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I reach down and scoop her up, and whisper in her ear, “You’re my favorite in this room besides Anna.”

“Cause I’m fancy too?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, agreeing to whatever. “Fancy people protect those they love.”

Lucy beams at me, pleased with herself, and I shift her a little higher on my hip. Then I lean close enough that only she can hear me.

“Hey, little fancy girl. Can you pretend you need to show Anna a picture? Then I can get your help planning a surprise.”

Her eyes go wide. She looks at me, then at Anna, then back at me, her little face lighting up with the kind of excitement that makes me certain I have chosen the right accomplice.

She nods solemnly and whispers, “I’m good at surprises.”

“I can tell.”

I set her down, and she takes Anna’s hand.

“Aunt Anna, you have to come see something in the living room. It’s a picture. It’s really important.”

Anna looks at me, one eyebrow lifting. “A picture?”

“Very important,” Lucy confirms, sliding down and grabbing her hand.

Anna laughs. “All right, show me.”

I look at Lenzin. “I’m going to do a thing.”

“Does this thing need pictures, videos?” he asks.

“Not for me, no. But Anna, well, she may appreciate that.”

“Anna would appreciate having her hair done and clothes on instead of pajamas and a cardboard crown.” Aleks chuckles.

“I respectfully disagree,” I say, heading into the living room.

My heart is beating so hard I wonder if anyone else can hear it. The kitchen noise fades behind us, replaced by the house’s quieter sounds. Lucy has Anna looking at a family photo of them. They walk into the living room, then Lucy let’s go of her hand and turns to me with an expression of exaggerated innocence. I make a mental note to enjoy watching Lenzin lose his mind when she’s a teen.

“Here,” she says, pointing toward the middle of the room. “You have to stand there.”

Anna looks between us, laughter still in her eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing,” Lucy says far too quickly.

I reach into my pocket and Anna’s smile falters as she sees me lower myself onto one knee.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Her hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes search my face as if she’s trying to work out whether this is really happening.

“Daniil.”

I take her hand. My own are not quite steady, which is ridiculous. I’ve faced down men twice my size on the ice without blinking, but kneeling in front of Annaleise Winterfield has turned me into a man who can barely remember how to breathe.

“I had a whole plan,” I tell her. “A proper one. I was going to do this somewhere beautiful, with everything arranged just right. I had time to think about what I wanted to say.”

Her eyes are already shining.

“Then you showed up in a Brooklyn kitchen wearing a cardboard crown, and now I can’t remember a single word of it.”

She laughs, a little breathlessly, and tears gather at the corners of her eyes.