29
Peter
“You what?” Yan stares at me like I’ve sprouted a pair of tentacles.
“I contacted Lucas Kent about arranging a meeting with Esguerra,” I repeat, stirring the pasta sauce. “Hand me that basil, will you?”
Yan doesn’t move, so Ilya silently pushes the chopped basil toward me, and I sprinkle it liberally over the sauce. I’m making Italian food tonight—a cuisine my men feel quite neutral about, but Sara loves.
For you, ptichka. So I feel like you’re here with me.
I’ve started doing that this week, talking to her in my mind. It’s probably not healthy, but it makes me feel closer to her, as though she’s here with me instead of an ocean away.
Maybe it’s because I know I might see her soon, but I’ve been missing her even more than usual. Each day without her is f*****g torture.
“I
