Page 37

I look down at Winston. “An amateur mistake.”

His tail beats happily against the floor, and Mrs. Bennett laughs. The sound is a welcome change from the heaviness that has hung over the house.

A few minutes later, Maggie walks into the kitchen. My eyes go straight to her the moment she enters. Her hair is still damp from a shower and falls loose around her shoulders. She's wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. There’s nothing remotely provocative about the sight of her. That doesn't stop my body from responding anyway.

“Mornin’”.

The smile she sends me reaches her eyes. I return it before realizing I've done it.

“Morning.” The single word leaves me sounding more affected than I would prefer.

Her smile grows. Apparently, she enjoys that.

Mrs. Bennett hides her amusement by returning her attention to the stove, but not before I catch the look she sends in our direction. I choose to ignore it. Experience has taught me that acknowledging Mrs. Bennett's observations only encourages them.

Maggie pours herself coffee and leans against the island as the kitchen door opens. Ivy appears carrying her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm.

“Mornin’ sugar,” Maggie says.

Ivy answers with a yawn powerful enough to qualify as a public announcement. “Good morning.”

Daisy rises immediately and follows her toward the table. Mrs. Bennett places a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of Ivy.

My daughter studies them with visible suspicion. “I don't think I'm hungry.”

“You said that yesterday,” Maggie replies.

“I wasn't,” Ivy insists.

“You ate two pancakes.”

Ivy considers that. “Maybe I was a little hungry.”

Mrs. Bennett laughs.

Across the table, Maggie reaches for a piece of toast while Winston positions himself beside Ivy's chair in anticipation of falling crumbs. I watch the interaction unfold and feel some of the pressure from last night ease for the first time since security called.

Ivy still looks tired, but she’s eating breakfast, talking, and smiling occasionally. It’s progress. Not enough, but progress.

The kitchen door opens again.

Viktor steps inside, his injured arm secured in a sling across his chest. The bandage beneath his shirt is hidden from view, though the stiffness in his movements makes it obvious the shoulder is still giving him trouble. The bullet missed anything vital, a fact I remain grateful for seeing him upright.

“Viktor!” Ivy abandons her eggs and hurries across the kitchen before wrapping both arms around his waist. The stern look he usually wears gives way as he carefully lowers his good hand to the top of her head.

“Good morning.”

“You're okay.” Relief moves across her face so openly that I understand all over again how much the shooting took from her.

“I am.” Viktor gives her a small smile.

Ivy leans back, studying the sling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I do stupid things.”

“Papa says you do a lot of stupid things.”

Viktor looks at me. “Your father once tried to remove a wasp nest with a shovel.”