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Now he looks at me, then at Nikolai.
“Do you need help downstairs?”
“I can walk downstairs,” I say.
Kirill raises both hands. “I was asking him.”
Nikolai stands. “We’ll manage.”
“I know,” Kirill says. “That’s why I asked.”
Anya laughs as we leave the room.
Nikolai keeps one hand at the small of my back as we make our way downstairs. He doesn’t rush me. He never does now. When I pause halfway down because the baby has decided to press directly against my ribs, he stops with me without asking what is wrong.
“You all right?” he murmurs.
“Fine. Just give me a second.”
He waits.
His thumb moves slowly against my back, once, twice. No one says anything. Anya stands two steps below us, pretending to inspect the banister while she waits.
When I start moving again, she takes my hand.
“I’ll walk on this side,” she says. “In case you need help.”
I look at her. “Thank you.”
Nikolai looks down at both of us, and his face softens in a way I still have not learned how to look at without feeling it in my chest.
The front hall is quiet when we reach it.
Sergei stands near the door, speaking into an earpiece. Irina is by the fireplace, smoothing the front of her dress with both hands. Viktor leans against the wall beside her, but he doesn’t have his usual careless expression.
The car pulls up outside.
Anya squeezes my fingers.
Nikolai lets go of my back only long enough to open the door himself.
Sofia’s parents stand on the front step.
Her mother is holding a small gift bag against her coat. Her father looks as though he has not slept. Neither of them comes inside until Nikolai steps aside.
“Come in,” he says. His voice is polite. Nothing more.
They enter slowly.
Sofia’s mother sees Anya first. Her face folds almost at once. She drops to her knees in the entrance hall, and the gift bag slips from her hand.
“Anya,” she says.
Anya looks at Nikolai.
He nods once.
She takes a few steps forward, then stops in front of the woman. For a moment she seems unsure what to do with the stranger crying in front of her.
