Stolen Heir - Sophie Lark Page 0,93

love her more than I love my own soul. I would never hurt her. And that includes tearing her away from her family again.”

“Miko—”

He squeezes my hand, silently asking me to be patient.

“I brought Nessa back to your house. All I’m asking is for your permission to continue seeing her. I want to marry her. But you’re right, she is young. I can wait. There’s plenty of time for you to know me. For you to see that I will cherish and protect your daughter forever.”

He’s so exhausted that his voice comes out in a rasp. Still, his sincerity is undeniable. Even my parents can hear it. Without wanting it, their anger fades. They exchange anxious glances.

“She stays here,” my mother says.

“You visit her here,” my father says.

“Agreed,” Mikolaj nods.

It’s not what I want, not really. I understand that he’s trying to do this for me, to preserve my relationship with my family. And also to give me time to grow up a little more. To be certain of what I want in the long term.

But I already know what I want.

I want Mikolaj. I want to go back to the house where every day with him is like a dream more vivid than reality. I want to go home.

In the weeks that follow, I sink into a new routine. I’m sleeping in my old bedroom. It doesn’t look the same as it did before. I got rid of the stuffed animals and the frilled pillows and the pink curtains. It’s a much plainer space now.

I haven’t gone back to Loyola. I missed too many classes this semester, and I realized that I don’t care. I was only getting that degree to make my parents happy. My real interests lie somewhere else.

Instead, every day, I go to Lake City Ballet. I’ve almost finished my magnum opus. I work for hours and hours in the open studios, sometimes alone and sometimes with the other dancers. Marnie is designing my sets, and Serena will be dancing one of the secondary roles. I’ll be the lead. Not because I’m technically the best dancer, but because this ballet is so personal to me that I couldn’t bear to have anyone else perform it.

Jackson Wright has been so extraordinarily supportive that I’m almost afraid that he’s been kidnapped by aliens and a clone put in his place. The first time I saw him, he had a cast and sling on his arm, and he was so eager to welcome me back that he almost tripped over his own feet. He didn’t look at all his usual dapper self—hair a mess, and jumpy as hell, startling every time someone tapped him on the shoulder or slammed a door.

Obviously, he was sponsoring my ballet out of coercion. But as we continued working on it together, I think he actually got excited. He offered to direct it, unprompted, and he’s given me genuinely helpful advice. After rehearsal he pulls me aside and says, “I can’t believe this came out of you, Nessa. I always thought you were one-note. A pretty note, but not enough to make a whole song.”

I snort. Trust Jackson to temper a compliment with an insult.

“Thanks, Jackson,” I say. “You’ve been surprisingly helpful. Guess you’re not completely an asshole after all.”

He scowls, swallowing back the retort he so clearly wants to give me.

Mikolaj comes to see me almost every night. We take walks along the lakeshore. He tells me about growing up in Warsaw, about his biological parents, and about Anna. He tells me all the places she wanted to visit. He asks me where I’d like to go, of all the places in the world.

“Well . . .” I think about it. “I always wanted to see the Taj Mahal.”

He smiles. “So did Anna. I was going to take her, once we had money.”

“My parents never wanted to go because it’s too hot.”

“I like heat,” Mikolaj smiles. “Much better than snow.”

It’s snowing right now. Big, heavy flakes that drift down in slow motion. They’re catching in Mikolaj’s hair, and blanketing his shoulders. We had to bundle up for our walk. He’s wearing a navy peacoat with the collar turned up. I’ve got on a white parka with a fringe of fur all around my face.

“What about this?” I ask him. “Isn’t this pretty?”

“This is the first winter I haven’t hated,” he says.

He kisses me. His lips feel burning hot on my frozen face. The snow is so thick that I can’t see the lake,