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Izzy nodded solemnly. “That may be the most important thing we’ve learned about him so far.”
I tried to picture the man downstairs as a boy with mud on his hands and a frog hidden beneath someone’s blankets. The image refused to settle. The Demitri I knew moved with measured control. He spoke quietly. Even his anger remained contained until the moment it became violence.
“What else has Tone said about him?” I asked.
Marigold shrugged. “That he used to make her laugh.”
The simplicity of the answer hollowed something inside me. I wondered how long it had been since Tone had remembered that version of her brother without allowing anger to spoil the memory.
A knock sounded at the door. We all turned as it opened. A man stood in the doorway. I recognized him from downstairs. He was broad-shouldered and fairhaired, with the sort of stillness that suggested movement was a decision rather than a habit.
The severity of his face disappeared when he saw Marigold.
The little girl dropped her pencil and scrambled to her feet.
“Papa!”
She ran across the room and launched herself at him. He caught her without effort and lifted her high enough to make her squeal. He turned once before settling her against his chest, one arm locked securely beneath her.
The smile that crossed his face transformed him. The hard lines around his mouth eased, and the creases beside his eyes deepened as Marigold wrapped both arms around his neck. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I’ve come to steal you away.”
“Where are we going?”
“That’s classified.”
Marigold pulled back to study him.
“Are we getting cake?”
His expression remained solemn. “That’s also classified.”
“That means yes.”
“It means your mother has taught you well how to read people.”
“She says men lie when they are nervous.”
Izzy covered a laugh with her teacup.
The man glanced toward us. His gaze moved first to Samira, then Izzy, before settling on me. The warmth did not disappear from his face, but caution slipped behind it.
“I’m taking Marigold into town for an hour.” He adjusted her weight against his side. “Are you ladies comfortable in here? Do you need anything?”
“We’re fine,” Samira replied. “Thank you, Archie.”
Archie lowered Marigold to the floor.
She hurried back to the fireplace and collected her drawing, then stopped in front of each of us to deliver quick, enthusiastic hugs.
When she reached me, her small arms closed around my waist without hesitation.
I froze for half a second before resting one hand against her back.
“Bye, Adriana.”
“Goodbye.”
