Page 19

The early sunlight filters through the tall windows as I descend the staircase, the house unusually quiet except for the faint sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. It’s a sound that doesn’t belong in my world—a soft, innocent thing that feels out of place amidst the cold marble and sharp edges of my home.

I pause for a moment, letting the sound wash over me before continuing down, the soft padding of my bare feet against the polished steps the only indication of my presence. As I approach the dining room, the scene unfolds before me.

Chiara is sitting on the floor with Alyssa and Leo, her smile wide and unguarded as she holds up a small toy horse for Alyssa to inspect. Leo clutches a stuffed bear, his laughter quiet but genuine as she tickles his side, pulling a giggle from his usually shy demeanor.

Katya sits nearby, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, her expression warm but knowing as she watches her daughter-in-law with the children. She catches my eye as I step into the room, offering a slight nod.

“They couldn’t sleep,” she says softly, her voice laced with amusement. “Your children missed their mother.”

Chiara glances up at Katya’s words, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments before flicking back to Alyssa. Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a hint of tension in the set of her shoulders, a reminder of the dynamic between us.

“Papa!” Alyssa’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as she leaps up, her small frame barreling toward me with unrestrained excitement.

I crouch slightly, catching her as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around my neck. “Good morning, Alyssa,” I say, my tone softening instinctively.

“Did you sleep good, Papa?” she asks, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

“I did,” I lie, though the restless night I spent staring at the ceiling says otherwise. “You?”

She pulls back, her face lighting up as she nods. “Grandma said we could come back early because Leo missed Mommy.”

I glance at Leo, who’s now climbing into Chiara’s lap, his small hands clutching at her shirt as she strokes his hair. His gaze meets mine briefly, and there’s a flicker of recognition there, though he quickly buries his face in her shoulder.

“He’s still warming up,” Chiara says softly, her hand moving in slow, comforting strokes over his back.

“He’ll come around,” I reply, standing with Alyssa still clinging to me.

Katya rises gracefully, placing her cup down on the table. “I’ll leave you to your family time,” she says, her tone light but pointed. She presses a kiss to Alyssa’s cheek, pats Leo’s head, and gives Chiara a look that I can’t quite decipher before she exits the room.

The air shifts as her presence fades, leaving just the four of us.

“Papa, come play!” Alyssa tugs on my hand, pulling me toward the floor where Chiara sits with Leo still in her lap.

I let her guide me, lowering myself onto the floor beside them. Alyssa grabs a toy car and places it in my hand, her bright eyes watching expectantly.

“Drive it!” she commands, giggling as she picks up a second car and mimics a race.

I indulge her, rolling the car along the floor and making a halfhearted engine noise that sends her into a fit of laughter. It’s infectious, and despite myself, I feel a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Chiara watches us, her expression softer than I’ve ever seen it. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of surprise in her gaze, as if she hadn’t expected me to be capable of this.

Leo shifts in her lap, his small hand reaching tentatively toward the car. I hold it out to him, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. He hesitates, his wide eyes darting to Chiara for reassurance before he finally takes it.

“Good boy,” I murmur, watching as he grips the car tightly, his fingers wrapping around it as if it were a precious treasure.

Chiara smiles down at him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “See? Papa’s not so scary.”

Her words are light, teasing, but there’s an edge to them that makes me glance at her. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, there’s an understanding between us, fragile but present.

Alyssa climbs into my lap without warning, her small hands reaching up to frame my face. “Papa,” she says seriously, her nose wrinkling. “Can we have pancakes?”

I chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I think we can do better than pancakes. Let’s see what the kitchen has prepared.”

Her squeal of excitement fills the room, and she scrambles off me, pulling Leo to his feet. Together, they dart toward the dining table, their laughter echoing as they climb into their chairs.

I follow, glancing back to see Chiara standing, her expression unreadable as she watches the children. She joins me at the table, taking a seat across from me as the staff begins to bring out breakfast.

The scent of something sweet wafts through the air, and when the plates are set down, my gaze locks on the dish in front of me. French toast, golden and crisp, dipped in milk and sprinkled lightly with powdered sugar.

I glance at Chiara, my brow lifting slightly. She avoids my gaze, her focus entirely on cutting a piece for Alyssa.

“French toast,” I say casually, my tone low.

Her hand stills for the briefest moment, her lips pressing into a thin line before she resumes. “It’s the children’s favorite.”

I pick up my fork, cutting a piece and lifting it to my mouth. The taste is rich, the milk softening the crisp edges. My eyes don’t leave her as I chew slowly, deliberately.

Her gaze finally flicks up to meet mine, and I see the tension there, the memory of what this dish once meant hanging between us.

“It’s good,” I say simply, offering a faint smirk.

She says nothing, turning her attention back to the children, but I catch the faintest flush of color on her cheeks.

As we eat, Alyssa chatters nonstop about her plans for the day, waving her fork animatedly. Leo is quieter, humming softly and eating steadily, his little hands clutching his utensils with determination. Chiara sits across from me, her focus shifting between the children, a small smile tugging at her lips every now and then. I lean back in my chair, my gaze lingering on Chiara. She’s a good mother. That much is undeniable.

Katya, seated at the head of the table, sips her tea gracefully, though her expression is distant. Finally, she places her cup down, the soft clink drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’ll need to leave shortly,” she says, her tone brisk but not unkind. “There’s some business I need to attend to.”

Chiara glances at her, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. “What kind of business?”

Katya smiles faintly but doesn’t elaborate. “The kind that keeps our world turning.” Her gaze shifts to the children, softening. “Be good for your mother and father today, my darlings.”

