Page 19

“Would that be so bad?” I ask as I climb off him and reposition myself over his chest, lying with my head over his heart and his cum sticky between us. “Was it okay?” I finally ask, not daring to look at him.

“Even better than I imagined,” he says absently into the dim glow of the room. “I want that every day for the rest of my life.”

I laugh lightly. “So do I,” I agree.

CALEB

At three in the morning, my phone buzzes on the floor beside the sofa.

I’m still lying on my back on Yaroslav Maximov’s ancient leather sofa with his daughter asleep on top of me. Her cheek is on my chest. Her hair is spread across my shoulder, and her taste is still in my mouth.

I reach down and pick up the phone.

Taking food to the gatehouse. Is Leo awake?

I look at the screen. Then I look at the top of Galana’s head. She’s got her own phone in her hand, held up behind my shoulder, and she’s watching me with one eye open.

“You’re two feet away,” I tell her.

“You said text you first. Every time.” She yawns against my chest. “I’m being cooperative.”

“You’re being sassy.”

“Those are the same thing in this house.” She sits up, and the blanket slides off her bare shoulders. She looks down at herself, goes pink from her collarbone to her hairline, and grabs for the blanket. “Don’t look.”

I grin. “Too late.”

She throws my shirt at my head.

I lie there, with the shirt over my face, and listen to her pull her nightgown back on. She hunts for her other sock. She finds her cardigan on the floor by the door. Then she bends down and kisses me through the cotton, just once, very quickly, and slips out.

I text Leo. Then I get up and stand at the screens and watch the garden camera. A small figure in a cardigan crosses the lawn in the dark, carrying a tray, with a big man in a black jacket walking two paces behind her.

She’s written their names on the sandwiches again. I’d bet my life on it.

I spend the morning at the house.

It’s research, I tell myself. I want to see how the new system handles daylight, shift changes, deliveries and people coming and going. I set the laptop up on the kitchen table, where I can see the back door and the hallway at the same time.

And I watch her.

She’s up at six, after three hours’ sleep, with a fresh pot of coffee going and something with apples and cinnamon in the oven. She’s moving around that kitchen like it’s a part of her body.

At six forty, Arina comes in through the front door, back from Garick’s, in last night’s clothes and a man’s jacket that isn’t hers. Galana hands her a travel mug of coffee before Arina opens her mouth. Arina takes it without a word, kisses the top of her head, and goes up the stairs two at a time.

At seven, Zhenya comes down rubbing her temples. Galana puts two pills and a glass of water in front of her without being asked.

“How did you know?” Zhenya mutters.

“You were on the phone with Margaret for three hours last night.”

At seven fifteen, Evaria wanders in, pale and quiet. Something happened at the Nevolins’ last night, something she isn’t talking about. Galana takes one look at her, doesn’t ask a single question, and makes her a plate of eggs. She sits down with her until Eva has eaten at least half. Then she goes to the fridge, takes out a lunchbox she must have packed before six, and tucks it into Eva’s bag.

At seven forty, Milana’s car won’t start. Galana tells her the oil light’s been on since Thursday, hands her a set of keys from the hook by the door, and says, “Take Papa’s. Don’t scratch it.” Milana stares at her and says, “You know what the oil light is?”

“You said the genie lamp was glaring at you, I deduced.”

At eight, Leo knocks on the back door. He doesn’t come in. He waits on the step, because she told me no strange men in her kitchen, and I told my men, and my men listen. Galana opens the door and hands him a paper bag.