Page 55 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

I rolled out of bed and wrapped myself in my robe, still smiling like a fool.For the last three weeks, Petyr and I saw each other almost every day.Mira—bright, clever, carefully constructed Mira—was our cover.To everyone else, I was the ideal son, finally courting a girl my parents approved of.Mira had taken to the role well, laughing at my jokes in public, holding my arm during concerts, and blushing on cue when someone teased us.It was an act that impressed even my mother.

But behind closed doors, it was a different story.

Whenever we were alone—whenever I dared think we might actually talk—Mira would suddenly remember an errand.Or she’d say she was tired.And nearly every time, she’d disappear with Vera.

At first, I thought she just didn’t like me.And honestly, I wasn’t sure I liked her either.Not like that.But it was still strange.After one particularly brief visit, where she’d spent most of the evening giggling with Vera in the corner and left before dessert, I asked Petyr about it.

He gave me this look, part amused, part sharp.Then he said, “Do you want to have to court her for real?”

I blinked.“No…”

“Then let her do as she pleases, as long as it keeps all eyes off of us.”

I didn’t ask again.Petyr always knew what he was doing.

Still, the situation made me uneasy.Mira was clever, and her smiles never reached her eyes when she looked at me.But as long as she kept playing the role, I’d keep playing mine.For now, it was working.

The smell of breakfast tugged me out of my thoughts.I padded down the narrow hall and into the kitchen.

Mama was already at the stove, wearing her favorite pink housecoat and humming a tune I didn’t recognize.She turned as I entered and gave me a smile that made her crow’s feet deepen.

“There’s my sleepy boy,” she said fondly, reaching for a mug.“Sit, sit.I’ll pour you some tea.”

I sat at the table.The chair creaked under me, and I watched her bustle about with unusual cheer.She set a plate of buttered kasha and eggs in front of me, then handed me the tea, her smile unwavering.

I narrowed my eyes at her.“You’re in a good mood.”

She shrugged, too innocently.“It’s spring.”

Before I could press further, Papa entered, already dressed for the day in his pressed uniform and polished boots.He didn’t even glance at the food.Just sat across from me and pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket.

He lit it, then exhaled slowly before turning his eyes on me.“Did they teach you how to drive in the army?”

I blinked, confused by the question.“Yes.Why?”

He reached into his coat pocket and tossed a set of keys onto the table.They landed with a clink..

“I’m very busy today,” he said, in that tone that always meant he was absolutely not joking, “and your mother is anxious to get to our dacha.”

I paused, mid-sip.“When did you get a dacha?”

He grunted like it was obvious.“When I was promoted.I got the car, and a postage stamp-sized plot of land with a two-room house in the Vyborg district.Near the Finnish border.It’s nothing grand, but it has a stove that works and a roof that leaks in only one place.”

I set my tea down.“And you want me to drive her there?”

“It’s Saturday.I know you’re not working.”He raised an eyebrow like he dared me to claim otherwise.“Drive her up.Stay the weekend if you want, or come back after you drop her off.She usually spends the entire season there.”

Mama beamed at him, practically glowing.I stared at them in wonder.

A dacha.

It wasn’t just a summer house—not exactly.For Soviet families, a dacha was an escape.A little wooden oasis outside the city, usually with a patch of land just big enough to grow vegetables or sunbathe without being seen by your neighbors.You couldn’t buy one unless the state gave it to you, which meant only Party members or model citizens got them.The fact that Papa had one meant he was either more trusted than I realized or better at pretending.Probably both.

And now, I was getting the car.

I picked up the keys and turned them over in my hand.“Yes, of course,” I said, nodding toward my mother.“I’d be happy to drive her.”

She smiled wider, reaching over to pat my hand.

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