Alexei #3
She’s nothing like the women I usually spend time with.
There’s no polish meant to impress or expectation behind the way she looks at me.
She stood there without a trace of intimidation, spoke to Ivy as if she were the most important person in the room, and met my gaze without trying to turn it into anything useful.
It wasn’t indifference, it was just… her.
My breath slows as her image sinks in, heat following close behind. There’s nothing calculated in her appearance or effort to draw attention, and yet it’s there all the same. Natural beauty. She doesn’t try, and that’s exactly why it stays with me.
My thoughts linger on details I shouldn’t be thinking about. The pale green of her eyes, expressive without trying, and the shape of her lips, full and unguarded in a way that’s hard not to notice.
My jaw clenches as I close the file. A second later, I reach for my phone, the smooth surface cold in my hand as I type a message to my assistant.
Find out everything about Magnolia Hayes. Second Chance Savannah. Background, financials, known associations. Be discreet.
I send it, set the phone aside, and lean back, my eyes lifting toward the darkening view beyond the glass. The last of the sunlight dances across the water in muted gold, fading by the second.
It should end there, with a name checked and an answer in hand, because this should be about risk. She’s around Ivy, which means I vet, I confirm, and I move on. If it were only that, though, I wouldn’t still be thinking about her.
I push away from the desk and stand, smoothing a hand over the front of my shirt out of habit before stepping into the hallway. I take the stairs in one smooth stride. Ivy’s door is half open, a line of warm light spilling into the hall. I step inside quietly.
She’s already in bed, tucked beneath the covers, her light brown curls spread loosely over the pillow, and a book resting against her chest. She looks smaller like this. The energy from earlier gave way to something more fragile. Her eyes lift the moment she sees me.
“You’re late,” she says quietly, more observation than complaint.
“I’m on time,” I answer, crossing the room.
She lifts the book, her fingers curled around the edges. “I picked this one.”
I take it from her as I glance at the cover. There’s a puppy illustrated in bright colors, and the corners are worn from being read more than once.
“You’ve read it before,” I say, easing onto the edge of the bed.
“I like it,” she says, settling beneath the blanket, her shoulders sinking deeper into the pillows as she watches me.
I open the book, the faint scent of paper and ink rising as the pages separate and begin to read. My voice stays low, filling the room in a way that doesn’t disturb the quiet but becomes part of it.
She listens the way she always does, her attention fixed, her breathing already beginning to slow, and her fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket. Halfway through, she props herself up a bit, her voice quiet now with the heaviness of sleep. “I can’t wait to go back.”
I glance down at her before returning my attention to the page. “I know.”
“I want to see Maggie again,” she continues, her eyes lifting toward the ceiling as if she’s replaying it. “And Jules. And Daisy.”
There’s a small pause as her brows draw together in thought. “Do you think Daisy gets sad at night?”
I stop reading, my thumb holding the page as I close the book just enough to keep our place. I take in the way her expression has changed, the concern sitting there.
“She’s in a place where she’s taken care of,” I tell her.
“That’s not the same,” Ivy whispers, her eyes dropping to the blanket, and her fingers tightening in the fabric. “She doesn’t have her person yet.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms against my thighs, bringing myself closer to her level. “Not yet.”
She looks up at me, searching my face as if she can find more in it than the words I give her. Then she nods, slow and thoughtful.
“She will,” she murmurs.
“She will,” I confirm.
That’s enough for now.
I open the book again and finish the story, my voice quieter as the last few pages pass. By the end, her eyes are heavy, blinking slower, her focus slipping between the words and the pull of sleep.
I close the book and set it on the nightstand beside her, the lamp giving off a warm glow across her face. She turns onto her side, her cheek nestling into the pillow as I pull the blanket up, smoothing it along her shoulder and down her arm.
“Goodnight, solnyshko,” I whisper, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.
“Goodnight, Papa,” she murmurs.
I linger for a second, watching her, listening as her breathing slows and deepens, the tension leaving her completely as sleep takes over.
Then I step back, reaching to turn off the lamp.
The room falls into dim shadow, the faint glow from the hallway spilling in just enough to keep the edges visible.
I move to the door, pausing momentarily before I pull it closed behind me, leaving her in the quiet.