Page 16
“Yes, dear.” The smile grows a little. “I've heard quite a bit about you already.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Hopefully not too much.”
Agatha glances toward Ivy and reaches for a mixing bowl. “From Miss Ivy? Quite a bit.”
Ivy gives Agatha a hug around the waist. Agatha pats her back once, then moves to the counter. She keeps her focus on Ivy, gentle but not pitying, and I’m grateful for that.
“Pancakes?”
Ivy looks at me before answering. “Can Maggie have some too?”
Agatha blinks once, and then her face warms further. “Of course she can. I made plenty.”
“Well, bless you,” I tell her, helping Ivy climb onto one of the stools at the island. “I haven’t eaten real food since yesterday, and I’m fairly sure coffee doesn’t count as a balanced meal.”
Agatha gives a quiet laugh and slides a plate in front of me. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, and a biscuit that looks so perfect it ought to have its own little spotlight. I stare at the plate for a moment before picking up my fork.
Ivy sits close enough that her knee leans against mine, and every time I move, her hand reaches for my sleeve. I let her. If holding on gets her through breakfast, then she can wrinkle every piece of clothing I own.
Alexei enters while Ivy is pushing a strawberry through syrup with the tip of her fork. He’s freshly showered, dressed in dark slacks and a charcoal gray shirt, and entirely too put together for a man who spent the night in a rocking chair. Dampness darkens his hair at the temples, and the only sign that yesterday touched him at all sits in the tired shadows beneath his eyes.
His gaze finds Ivy first. Then me. Then my plate.
“You’re eating.”
I lift a brow. “Good mornin’ to you too.”
He gives me a small smile. “Good morning, kotyónok.”
My cheeks redden before I can stop it. Agatha turns back toward the stove with suspicious timing, and I swear that woman is smiling.
Alexei takes the stool on Ivy’s other side, and she leans into him without a word. He brushes his hand over her hair. “How did you sleep?”
Ivy’s fork pauses. “Bad.”
His face changes enough for me to notice. “I know.”
The three of us sit quietly until Agatha places another pancake on Ivy’s plate as though breakfast can patch a little of what grief tore open. Maybe it can. Maybe that’s what people do when there are no right words. They make pancakes, pour coffee, and keep sitting close.
When Alexei’s phone vibrates, he glances at the screen and rises. “I’ll be just outside.”
Ivy watches him go, but she doesn’t panic this time. Her hand stays on my sleeve, and I count that as a victory.
As soon as he steps through the glass doors leading toward the terrace, I pull my phone from my pocket and call Mama like I promised. She answers so fast, I know she’s been waiting with the phone in her hand.
“Honey.”
Tears sting the back of my eyes instantly. “Hey, Mama.”
“How’s that baby?”
I look at Ivy, who is carefully cutting a pancake into tiny, uneven squares. “Holdin’ on.”
“Then you let her.”
That’s Mama. Practical as a pocketknife, and tender when it counts. She asks if I slept, and I lie badly enough that she sighs into the phone. She asks if I ate, and when I tell her I’m eating pancakes, she makes a pleased little sound that nearly makes me cry right there at a billionaire’s kitchen island. After I promise to call again later, I phone Jules.
He answers on the first ring. “Maggie.”
