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But the fact that he didn’t know he was their father hurt me. He deserved to know. I tried to tell myself that I was just waiting for the right moment to tell him, but I was really just scared.
“Is there room on this couch for your mommy?” Mikhail asked the room at large once the song was complete. The kids didn’t budge — they were too interested in the movie, especially as the tornado started to pick up. Mikhail rearranged some tiny limbs so I could squeeze onto the cushion next to him. By the time Dorothy opened the door to reveal the colorful world of Munchkin Land, everyone was comfortable again.
This was us being a family together. I could see it — and feel it — and I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my entire life. Something as simple as watching a movie together was powerful. Mikhail radiated heat and comfort, and it was as if the kids sensed it too. I never brought people home — and certainly never had guests like him.
As enchanted as they were by the Land of Oz, however, my three munchkins began dropping off to sleep. We lost Tristan before the Tin Man got moving again. Fern fell asleep just after the sight of the Emerald City. Cooper tried his hardest, but his eyes drooped lower and lower until he joined his siblings in slumber. I hadn’t even had to worry about the flying monkeys.
One by one, I transported the kids to their room, tucking them in without bothering to change them into their pajamas. They’d be fine.
I rejoined Mikhail in the living room, flopping down on the sofa with a sigh.
“That’s that,” I said. “Never had less of a fight for bed in three-and-a-half years. We’re going to be watching this movie every night from now on.”
He paused the movie and looped his arm around my shoulders. “We should do The Dark Side of the Moon at the next viewing. Sync the start of the movie with Pink Floyd and see what the kids think.”
“Maybe when they’re eighteen,” I said, snorting at the idea. “Let them get through a single viewing first.”
“They’re going to love it. They already do.”
I took a deep breath. “So, what do you think?” I asked, half-dreading the answer. “You’ve met my kids for real this time. What’s the verdict?”
“What do you mean?” Mikhail asked, refilling my glass of wine. “They’re great. Sweet kids.”
“You mean overpowering, overbearing, bossy, and weird,” I said, laughing nervously. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“A daycare we were looking into a while back,” I said. “We ended up not having the money to send them, but that was the official opinion of one of the instructors there.”
“Then it’s good you didn’t send them there,” Mikhail said. “That place is obviously run by incompetent fools if they think your children are like that. Because they aren’t.”
“They can be a lot.”
“They’re kids. We were ‘a lot’ when we were young.”
“I worry sometimes,” I said. “Tristan’s the leader of the pack, and Fern’s kind of the know-it-all. Cooper gets lost between those two strong personalities.”
“He just needs someone to listen to him,” Mikhail reasoned. “I was with a nanny at that age — my parents were too busy to stick around and raise me. Everyone was so afraid that I had some kind of developmental delay because I was quiet like that. The speech therapist told them that I just liked to take my time with my words, and that it was fine I wasn’t a chatterbox. Just give Coop a chance. He’s my little buddy.”
I couldn’t hide my smile at that even as guilt flooded me again. It was surreal to be reassured by the fact that Cooper’s father had been like him as a child when Mikhail didn’t even know he had children. I had to tell him. He needed to know.
“This was a really nice night,” I said. “Thank you, Misha. Seriously.”
“You deserve this and more,” he said. “And the night’s not over. We’ve reached the adult part of it, after all.”
I laughed. “If you stick around long enough, you’re going to discover that the ‘adult’ portion of the evening is just me passing out cold as soon as the kids are asleep because I’m exhausted too.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for you to sleep,” he assured me, taking our wine glasses and setting them on the table. “Now it’s time for you to relax.” Mikhail moved his big hands to my shoulders and squeezed lightly. I melted instantly and unexpectedly, drooping against him.
“Yes, please,” I begged without even realizing what I was doing or how wanton I sounded. Those muscles worked all day, cutting and chopping and stirring. They were always in need of a little extra tender loving care.
“You work too hard,” Mikhail said, his voice little more than a rumble. “And you’re always taking care of everyone and everything. When are you going to let someone take care of you?”
I felt like a puddle of warm liquid. I didn’t bother answering his question — I was sure it was rhetorical. Right now, my entire focus was on those hands and what they were doing to me.
I gradually melted against him, not caring about the little sounds I was making as his thumbs pinpointed the knots in my shoulders and neck and smoothed them out. He kissed the crook of my shoulder on either side, then started brushing light kisses into the nape of my neck, tickling the baby hairs that were escaping. He gently tugged my hair out of its bun and worked his fingers along my scalp. The only way I could’ve been even more relaxed was if I were asleep.
Mikhail was so gentle, so attentive, so comforting, that it was almost with regret that I slipped from relaxation to desire. Anticipation curled warm and low in my belly, and I tipped up my chin for more kisses and attention.
