KATERINA
I think I might actually die here.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
My fingers go cold. For one wild second I imagine every possible version of disaster at once.
Roman knows. Roman has always known. Roman found out last night.
Roman has been looking at Nikolai all afternoon and doing the math.
Roman is about to say something that will blow the whole rotten structure of my life apart in broad daylight.
Then he speaks again.
“I know the children are Lev’s.”
The world rushes back in all at once.
I inhale so sharply it hurts.
He watches my face as he says it, and I know immediately that he’s studying every reaction. Not just listening to my answer. Watching the pause before it. Watching what I do with my mouth, my eyes, my hands.
This man. Even now. Especially now.
I should deny it.
What else would he think? What else would this city think?
Lev’s abandoned fiancée turns up pregnant not long after Moscow, carries twins, returns home silent, refuses to name the father.
Lev dies. The house seals itself around the scandal.
The children grow. The rumor becomes truth because it’s neat and everyone prefers a neat lie.
Roman is watching my face too closely.
He’ll see the lie before I finish speaking. He always could.
So I say nothing.
Roman’s jaw tightens slightly. “That’s what they all believe,” he says.
I force my voice steady. “People believe what is convenient.”
“That sounds like an answer from someone tired of hearing it.”
“It sounds like the truth.”
He holds my gaze.
I can feel him trying to read the silence I’m leaving him, trying to decide whether it confirms his suspicion or only my exhaustion.
Then, softly, “And is it true?”
My mouth goes dry. I should still deny it. Instead, I look away first.
Roman goes very still.
He doesn’t say anything for a second, and in that second, I feel the whole weight of his wrongness pressing between us.
Not just the wrong assumption itself, but everything growing out of it.
What he must think of me. What he must think I carried.
What he thinks I lost with Lev. What he thinks my children are.
Part of me wants to let him keep the lie.
It’s safer. It’s simpler.
But another part of me, the reckless and exhausted part, is suddenly furious that after all this time he can still stand in front of me and ask the wrong questions.
They’re yours, dammnit, I want to scream. Yours!
Before I can decide whether to speak, Sofia’s voice rings out from the car.
“Mama!”
The moment snaps.
Roman steps back first.
Not far, just enough to make us look less like two people standing on the edge of something and more like polite adults having a difficult conversation in the cold.
I hate him for being sensible. I hate myself more for wanting him not to be.
“I have to go,” I say.
Roman nods once.
He looks like he wants to say something else. But nothing leaves his lips.
I turn and walk back to the car without looking over my shoulder.
I can feel him watching me all the way there.
By the time we get back to the house, my nerves feel skinned raw.
The children are half-asleep, warm and heavy from lunch and the ride home. Sofia is limp against my shoulder, one shoe hanging by the back strap because she never keeps them on properly in the car. Nikolai is still awake, but only just, his head tipped against the seat, his eyes heavy.
Vika gets out first.
She turns at the top of the steps and looks back at me with that smug, overbright expression she gets when she thinks the world has finally arranged itself in her favor.
She’s glowing.
There is no other word for it. She spent that whole lunch watching me, watching Roman, fitting together whatever little story she prefers, and now she’s carrying it around like a prize.
I hate her a little more than usual for that.
The front door opens before I reach it. The nanny comes hurrying down the hall the moment she sees the children.
“Thank God,” I say, passing Sofia into her arms first. “Straight upstairs, both of them. Baths if they wake, but I’m hoping for unconsciousness.”
The nanny smiles and takes Sofia carefully. Nikolai comes to me on his own, blinking hard.
“Mama, can I skip changing?”
“Yes.”
“Can I sleep in my sweater?”
“Yes.”
That gets the tiniest smile out of him. He lets the nanny take his hand and lead him toward the stairs. Sofia lifts one arm dramatically from sleep and says, “Tell the birds I won.”
Then they’re gone.
For one blessed second, the hall is quiet.
Then Vika laughs. Softly, like she’s enjoying herself too much to hide it.
I take off my gloves one finger at a time and do not look at her.
“Well,” she says. “That was educational.”
I keep walking toward the morning room because if I answer her in the hall, I’ll end up saying something that forces servants to remember it forever.
She follows, obviously.
The moment we’re inside, she closes the door behind us and leans against it, still smiling.
“You should have seen your face,” she says.
I turn then. “I was there.”
“Yes, and it was wonderful.”
