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“She is the most important person in my life, Elara.”

“I know.”

“I need you to understand what that means.”

I wait, giving him time to find the words.

“If she needs me, I go. If something threatens her, I deal with it. There will be times when that makes me difficult to live with.”

“There already are.”

His mouth moves slightly, but I squeeze his hand before he can turn the conversation into something easier.

“I understand, Nikolai. I care about her too. You don’t have to apologize for putting your daughter first.”

For a moment, we just sit there in silence. There’s no awkwardness there, though I realize we just talked through something which is pretty heavy for both of us.

“I should probably say something wise,” I say.

“You don’t have to.”

“Good, because I have nothing.”

His thumb moves once along the side of my hand. The touch is small, but it still makes me shiver. I look at him.

He’s already looking at me.

For once, there’s no smart quip or sassy answer. I am too aware of his hand around mine, of how close he is, of the fact that the last few minutes should make distance easier but somehow do the opposite.

Maybe because grief has made him feel less untouchable.

Maybe because I am tired of pretending I have not wanted him since the moment he helped me out of that blouse and then behaved like a decent man about it.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

“Nikolai,” I say, and it comes out too soft to be a warning.

His hand tightens around mine. “You should go back to Anya,” he says.

“Yes.”

Neither of us stands.

A laugh almost escapes me, but it doesn’t quite make it out. “We’re very bad at ending conversations.”

“We have not had much practice,” I say.

I lean in before I can overthink it.

He meets me halfway, and this kiss is nothing like the last one. It doesn’t start with urgency. It starts with his mouth touching mine carefully, like he is giving me every chance to change my mind.

I slide my free hand to his chest, feeling the steady rise of his breath under my palm. His fingers slip into my hair, not pulling, just holding, and when I open my mouth under his, the sound he makes is low enough that my whole body reacts.

I look up at him, gaining an inch of distance to search his face.

His grief is still in the room. So is mine. So is the way he looked at me when I told him what Evan had done, like he wanted to destroy every hand that had ever made me afraid and was holding himself back only because I had asked him to.

He kisses me deeper then.