That somehow explains absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.
“Where’s Alexei?”
“He hasn’t returned yet.”
Annoyance flares through me and judging by the change in Luka’s expression, he notices.
“He asked me to apologize for the delay.”
I nod once, but it does little to calm me because every person in this mansion looks braced for impact. Then a blur of dark curls launches directly into my legs.
“Maggie!”
Every bit of anxiety eases when Ivy hugs me hard enough to nearly knock me backward.
“Well, hey there, sugar bean.”
She beams up at me, wearing pink pajamas covered in cartoon dogs while Daisy circles excitedly around our feet. Winstoncharges into the foyer moments later, his nails skidding wildly across the marble floor.
“Sweet heaven,” I laugh while crouching down to pet both dogs at once. “Y’all are actin’ like I disappeared for six months.”
“You missed dinner,” Ivy informs me very seriously.
“That sounds tragic.”
“It was spaghetti,” she says with a solemn nod.
“Well now I’m heartbroken.” I crouch slightly so we’re eye level, and Ivy giggles when I let out an exaggerated sigh.
Irina appears in the dining room doorway, looking exhausted but warm as always. “We saved you some in the kitchen,” she says, smiling.
Ivy grabs my hand and starts tugging me toward the kitchen with enough determination for three adults.
“Come on,” she says excitedly.
“Well thank goodness,” I tell her while letting her pull me along behind her. “I was moments away from starvation.”
“You’re dramatic,” she laughs.
“That’s a horrible thing to say to a hungry woman.”
Ivy giggles loud enough that it echoes through the hallway while Daisy trots proudly beside us, carrying a stuffed monkey in her mouth. Winston barrels ahead so fast his paws slide across the floor when he turns the corner toward the kitchen.
The massive kitchen is quiet for all of two seconds before Irina walks in from the pantry carrying an armful of baking supplies balanced against her chest.
“She has been waiting all day to bake cookies,” she says.
Irina sets the bags of chocolate chips and sprinkles on the island before giving Ivy a look of tired amusement. “I believe I have heard about the cookies approximately forty-seven times.”
“Because they’re important,” Ivy explains. “They’re shaped like dogs.”
Irina pulls a plate of spaghetti from the refrigerator and slides it into the microwave before glancing toward me. “Apparently baked goods increase adoptions.”
“That’s solid marketing logic,” I say.
“She inherited her father’s business instincts,” Irina says dryly.
Ivy beams proudly at that comparison while climbing onto one of the stools near the island.
