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“Oh, is that how that works?”
He nods, returning his attention to the book. The page is full of barnyard animals, little babies and their fathers with anthropomorphic faces. “Dada,” Mikhail tries again.
I kiss the top of my daughter’s hair. “How about it, princess? If you say it, Dada will be over the moon.”
“Ma…” Sandra coos. “Mama.”
I burst into a fit of laughter, hugging my little girl close as warmth blooms in my chest. “That’s right, baby. I’m your Mama.”
“Hold on, hold on,” he says, laughing too. “I’m one for two. Let me try again. Charlotte—Dada. Say Dada. Come on, honey. Don’t let me down.”
Charlotte peers up at her father with her big blue eyes. She opens her mouth, reaching up with her little hand to tangle her fingers in Mikhail’s beard. “Mama,” she says.
The look on Mikhail’s face makes me lose it all over again.
“I’m wounded,” he says, but the amusement is clear in his voice. “This is the ultimate betrayal. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover from this.”
Charlotte crawls over to me and joins her sister on my lap. I wrap my arms around them, delighted as can be.
“I’m sure you’ll live,” I tease him.
Mikhail shakes his head, hand over his bleeding heart. “No, it makes sense. You’re my favorite, too.”
“You’re such a sap.”
“Yoursap.”
I roll my eyes. “Help me up? It’s about time they had their afternoon snack. You know how they get when they’re even the slightest bit hungry.”
Mikhail takes Sandra while I hold onto Charlotte. He offers me his hand, helping me rise to my feet. In the kitchen, the chef is in the middle of getting dinner ready. One quick nod from Mikhail is all it takes to send him out for a little while.
We set our daughters in their highchairs at the kitchen island, working together to get their bibs on. It’s a team effort. Sandra takes it like a champ, sitting still like the little angel she is. Charlotte, on the other hand, seems to think her bib is some sort of punishment. She squirms relentlessly and cries when we get it on.
Mikhail only chuckles. “You don’t want to wear your food, princess.”
I hand him a jar of mashed plums and a plastic spoon. “Have you heard anything from your brothers lately?” I ask as I feed Sandra little amounts at a time.
My husband makes faces while he tries feeding Charlotte, his brows furrowed in pure concentration. “Dimitri sent me a text this morning. He’s still in Saint Petersburg overseeing the peace talks between the Fedorovs and the Bortniks.”
“Why did he need to go as an intermediary again?”
Mikhail manages to feed Charlotte a spoonful. She doesn’t spit any of it up. “They needed a neutral party there as a witness. And with the Antonov’s firepower and influence, they’ll be less inclined to try anything stupid. I mean, they’re welcome to try, but it won’t serve them to be at war with us.”
“I hope Dimitri will be okay.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. I know he’s a goof, but he can be serious when he has to.”
“And what about Pyotr? I read about the CyberFort-Frost Security merger online this morning. Sounds like they’re getting closer to striking a deal.”
Mikhail shrugs. “Pyotr rarely has time to message me, but I think it’s going to be alright. It’s not the first time we’ve bought out a smaller company.”
“And Luka?”
My husband smiles. “Oh, henevertalks to me anymore.”
I furrow my brow. “No?”
“You know him. Much too grumpy to send athinking of youtext.”
