3. Maggie #3
Alexei cups the back of her head and kisses her forehead. “I promise you I will not let them take you.”
He doesn't promise they won't come. He promises they won't succeed. Somehow, that feels very Alexei.
Ivy seems satisfied with the answer. She nods and climbs onto the rug near the table where Agatha sets out paper, colored pencils, safety scissors, glue, and enough craft supplies to keep a small army busy.
“Well, ain't this fancy,” I say, lowering myself beside Ivy.
“Miss Ivy has a craft cabinet,” Agatha explains. “Irina kept it stocked.”
At the mention of Irina's name, Ivy goes still.
My heart clenches. Agatha's face falls, and I can see the regret there. She didn't mean harm. Grief has a way of hiding in ordinary sentences, just waiting to trip everybody who loves the person who is gone.
I place a sheet of paper in front of Ivy and keep my voice steady. “I bet Irina picked good colors.”
Ivy stares at the basket for a minute before reaching for a purple pencil. “She liked purple.”
“Then purple sounds like a fine place to start.”
Her fingers wrap around the pencil. Slowly, she draws a crooked line across the page. Then another. I don't ask what it is, and neither does Alexei. We let her make marks until the white paper begins filling with purple, yellow, and green.
Agatha excuses herself, wiping beneath one eye before she leaves. Alexei remains near the windows, speaking low into his phone but never moving far.
Daisy stays tucked beside Ivy while Winston decides the craft table deserves further investigation. A moment later, his tail catches a plastic cup full of colored pencils and sends it tumbling onto the rug.
Winston jumps, and Ivy laughs. The sound surprises all of us.
“Winston Agapov, you have all the grace of a biscuit dropped on the floor,” I inform him.
Ivy giggles again, and Daisy thumps her tail.
Alexei stops talking mid-sentence. When I glance up, he's watching Ivy. Not with relief exactly. Not happiness either. More like a man witnessing the return of oxygen after hours underwater.
Then I realize he's looking at me. I look away first because if I don't, I'll feel too much, and I've already felt enough to fill ten lifetimes since yesterday.
Ivy draws in a slow breath. “Can people in heaven see drawings?”
“I believe they can,” I tell her.
“Do you know for sure?”
“No, baby,” I answer honestly. “But I believe it with my whole heart.”
That seems to satisfy her. She turns back to the page and keeps coloring.
For the next hour, we make flowers. Paper ones with crooked stems, crayon ones with too many petals, and one construction-paper bouquet that leaves glue on my fingers and glitter on my jeans despite my best efforts.
Ivy speaks more as we work. She tells me Irina used to braid her hair before school, make soup when she had a cough, and never let Winston sleep on the bed, except once when he looked sad.
By late morning, Ivy's energy starts to fade. Her coloring slows, and she leans against my side until her cheek rests on my arm.
“How about we stretch our legs for a bit?” I ask. “Fresh air might do us some good.”
She glances toward Alexei. “Can we?”
“Yes.” He looks up from his phone. “But you stay where I can see you.”
I roll my eyes. “We are goin’ to the garden, not attemptin’ an international escape.”
He looks suspiciously close to smiling. “You make that sound unreasonable.”
“Because it is unreasonable.”
Heaven help me.
There’s something aggravatingly attractive about a man who takes protecting the people he loves this seriously.
Ivy lets out a tiny sigh. “Papa is always bossy.”
A laugh slips out of me.
One of Alexei's eyebrows lifts. “You were supposed to take my side.”
The smallest smile appears on Ivy's face. It's enough.
We spend the next few hours outside. Ivy picks flowers, Winston chases a butterfly he never catches, and Daisy follows Ivy from one garden bed to the next.
For a little while, Ivy seems lighter. By early afternoon, exhaustion catches up with her.
We sit beneath a sprawling oak tree near the edge of the garden while she leans against my shoulder.
The estate looks peaceful, but the security detail ruins the illusion.
Guards linger near every path and doorway.
They keep their distance, but they're always there.
I understand why, but that doesn't mean I like it.
“Are they gonna follow us everywhere?” I ask
“Yes,” Alexei says.
I turn and find Alexei standing a few feet away.
“That wasn't the answer I was hoping for.”
“It’s necessary,” he continues.
Beside me, Ivy lifts her head. “Papa?”
Alexei's eyes go straight to his daughter. “Yes, solnyshko?”
“I'm tired.”
“Then let's get you inside.”
Ivy groans.
I laugh.
Alexei gives me a look that suggests her stubbornness is somehow my fault.
“Your influence is questionable,” Alexei replies.
“Bless your heart.”
To my surprise, he smiles.
Then Ivy reaches for my hand, and we start back toward the house. We make it halfway across the lawn before the sound of engines breaks the afternoon stillness.
My steps slow as three black SUVs roll through the front gates in a tight formation. The effect is instantaneous. Conversations die off around us. Security personnel straighten. More than one man lifts a hand to an earpiece.
A chill works its way down my spine. These aren't like the vehicles already scattered around the estate. Even from a distance, they look different. Darker. Heavier. The sort of vehicles that seem to carry their own gravity.
Beside me, Ivy edges closer until her shoulder bumps my waist.
“Papa?”
Alexei places a hand lightly against her shoulder.
“It's alright.”
The lead vehicle stops near the front entrance. The other two pull in behind it. Several men climb out first. Even from where we stand, they look intimidating. Broad shoulders and hard faces.
Then the rear door of the middle SUV opens. The man who steps out draws every eye in the courtyard. He's older than Alexei and built even bigger through the shoulders. Dark hair and steel-gray eyes.
Understanding hits me all at once. It’s Roman, Alexei's brother.
He surveys the property once before his attention finds Alexei. Then Ivy. Then me. The look lasts only a moment, but it's enough.
I've met powerful men before. Politicians, donors, and business owners with more money than sense. Roman feels different. The entire courtyard seemed to rearrange itself the minute he arrived, and nobody appeared surprised by it.
Alexei steps forward, and the brothers meet near the base of the front steps. Neither smiles nor reaches for the other. Years of history seem to pass between them before Roman finally speaks.
“Brat.”
Alexei gives a single nod. “Roman.”
I swallow. Alexei can be frightening when he chooses to be. Roman doesn't need to try. His attention moves toward Ivy. For the first time since stepping out of the SUV, some of the hardness leaves his face.
“Moya plemyannitsa.” My niece.
Ivy’s whole face brightens. “Uncle Roman.”
She lets go of my hand and hurries over to him. Roman remains exactly where he is. Ivy throws her arms around his waist without another thought. One of his hands comes to rest against her back.
The man standing there with Ivy doesn't quite match the man who arrived in those SUVs.
Ivy eventually steps back, and the softer moment disappears so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.
Roman looks up, his eyes landing on me. “Miss Hayes.”
The deep voice sends another chill down my spine, and I forget every word in the English language. All I manage is a nod.
Roman inclines his head once, then his attention moves on. Just like that. The moment shouldn't feel significant, but it does.
“Come, solnyshko,” Alexei says, looking toward the house. “Let's go inside. Dinner will be served soon.”
Ivy reaches for my hand. I follow the Agapovs toward the mansion, Winston and Daisy trotting ahead across the lawn. As the front doors swing open, I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.