“Home sweet home.” Maeve grabbed Fergus who was lying on the bed with his feet in the air.
The home was sweet but tiny, but if she was here so were we. Because she was never going to be alone again.
8
Maeve
Three days later, aphone rang.
The sound came from Artem’s suit jacket, draped over the back of my new velvet sofa. As well as the new sofa, I now had a new archway into the apartment next door, new bed, reinforced windows, extra locks, enough square footage to make staying here more luxurious.
Apparently when I said I needed time and space, Artem heard‘expand the flat like a Victorian duke solving a problem with money.’
The phone rang again.
The sound sliced straight through the room. Through the smell of plaster dust and fresh coffee and the remains of Ivan’s attempted pancakes. Through the warm haze of pack scent and domestic nonsense and my own very pregnant wish to ignore reality for another hour.
Artem was still behind me, one arm around my middle, one broad hand spread over my stomach. His thumb moved in slow circles like he was learning the shape of me by touch. He had only just kissed my temple. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that should have mattered.
It did.
The phone stopped and then rang again.
“Is anyone going to answer that?” I asked.
Ivan opened one eye from the sofa, where he was sprawled in an apron over tailored trousers because apparently cooking was exhausting. “If that’s the contractor asking whether we want Italian marble in the bathroom, tell him yes. I’ve adjusted very quickly to privilege.”
“You were born into privilege,” I said.
“Yes, but now I can confirm that living like a pauper has been character-building.”
“You redecorated my flat, knocked a hole in a wall to make it bigger and bought new furniture in one day. That is hardly enough time to build character.”
“I slept on the floor for one night.”
I nodded. “And even then Gregor protected you.”
Gregor stood by the new window, arms folded, scanning the street below like Edinburgh itself might try something. He had inspected every lock twice, every hinge once, and the dog bed with the seriousness of a man assessing military infrastructure.
“Keep me out of it,” he grumbled.
Fergus’s feet ran in the air while he slept in his new dog bed with his four paws in the air.
The phone kept ringing.
“It could be Father,” Ivan said. “Wanting to talk about the problem.”
Artem went still.
Every part of me tightened. One second he was warm against my back and the next he felt distant, like he had stepped away from me before his body actually moved.
Then he let me go. The loss of his heat left a cold shape behind.
“Fuck,” he said quietly. "Call Killian, make sure everything is okay.”
Artem crossed the room, took a black phone from his jacket pocket, and answered it with one word. “Yes.”
His chest rose and fell as he listened.
