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Nothing with us ever is.

I pull my legs closer to myself, suddenly aware of how stupidly excited I had sounded—listing countries like we were any other couple, like booking a trip was normal and easy and not something that could expose every fragile part of what we had been trying to build.

“It was just an idea,” I say, forcing a shrug. “Forget it.”

“Maksim.”

“No, it’s fine.” I reach for the remote and turn the volume up, though neither of us looks at the screen. “You’re right. France, Italy, Greece—very casual choices for two people who can barely go to dinner without checking who’s watching.”

The silence afterward feels nothing like the comfortable one we had a few minutes ago. Tristan’s fingers tighten around mine before I can pull my hand away completely.

“The idea isn’t bad,” he says.

I keep my eyes on the television. “That sounded promising.”

“It isn’t a good one either.”

There it is.

I laugh once, quiet and humorless. “Wow. You really know how to make a person feel wanted.”

“Maksim.” His tone shifts firmer now, enough that I finally look at him. “Listen to me.”

I don’t want to.

But I do.

He’s watching me with that serious, measured expression he wears whenever he’s trying to think six moves ahead. It would be easier if he looked indifferent. Easier if he just said no and let me be angry about it.

Instead, he looks worried.

“Your father has been asking questions,” he says.

My stomach drops a little. “My father is always asking questions.”

“I know.” Tristan’s thumb moves once over the back of my hand. “But this feels different. Pavel has always been suspicious of everyone around him. That’s who he is. Lately, though, he’s been paying closer attention.”

“To what?”

“To you. To me. To us. To whether you’re where you say you are.”

The apartment feels suddenly too quiet.

I look down at our hands, at the way his fingers are folded around mine like he’s trying to keep me from slipping through them.

“My mother knows,” I say.

“I know.”

“She knows about us.” My voice comes out defensive, though I’m not sure who I’m defending. “She wouldn’t tell him.”

Tristan’s expression softens a fraction. “Do you think she has?”

“No.” The answer comes immediately. “She wouldn’t betray my trust like that.”

“I don’t think she would, either.” He pauses. “But you don’t have to tell him directly for him to notice something is different.”

I hate that he’s right.