I stare at her.
She has changed out of nothing. Still coatless, still polished, still wearing that look of malicious satisfaction.
She thinks she knows what happened at lunch.
She thinks he was there at lunch because she invited him.
She has no idea of the dangerous game she’s playing, or the fact that Roman is Lev’s half-brother.
Nobody here knows, I think dimly. Nobody but me.
“Stay away from him.”
Vika blinks. Then she smiles wider. “There it is.”
“I mean it.”
“Oh, I know you do.” She pushes off the door and comes farther into the room. “That’s what makes this so funny.”
I almost laugh. “If you think this is about jealousy, you’re stupider than I gave you credit for.”
She lifts a brow. “So it is jealousy.”
I exhale hard and look away before I do something stupid.
This is exactly why I shouldn’t say anything. Because Vika takes every warning as competition, every concern as proof that she’s on the right track.
But I can’t let it go. Because she doesn’t know.
And because if Roman decides to stop being patient with this family, Vika is exactly the kind of fool who will think she can flirt her way through the first signs of danger.
I look back at her.
“You have no idea who he is,” I say.
That gets her attention. Only slightly, but enough. The smugness in her face shifts. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means He isn’t some rich man you can play with because you’re bored.”
Her eyes narrow. “Play with?”
“Yes.”
I should shut up.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You think dangerous men are exciting because they wear good suits and know how to look at women. You have no understanding of real danger.”
The room goes very still.
Vika’s expression changes. “So you do know him.”
Oh shit. It’s a trap.
I walked into it the second I opened my mouth.
I say nothing. That silence is enough.
Her smile comes back slowly, but now there’s something nastier in it. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, this is better than I thought.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not.” She comes another step closer. “I’m admiring you.”
I laugh once, without humor. “That’s a first.”
“No, really.” She tilts her head, watching me with open curiosity now. “You’ve been strange since last night. Then today at lunch...”
She lets the sentence hang.
I hate how much she’s enjoying this.
“You should be careful,” I say again, and this time my voice is lower, flatter, more serious than I intended. “I’m not joking, Vika.”
Something in that reaches her. Not enough to make her listen, but enough to make her stop smiling quite so easily.
Then she says, “Why?”
Just that. Why?
And for one second, I think about telling her. Not everything. Never that. But enough to scare her off. Enough to make her understand that Roman is tied to things she does not want touching her life.
But then Lev rises between us without even being named. Moscow. The engagement. His death. The Morozovs. All of it crouching just beneath the floorboards of this house.
No. I cannot say it. Not to her. Not here.
So I do the only thing I can.
“Because he’s not interested in women like you.”
Vika actually laughs. “That,” she says, “is what this is about.”
“It isn’t.”
“It absolutely is.”
I shake my head, exhausted suddenly, and head toward the door because I can feel the conversation rotting in my hands.
Behind me, Vika says lightly, “You should have told me sooner if he mattered to you.”
I stop. Just for a second.
When I turn back, her smile is softer now, but only because she thinks she has won something.
“You never looked like that over Lev,” she says.
I go cold. For a second, I can’t speak.
Vika sees that and presses harder. “So whoever Roman is to you,” she says, “it’s more than Lev ever was.”
I seethe. “How dare you take his name?”
She gives me a stupid look. “Are you still mad that he chose me over you?”
“Lev’s been dead for years, but I didn’t see you mourn him for longer than a few days,” I say quietly.
Her face changes. “How dare you say that to me, you—”
“Stop,” I say. “Not one more word. I know you enjoy taking things from me, but this isn’t about me.”
She has turned red. “How dare you. First you and your mother come sneaking back to my house like cockroaches.”
I turn my chin proudly. “This was my house first.”
“Just wait and watch. Your precious Roman will be mine soon,” she says.
Before I can answer, Irina appears in the doorway.
“What is going on?”
Vika turns at once, all injured dignity and bright eyes. “Nothing. Katerina just came in here to warn me off Roman.”
Irina’s expression hardens on me instantly. “How generous of you.”
I don’t bother pretending innocence. “I’m trying to save her from embarrassment.”
Vika lets out a short laugh. “No, you’re trying to save yourself from it.”
Irina’s gaze moves between us. “Would someone like to explain why Roman Sokolov has suddenly turned this house into a schoolgirl rivalry?”
“Schoolgirl?” I say. “You overestimate the maturity in the room.”