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“Still counts.”

The corner of his mouth lifts.

We slip into seats near the center of the auditorium while Luka positions himself near the back wall. The other two security guards spread out near opposite exits so naturally that most people probably never notice them.

I do. Mostly because I've grown accustomed to spotting Alexei's security before they spot me. Honestly, that’s a bizarre life skill to possess.

Parents continue filing into seats around us. Conversations drift through the auditorium about costumes, school schedules, summer camps, and carpool arrangements.

Normal conversations. Normal problems.

Lord, I miss normal.

The house lights dim and music fills the auditorium. Tiny dancers begin filing onto the stage.

For the next hour, my entire world consists of six-year-olds attempting choreography. It's glorious.

Several children forget entire sections of routines. One little girl sits down halfway through a dance because she decides she's tired. Another spends an entire number enthusiastically waving at her grandparents in the third row.

I love every second.

Ivy spots us and launches into an enthusiastic wave involving both arms and several excited jumps.

I laugh and wave back enthusiastically.

Beside me, Alexei remains perfectly still.

I turn toward him in disbelief. “You need to wave.”

Without taking his eyes off the stage, he replies, “I acknowledged her.”

“Alexei.”

“I made eye contact.”

I stare at him.

He finally glances at me.

“Wave at your child,” I whisper, trying not to laugh.

He exhales softly, clearly suffering greatly, and lifts one hand in a restrained wave.

Ivy lights up from the stage, earning amused laughter from several nearby parents.

“There,” Alexei says, lowering his hand. “Satisfied?”

“Very.”

“I maintain eye contact was sufficient,” he insists.

“Bless your heart.”

Several routines later, I notice Alexei checking his phone again.

My smile fades. This has to be the sixth time since we arrived.

I lean closer. “Everything okay?”