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“Pretty!” Clara exclaims, tracing one of the swirling purple designs with her finger.
“Thank you.” Anya ruffles her daughter’s hair affectionately.
“What are you drawing, Auntie Silvi?” Clara asks.
“You,” I say simply.
Clara’s eyes grow wide as she leans toward me to look at my portrait of her face. “Wow,” she breathes.
“That’s incredible,” Anya says sincerely, taking in my sketch with appreciation. “You’re really getting good.”
“Thanks.” I grin warmly.
Rosehill has definitely improved my technique over the past year, and I love putting what I’ve learned to good use, capturing my subject. Faces are my go-to. They fascinate me–the amount of emotion and communication that can go into a single look or expression. And drawing the people I love always gives me a sense of peace and happiness.
“Where’s the color?” Clara asks, her eyebrows pressing together in confusion.
“You think it needs some?” I study the drawing with Clara’s suggestion in mind.
“Definitely.” She gives a solemn nod.
“Well then, I’ll get right on it.” Usually, I lean toward black-and-white graphite drawings, but for Clara, I’m always willing to stretch my creative thought. “You pick which colors you want me to use,” I suggest.
“Okay!” Clara jumps excitedly to the task, sorting through the colors in the pencil holder.
Anya and I share a silent smile. I love being Clara’s auntie. I know she’s quite exceptional; her intelligence and kindness are a beautiful combination that makes her positively irresistible. But I have to say, spending time with her makes me confident I want to have a family of my own someday.
Or at least, I was confident.
It dawns on me now that any children I might have would also be Pyotr’s–unless my brothers can somehow find a way to get me out of my contract. And that worries me. I don’t like how cruel my betrothed has proven to be since he showed up at Rosehill, and suddenly, I have doubts about raising a child around him.
Would he be a kinder father than he is a fiancé? Or would he be as cruel and unforgiving? As violently possessive?I would never want my child to witness that kind of aggression or feel the kind of isolation I did today.
Or worse, what if he chose to separate my child from me?He might be a decent father but hate me and want to keep me away from any children we might have. That thought sends ice coursing through my veins.
I need to stop thinking about it. If I don’t, I just might cry, and I don’t want to have to explain that to sweet, innocent little Clara.
“Is school going well?” Anya asks lightly.
It’s a simple question. But when I meet her eyes, I can see the deeper perception there. She’s already recognized the emotions weighing me down. She’s asking how I’m holding up. I can’t answer that.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say just as casually, my eyes flicking toward Clara.
I love Anya like a sister. We’ve grown very close in the years since she and Nico reunited, and I would trust her with anything. But I don’t want to scare Clara or upset either of them. Compassion flickers across Anya’s face as she seems to understand this without a word. She gives a sad smile, and I return it before refocusing on my drawing.
The door to the playroom flies open a moment later, startling me, and I nearly jump out of my seat.
“Daddy!” Clara calls happily. “See my picture?”
She holds it up in front of her face to display it as I turn around to look at my oldest brother. My heart skips a beat. His knuckles are bloody, his face tense with anger, and his eyes flash dangerously. I’m on my feet in an instant, as is Anya. But I’m closer, and I cross the floor to him, wanting to get him out of the room before Clara sees.
“Very nice,” Nicolo manages gently for his daughter. Then his eyes find me.
“Let’s chat in the other room,” I suggest, taking his arm and guiding him toward the door. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
I look over my shoulder at Anya, and she gives me a grateful nod. Then she settles back into her chair with Clara. Shutting the door quietly behind me, I pull Nico down the hallway to the living room of their penthouse condo.
Outside, the city lights glow against the early-evening sky. It’s a breathtaking view through floor-to-ceiling windows that wrap around two full walls of his open-concept home. But I can hardly appreciate it with my brother in such an agitated state.
