Page 135 of The Pucking Arrangement

I shake my head, still unconvinced. “You make it sound so straightforward. Yes, I’ll miss her terribly when she’s not here. But it’s not that simple.”

“It never is.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Down the hall, the music shifts into something lighter—that Brahms piece Erin’s been working on with Luka.

Galina sees it. The moment my face changes.

“You’re scowling, Dimushka” she observes.

“I don’t scowl.”

“Dmitri Alexandrovich.” She gives me the look—the one that stripped paint when I was twenty-two and dating her daughter.

“Papa gets grumpy when Erin talks about Luka!” Ris pipes up helpfully, reappearing with an entire armload of medals. “But Erin says he’s just being silly.”

I seriously consider shipping my daughter to boarding school.

“Luka Havran?” Galina’s voice drips with amusement. “The cellist from YouTube?”

“He’s taking Erin to Cro-ay-sha,” Ris continues, completely oblivious to the way each of her words is currently turning my organs inside out. “But maybe she’ll change her mind and come to Fire Island with us instead.”

“Amneris.” My voice is firm, and she looks up at me, not understanding.

But the damage is done.

Galina’s expression shifts into something terrifyingly knowing.

“Ah,” she says softly, like a detective who just cracked the case.

And just like that, I’m completely busted.

The music stops abruptly. Footsteps. Then Erin appears in the doorway, flushed from practice, a strand of copper hair escaping her messy bun. She’s wearing one of those off-the-shoulder sweaters that make my hands twitch.

Actually twitch.

Criminal, that’s what it is.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, her gaze finding mine and lingering in a way that makes my grip on self-control even more tenuous. “I wanted to see if you needed anything. I was gonna get?—”

“Perfect timing!” Galina claps her hands like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. Because she has. “Ris was just showing me her positions. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

“Oh, I don’t—” Erin starts, but she doesn’t stand a chance. Ris is already dragging her into the room with the sheer force of a six-year-old on a mission.

“Please? You can play something for us to dance to!”

“Actually,” Galina interjects smoothly, “I think your papa mentioned that new ice cream store in town?”

Ris gasps, scandalized. “Sixteen Handles? The one withallthe toppings? Before dinner?”

“Why not?” Galina shrugs, all innocence. “If your papa allows it, of course. We could have dinner a bit later today.”

I recognize the tactical retreat for what it is. Galina, bless her heart, is creating an opening. And Erin, oblivious, shifts on her feet, pulling at the hem of her sweater, making the already loose neckline slip just a fraction lower.

“Just this one time,” I say, forcing my voice to sound normal. “Get your shoes.”

Ris takes off like a shot, leaving us in charged silence.

Galina surveys the scene like a grandmaster watching pawns shuffle into place. Then, with a graceful rise, she announces, “Well. I better go and help Ris find matching socks.”

---