Page 84 of Anton

It’s been two days since he gave me the basket and I woke up to him still being there like he promised. But afterward, he left with barely two words, like it was all too much for him.

The good morning text I sent earlier has been sitting on read since seven a.m., which is fine. Totally fine. He’s just being Anton, and I know better than to read into his silences by now, no matter how much it hurts.

Cider shoves her nose into my chest, knocking me back a step.

“Okay, okay.” I laugh, grabbing her face. “I’m here. You have my full attention.”

She’s doing better. I can tell by the way she moves now, and it makes my whole chest warm.

“Look at you.” I run a palm down her neck while she leans into me. “You’ve come a long way.”

She huffs against my shoulder.

“I know you hate compliments, but you’ve earned it.”

Another few weeks and she’ll be ready for light work, which she is absolutely going to hate.

Boots scuff the dirt behind me, and I glance back to find Charlie a few feet away, squinting a little against the afternoon light.

“Hey. Just wanted to see if you could use some help.”

“Yeah, sure. You can help me massage her.”

He steps into the paddock, locking the gate behind him as he approaches. “Heard you’re getting another one next week.”

I turn back to Cider, running my hand along her jaw. “Yeah. His name is Ranger. A little more banged up than Cider, I was told, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Charlie watches me. “Is everything okay?”

Well, crap. I need to get better at hiding my mood if Charlie, who barely knows me, is able to realize I’m not myself.

“Yeah. Just tired.” I force a smile.

He nods, concentrating on me for a moment. “They’re lucky to have you, you know that? Your family, the animals.”

I peer back at Cider, my fingers sliding down her back. “I’m the lucky one.”

ANTON

My phone sits faceup next to my plate while my family is gathered around me in Konstantin’s dining room, their voices drifting through random conversations I’m barely listening to. Because all I can focus on is her text.

A smarter man would turn the phone facedown and stop staring at her name, but my attention keeps returning to it, even with Konstantin watching me from the head of the table. He suspects something, but he doesn’t know shit.

I ignore him, my thumb hovering over the reply button, tempted to answer before better judgment catches up with me.

“Do you want some chicken?” Fiona asks from across the table.

I shake my head and drag my fork through the untouched mashed potatoes on my plate, which remind me of the ones Thora made me. Hers were better.

Conversation carries on around me, drifting to some trip Emilia wants to take and Konstantin promising to take her anywhere she chooses.

My fingers close harder around the fork. I just want this damn meal to end. Every time we have these family dinners, I’m a hostage, forced to endure pointless conversations and the nauseating way my brothers look at their women like the entire world begins and ends with them.

Love. Who needs it?

When Thora’s message disappears from the screen, I tap it awake again, then stab my fork through the mashed potatoes before turning toward Lev.

He’s absorbed in the paper in front of him, his colored pencils scattered around whatever he’s creating. He’s been drawing since he could hold a crayon, and somewhere along the way, he got good at it. Better than good, actually.