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Together, we enter the gardens and find the children darting between the trees while Mischa stands guard nearby. From here, his stern shouts are easily discernible.
“You have five minutes to hide. After that…I will be taking prisoners.”
My heart swells while I watch him. Even if I still have doubts about his plans for me or Eli, I know one thing more than anything else: He’ll make a good father.
If this war doesn’t consume him first.
So lost in thought, I barely hear Anna say, “It feels so strange to be out in the fresh air again.”
I turn and find the wind whipping her hair behind her as if in emphasis.
“Visiting the gardens once every few days was a rare treat,” she says.
My heart pangs. I recognize the wistful note in her voice. Once upon a time, I might have said the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “If I had known…”
I’m not sure what I could have done. Warned Mischa at least. He could have rescued her sooner.
“Don’t,” she says softly. “In a selfish way, I almost wish I had more time with…” She shakes her head and clears her throat. “Mischa told me what Robert told you. That Eli—Robert—was dead. And as horrible as it sounds, I almost wish youhadabandoned him. I would feel less guilty.”
“You shouldn’t. He’s beautiful. And Eli is a wonderful name.” Watching him, I’m struck by a sudden realization. Perhapsthisis what Mischa wanted to show me: a young boy with wild, blond hair traipsing boldly through the edge of the forest.
There is no mistaking the hints of Robert Winthorp peeking from his features. His nose. His mouth. The calculating way he eyes his target—Mouse—before pouncing on her without warning. But he’s quicker to laugh, and his impish grin reflects no ounce of malice.
Robert Winthorp may be his father, but he is his own person.
And I have hope that he will be different.
For betterorfor worse.
