Page 10 of One Last Shot

“Okay ...that went well.”

I press my lips together, so the frustrated growl rattles around in the back of my throat rather than escaping my mouth. His legal advice might have been the “safer” approach, but it has made this whole situation so much more difficult. I should have known better.

“I’ll take over from here,” I tell him. There’s no room for disagreement in my statement, but still Tom argues with me. I guess that’s what you get when your only friend is a lawyer.

“I think that’s a mistake.”

“Of course you do. But you have no idea who we’re dealing with here.”

“You think you’re going to change her mind?”

“I think the only way to get Petra to do anything she doesn’t want to do is by being honest. Right now, she doesn’t trust me. I have to fix that. She needs all the info.”

“You’re going to tell her about Stella?” he asks, both eyebrows shooting higher.

I lean back in my seat and cross my ankle over my knee. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”

* * *

I push myself back against the wall, wishing I could blend in a bit better among the cadre of nannies here to pick up their little ballerinas. On the other side of the glass, the dance teacher corrals the six-year-olds into a circle where they put their hands on each other’s shoulders and practice sliding one foot forward and pointing their toe. Or at least, that’s what it looks like they’re doing. I can’t claim to know the first thing about ballet. And neither did Stella until a month ago when her best friend Harper asked if they could take lessons together. Now it’s all she talks about.

“Do you think they’ll be done soon?” Harper’s mom, Sofia, asks as she slides into the space between the end of the waiting room chairs and where I’m standing against the wall. She glances at her watch. “I need to get back to Benjamin soon.”

Sofia is the only one of Stella’s friends’ parents I know. Her other friends seem to spend their every waking hour with their nannies. In my experience, that’s the norm among the Upper East Side families that have chosen The Buckingham School, where Stella is in first grade. The fact that Sofia is so involved in parenting Harper and Benjamin is half of why I trust her so much. That, and she was my sister-in-law Colette’s best friend.

“I think they’re wrapping up,” I say, glancing up from my phone. Stella loves Miss Peggy’s ballet classes, but our nanny, Natasha, has warned me that the woman is not known for her timeliness.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Sofia says. I know I stand out like a giant among the women here waiting for ballet to end. “Is Natasha already gone?”

“Yeah. She left yesterday.” We are just entering playoff season, so my nanny could not have picked a less convenient time to leave. But her one-year contract was up and she understandably wanted to get back to her fiancé in St. Petersburg.

“When’s the new one start?”

“Not soon enough.” It’s unfortunate I couldn’t get her to start this week, but she’s finishing up a contract with another family. “She’s coming over for a bit on Friday to spend some time with Stella, then she starts on Monday.”

“Well, if you need any help in the meantime, let me know. Harper always loves spending time with Stella.”

I glance at the girls in question, who are holding hands as they practice moving across the floor in what looks like skipping with straight legs, some ballet move that I’m sure has an official French name. “The feeling is mutual.”

“God, every year they are more adorable together,” Sofia says, her hand over her heart.

I’m relieved that Sofia and her family were already in Stella’s life when my brother and his wife died. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the first couple months of being Stella’s guardian without Sofia’s help. Stella’s nanny, Natasha, moved with Stella from my brother’s place into mine. And while she did most of the day-to-day childcare, it was Sofia who taught me how to be a dad—a role I was not prepared for, and at the time wasn’t sure I wanted.

On the other side of the big glass wall, Miss Peggy tells them class time is over. When Stella and Harper weave through the maze of dancers and rush up to us, I bend down to scoop Stella into my arms and hear Harper ask Sofia, “Did you ask him yet, Mommy?”

Sofia gives her daughter a soft chuckle. “Not yet. Why don’t you do the honors.”

Harper looks up at me, her head so far back I’m afraid she’ll fall over. “Mr. Ivanov, can Stella spend the night this weekend?”

“Please,Dyadya,” Stella begs. From her perch on my hip, she grabs my face with both hands, giving me an angelic pout. “Please?”

I swallow. For reasons I can’t articulate in front of her, the thought of Stella spending the night anywhere but my place makes me deeply uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t trust Harper’s family. It’s that I don’t have total control over their home and what happens there.

“I need to check on our weekend plans,” I tell Stella, then I turn to Sofia. “Okay if I get back to you about that later?”

“Sure,” she says, but by the tone of her voice she already knows that my answer is no, even if the six-year-olds haven’t figured it out yet.

* * *

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