Zeke's curls. "He already declared it a weapon."
On the other side of the table, Conall had Francesca in his lap and was whispering something in her ear that made her blush and smack his arm. Their daughter JoJo was under the table with Vasily, giggling over something that sounded like a plastic dinosaur.
“Where are my brothers? Weren’t they coming?” Ilias asked as he held out a chair for me to slide into.
“We’re here,” Vaso called. “Had to get the wine.” I looked skeptically at the bottles already on the table. “Maxim hoards the good stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” Maxim rolled his eyes.
Voices swirled around us, the kind of noise that used to overwhelm me. Now, it felt like home. Ilias never strayed far from my side, always touching—his hand on my lower back, a brush of fingers across my knuckles under the table, his thigh pressed against mine.
At some point, Theo declared it was “girl time” and dragged me, Cora, and Francesca to the sunroom with wine glasses in hand.
"JoJo bit Vasily again," Cora said, exasperated. "I swear she only does it because he doesn’t care."
"Zeke tried to baptize himself in the toilet this morning," Theo added.
"Galena, please tell me you’re not thinking of joining this madness," Francesca said.
I laughed, cheeks flushed. "We’re thinking. Talking. We’ll see. We’re pretty happy just being married right now. We have our niece and our nephews.”
“That’s true,” Theo said gently. “You’re a wonderful auntie, and you have all that alone time in the bathroom. I miss that.”
We burst into laughter. It was true that there were pros and cons to stepping into that world of parenting—a lot of joy, but a lot of sacrifices.
I could see that our families were willing to support our decision, whatever it might be, which I appreciated.
We still hadn’t made our choice yet, but at the moment, not having children was where we stood.
We were happy, and we both decided to stay in the same place as long as we remained in that happy space.
Back in the dining room, the men were discussing something about Brody and Paddy getting into trouble again in Dublin, where they were vacationing. Maxim was rolling his eyes.
"Tell your brothers to stop importing livestock through my ports," Ilias was saying.
"They said it was one sheep," Conall replied. "And it was an emotional support sheep."
The night went on like that—lazy and loud and full of love. And somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I looked at Ilias and thought, This is it. This is what it means to belong.