“Will?” Eli’s voice draws me back, and I find him watching me with that mature curiosity again. Before he can say anything else, I step forward, my arms outstretched. He blinks, but within seconds he’s throwing his arms around me as Ellen gently moves the gown out of reach.
“The twins, reunited at last,” she says with a wistful sigh.
I smile at the moniker—our combined nickname, despite our difference in ages, setting us apart from the other faction of this growing family. The little ones.
And as if conjured by the thought alone, the oldest of said faction comes storming into my room, several inches taller than when I saw him last.
“Get ready, Mama,” he declares, placing his hands on his hips. Dark brown curls fall haphazardly into his eyes, the same piercing blue as his mother’s. His stern, serious expression is all Mischa, however. “The girls are fussing again, and—Willow!” Argument forgotten, he throws himself toward me, muscling in beside Eli. I extend my arm around him, marveling even more at his height. Not so little anymore, he comes up to Eli’s chest, who is already an inch over my modest stature.
“Careful, Ivan,” his mother warns. “You’ll knock her over. She’s only just got home… Oh, not again!”
Cocking my head, I can easily pick up on the sound that triggered her alarm—high-pitched shrieking growing louder by the second. The next figure to teeter through my doorway just so happens to be the source of the noise—a toddler with blond curls and amber eyes wearing a tiny pink dress.
Spotting her mother, she bursts into tears. “Jona kicked me!” she declares, scampering forward to bury her face in Ellen’s skirt. “She kicked me and took my doll!”
“It was Aljona’s doll,” Ivan corrects, pointing a finger at her disapprovingly. “You took it from her first. Then you broke it and gave her the pieces.”
“Marnie!” Ellen inclines her head sharply, suddenly stern. “Is that true?”
The little girl stiffens, her cheeks flushing pink with guilt. “She started it.”
“Oh, is that so? Where is Jona now?” Ellen asks, smoothing her fingers over her daughter’s curls.
Ivan rolls his eyes with an exasperation well beyond his six and a half years. “Where else?”
From behind him, Eli flashes a crooked grin, and I can sense what’s on his mind—nothing’s changed.
“Let’s find her and sort this out,” Ellen says tiredly. Looking at me, she shrugs. “Would you mind juggling one, while I juggle the other?” She coaxes Marnie toward me.
Sniffling, the girl tugs on my hand until I scoop her into my arms and then proceeds to hide her face in the crook of my shoulder. As I start after Ellen, Marnie lifts her head long enough to murmur, “I missed you, Willa.”
I tighten my arms around her, surprised by just how much I missed her too. How I missed them all. My first year away should have been a godsend. For once, I was no longer a burden, free to earn back every bit of kindness Mischa and his wife—my adopted parents—have bestowed upon me.
Now that I’m back, I can’t ignore the feeling that’s been itching at my psyche long before the resurgence of Donatello.
Doubt.
Guilt.
That unsettling, lingering pain I’ve tried to suppress for seven years. It’s foolish to dwell on anything other than gratitude—I know that. Mischa and Ellen took me in and loved me as their own, but there is no denying the truth lurking underneath. That despite their affection and generosity, I’ve never really belonged here. It’s obvious to anyone looking from the outside in. After all, my age and features set me apart from the Stepanovs in ways that nothing else could. Eli and I were “the twins” for more than just our closeness. We were both misfits in this world.
Cherished, wanted misfits, but still misfits all the same.
“Is your papa in his study, Marnie?” Ellen calls from the base of the grand staircase that serves as the heart of the manor. Lost in thought, I barely manage to catch my footing on the next step.
“I think so,” Ivan says, answering for his sister. “And Jona will be hiding behind him, of course.”
I chuckle internally, forgetting my dilemma for now. Mischa Stepanov strikes fear into the hearts of most men, and yet his daughters have the poor man wrapped around their fingers.
Sure enough, we round the corner to the mouth of his study and find him sitting at his desk in the center of the massive room, scanning a stack of documents. He’s aged slightly, the lines around his mouth growing more pronounced. But with his blond hair hanging loose around his shoulders and dark eyes narrowed in concentration, he’s no less formidable than the man I remember. Looking at him, I’d assume he’s hard at work if it weren’t for the hint of pink fabric peeking from behind his chair.
“Is Aljona with you?” Ellen asks though her raised eyebrow reveals that she’s spied the same telling clue I have.
Sighing, Mischa sets his papers aside and steeples his fingers. His brows draw together, enhancing the harsh planes of his face and the effect is admittedly intimidating. Most people only ever see this man, but as his gaze falls over the girl in my arms, his jaw twitches slightly, betraying a rare hint of softness no one could deny. As his eyes cut up to mine, he winks.
“Aljona would like to initiate a peace treaty,” he says to Marnie, his voice booming, accent heavy. “Will you hear her terms, Marnie?”
“No!” Marnie grumbles from my chest. “I don’t want stupid terms! I want my doll—”
“It was wrong of you to take her doll,” Mischa says over her, but a gentle edge lessens his otherwise stern tone. “And it was wrong of her to kick you.” He inclines his head, directing his voice to anyone who just so happens to be hiding behind him. “You both acted inappropriately. Therefore, the only way I can see to settle this matter is...” He throws his hands into the air with a sigh of defeat. “I will buy you two new dolls, and you can keep them separate—”
“Mischa!” Ellen shakes her head. From the firm set of her shoulders, I suspect this is just another battle in a longstanding war between them. “You can’t keep spoiling them. They’ll never learn.” Hands on her hips, she raises her voice, “I propose a punishment of no dessert for the both of you.”
“No!” With a cry of protest, Marnie wiggles from my arms. At the same time, another girl pokes her head from behind Mischa’s chair, scrambling to her feet. Straight brown hair and the fact that she’s nearly a foot taller sets her apart from her sister.
“But Mama!” they whine in unison.
“But Mama,” Mischa intones with a pained grimace. “Can we not have both punishment and peace?”
He reaches into his pocket and withdraws two brightly colored items that make the girls squeal and crowd him, jumping in excitement.
Ellen scoffs. “Sweets?”
Mischa doesn’t seem to catch the disapproval in her tone. “Apologize to your mother, both of you,” he demands, unnervingly stern once more.
“We’re sorry,” the girls sing in unison with twin smiles, the picture of sweetness.
Mischa can’t resist, sporting a grin to match. “Now, Mama…” He bats his eyes imploringly, drawing giggles from his cohorts. “One little treat?”