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“Blue!” Isla says, her deep contemplation shifting to confidence as she uses her paint-covered fingers to push the bowl of blue paint toward Dani.
“Great idea,” Dani agrees sincerely, accepting the color and adding it to her own canvas.
The brief and adorable exchange diverts my mind only momentarily before I’m back to agonizing over the chess move taking place in the city without me. Pyotr’s decided to head the attack himself—a show of strength that will help our clan’s resolve after several devastating hits we’ve taken.
We’re in desperate need of a victory after Mikhail’s ambush killed a good number of our men. It made us look weak. And while I agree with the Matron’s resolve that we can’t take the attack lying down, I don’t like that Pyotr sent me upstate when he doesn’t even have Val to accompany him. Val hasn’t fully recovered from his gunshot to the leg.
Shifting from one foot to the other, I keep my ear on the door, though I spare a glance at the girls. Now that I’ve checked the grounds and have ensured the house is secure, I’m confident no one will get inside without me knowing. As long as I stay alert, keeping Silvia, Isla, and Dani safe is going to be a breeze. And that brings a fresh wave of guilt with it.
My first instinct is to keep Pyotr safe—something I’ve been doing, day and night, for nearly half my life. It feels very wrong to have left town when my pakhan needs me. But I couldn’t argue when Pyotr told me he was entrusting me with the people he holds most precious.
At least Dani came along. For that, I’m infinitely grateful because I find it almost unbearable to let her out of my sight after how close Mikhail came to taking her from me. I want to be near her, to protect her. And it would have been agonizing to leave her alone in the city, knowing Mikhail has a disturbing interest in her.
“Your turn, Efrem,” Dani says, turning her painting to face me.
I’m impressed by the quality of her scenic image. She’s managed to capture the feel of a wooded forest even though the thick lines of her finger painting make the picture less concrete.
“My turn for what?” I keep my hands clasped before me as my shoulders remain tense and ready for a quick reaction.
“Come paint with us!” Isla suggests, holding her colorful palms up to demonstrate what she means.
Biting back a chuckle, I smile at the little girl. “Thank you for the invitation, but my job is to stand here,” I explain. I don’t want to get into detail and worry the little girl, though.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Silvia says, her eyes brightening as she turns to meet my gaze.
Speechless, I’m not quite sure what to say. I can’t abandon my post to come play, but I can’t contradict my pakhan’s wife, either. Not if she gives me a direct order.
“I was just asking for some input, but I like this idea much better,” Dani says, her eyes twinkling.
They’re ganging up on me, and when I give a slight shake of my head, warning her not to encourage Silvia and Isla, Dani flashes me an innocent grin, allowing her dimples to come out to play.
“Join us, Efrem,” Silvia says, her tone light but commanding.
And there it is. I can’t say no.
I already overstepped my position once today, trying to convince Pyotr to send someone upstate in my place. I can’t bring myself to argue with Silvia too. Striding stiffly across the room to them, I take the back of the chair next to Dani and pull it out, debating whether I might get away with simply joining them.
Slowly, I ease into the seat.
“You can help with mine,” Isla says, picking up her canvas and walking around the table to plop it in front of me. Then she hoists herself onto my lap. I don’t even care that she leaves lavender handprints on the knee of my black pants.
My heart melts.
Grasping her gently around the waist, I help Isla situate herself in front of her painting. Silvia gives me a knowing grin, perfectly aware of how disarming her little girl is—how impossible she is to refuse.
And when I glance toward Dani, the look on her face makes my stomach somersault. A healthy flush colors her cheeks, and her eyes light with an inscrutable emotion that takes my breath away.
Clearing my throat, I turn my attention to the swirl of colors before me. “What are we painting?” I ask, pulling several colors closer so Isla can reach them.
“You make the sun,” she instructs, pointing to where I’m supposed to put it. Then she dips her hands into the green paint to get started on her handprint grass.
Keeping my ears open for any potential threats, I rest a palm on the little girl’s back to ensure she won’t topple off my knee. Then I reach to dip a finger in the yellow paint and do as Isla instructed.
In no time, the art project seems to meet Isla’s very deliberate expectations. “All done!” she declares, holding up her painting for Silvia and Dani to see.
“Very colorful, Isla!” Dani compliments, her eyes dancing.
Isla slides from my lap, and I set her down gently so she can take her painting to the drying rack.