Alyssa beams. “We will, Grandma!”

Leo nods solemnly, still chewing a bite of his French toast.

Katya rises, smoothing her blouse, and presses a kiss to each child’s head. “Enjoy your day,” she says before turning to me. “Serge, I trust you’ll handle everything.”

I nod, my expression neutral. “Of course.”

With that, she leaves, her heels clicking against the marble as she exits the room.

For a moment, the table is silent except for the soft clinking of silverware. Alyssa is the first to break it, launching into another story about her favorite book, and I listen, amused, as she details every character with dramatic flair.

Chiara remains quiet, her gaze occasionally flicking to the children, her expression thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” I say, leaning back slightly and letting my eyes settle on her.

She looks up, startled, as if caught in a thought. “Just tired,” she replies quickly, her tone even. “It was a long night.”

My lips curve into a faint smirk. “I’m sure it was.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, focusing on cutting Leo’s next bite into smaller pieces.

The kids finish eating soon after, Alyssa bouncing in her seat as she finishes the last of her juice. “Mommy, can we go play now?”

Chiara smiles at her, though there’s still a hint of weariness in her eyes. “Yes, but first you need to get dressed.”

Alyssa hops down from her chair, grabbing Leo’s hand. “Come on, Leo!”

Chiara starts to rise, but I hold up a hand, stopping her. “No need,” I say. “They’ll be taken care of.”

She pauses, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve hired a nanny,” I reply, my tone calm. “She’ll handle things like this from now on.”

The frown deepens, and she crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair. “A nanny, for what? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my children.”

“Your children,” I repeat, my voice steady as I meet her gaze. “This isn’t about capability. It’s about convenience.”

“They don’t need convenience,” she snaps. “They need me.”

“They need stability,” I counter, my tone firm. “With everything else happening, you can’t do it all alone.”

Her jaw tightens, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I’ve been doing it alone for years, Serge. Don’t act like you know what they need better than I do.”

“They’re in my house now,” I reply coolly. “As long as they are, they’ll have everything they need, including help.”

Chiara glares at me, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Help, or control? Because it feels like the latter.”

I lean forward slightly, my voice dropping. “You can call it whatever you like, but the nanny stays.”

The tension between us is thick, and for a moment, I expect her to push back harder, to keep arguing. But then she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Fine,” she says, her tone clipped. “Don’t expect me to sit back and let someone else raise my children.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, my smirk returning.

She rolls her eyes and rises from the table, muttering something under her breath as she moves to check on the kids.

Alyssa and Leo, oblivious to the tension, dart toward the stairs, their laughter echoing through the hall. I watch them go, a faint pang of something unfamiliar twisting in my chest.

Alyssa is so full of life, so eager to explore and experience everything. I want to give her the world, to protect that spark of innocence for as long as I can.

And Leo… he’s quieter, more reserved, but there’s a strength in him, a determination that reminds me of myself at his age. He’ll be my pride, the one to carry on the Sharov name and legacy.

Chiara returns, her steps slower, her expression guarded as she sits back down.

“They love you, you know,” I say suddenly, surprising even myself with the admission.

She looks at me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher my intent. “They’re children,” she says softly. “They love easily.”

“No,” I reply, my voice firm. “They don’t just love. They trust. Don’t underestimate how rare that is.”

She doesn’t respond, her gaze dropping to her hands, which rest loosely in her lap.

Before the silence stretches too long, the staff begins clearing the table, bringing out fresh coffee and tea. I glance at the empty plates, the remnants of the French toast lingering in the air, and my gaze shifts back to her.

“You’re a good mother,” I say finally, my tone quieter now.

Her head lifts slightly, and for a moment, I see the faintest flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. But then she straightens, her expression hardening again.

“You’re just figuring that out?” she asks, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “No. I’ve always known.”

Her lips part, and for a fleeting moment, I think she might say something—anything—to bridge the chasm between us. Instead, she closes them again, the faint hesitation replaced by the guarded expression I’ve come to know so well. It’s her armor, the wall she puts up every time I get too close.

The silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s a truce of sorts, neither of us willing to escalate further, yet neither backing down completely. I lean back in my chair, studying her as she traces the rim of her teacup with her finger.

“You’re quiet again,” I say softly, breaking the stillness.

Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, and there’s a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “Like I said, I’m tired.”

I let the corner of my mouth lift in a faint smirk. “Tired from what, when I fucked you last night?”

Her cheeks flush, but she quickly schools her expression, straightening in her seat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Serge. The only exhausting part of last night was dealing with your nonsense.”

Her words are sharp, but there’s no real bite to them. She’s deflecting, as always, and I decide to let it go. For now.

“Well, then,” I say, my tone light.

Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but she catches herself, turning her attention back to the tea. She’s avoiding me again, retreating into her thoughts.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, and let my voice drop slightly. “You’re a terrible liar, Chiara.”

That gets her attention. Her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can pretend all you want,” I say, meeting her gaze steadily. “I know you’re thinking about last night just as much as I am.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see her fingers grip the edge of the table. “Don’t push me, Serge,” she warns, her voice low.

“I’m not pushing,” I reply smoothly, leaning back again. “Just stating the obvious.”

Her glare sharpens, but before she can retort, the sound of the children’s laughter drifts down from upstairs. It breaks the tension like a knife cutting through rope, and she exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“They’re happy here,” I say, my tone quieter now.

Her gaze softens as she glances toward the staircase. “For now,” she murmurs.

“They’ll always be happy,” I counter firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She turns back to me, her expression unreadable. “Happiness isn’t something you can buy or control, Serge. It’s earned.”