Page 134 of Toxic Temptation
VESPER
“… and did you know my stomach acid can melt metal?!” Luka practically shouts with glee, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
Kovan sits at the head of the table with Luka and me flanking him on either side. To anyone peering through the window, we’d look like the perfect family having dinner together.
And it almost looks that way to me, too.
There are moments—brief, breathtaking moments—when I find myself thinking that. I forget we’re not a real family, much less a perfect one, not even close. Moments when I let myself get caught up in the whole beautiful sweep of it all. The glittering, crystalline fantasy of pretending we can have this, justthis, forever.
Nothing hurts more than when those moments end.
But while they’re happening? While that happy bubble still floats?
God, there’s nothing better.
“That’s incredible,” Kovan replies to his nephew with a wry smile.
“I know!” Luka abandons his pasta entirely so he can gesture with both hands. “Oh, and most people fart enough in one day to fill a party balloon.”
Kovan snorts with laughter. “Good to know. Next time we throw you a birthday party, I’ll put Osip in charge of balloons. Pretty sure he could fill a dozen in an hour.”
They both dissolve into teary giggles. I’m laughing, too, but even more than that, I’m watching their easy back-and-forth and trying not to let the bad voices make the happy bubble gopop.
They do, though. They always do. There’s an evil witch’s voice in my head, cold and insistent, that won’t let me enjoy it completely.
This isn’t your family.
Luka isn’t your son. Kovan isn’t your husband.
This was never meant for you.
“Vesper, can you put me to bed tonight?” Luka asks, pulling me back to the present.
“Me?” My eyes go to Kovan automatically. “Well, I?—”
“I’ll put you to bed, Luka,” Kovan cuts in. “Vesper’s probably exhausted after your museum adventure.”
Luka’s face crumples. “But I want Vesper!”
Kovan’s jaw tightens. “Finish your dinner.”
The dismissal is final, absolute. I sit there chewing pork that suddenly tastes like wet, mushy cardboard, my stomach knotting with something that feels suspiciously close to hurt.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Kovan has made it crystal clear where I stand—fake girlfriend, not fake mother. The witchy voice in my head was right to warn me.
I focus on my plate, forcing down the last few bites while Luka glares at his uncle with all the righteous indignation an eight-year-old can muster.
The moment we’re finished, I collect the dishes and escape to the kitchen. I need distance from the tension I accidentally created. I should have invited Waylen to stay for dinner. Being alone with them feels increasingly dangerous.
I’m elbow-deep in soapy water when they appear in the doorway, already deep in their nightly negotiations.
“Fifteen minutes of Mario Kart before bed?” Luka tries.
“Absolutely not. You had thirty minutes yesterday.”
“That was yesterday!”
“You can survive one night without video games,” Kovan says firmly. “Especially if you want to play this weekend.”
