Page 53 of Phantom Flower

My voice cracked on the last word.

“Rei, enough,” my mom said, standing too. “You’re being disrespectful.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I watched my father die protecting me. I moved across the world with a mother who remarried six months later like he never existed. And now I have to watch you play house while pretending he’s some kind of father figure. Forgive me if I’m not respectful.”

Mom’s eyes filled with tears. Real ones this time. “Rei… please.”

She was still pitiful, but all I could see was the woman who had packed our lives into suitcases and shipped them here like my father’s memory could be left behind in Tokyo.

“I miss him,” I said. “Every single day. And being here with the two of you just makes it worse.”

Mom wiped her eyes quickly, trying to compose herself. “We’ll talk about this when you’ve calmed down.”

I did not argue. My chest felt too tight, throat burning for reasons that had nothing to do with Dimitri anymore.

I turned and walked down the long hallway to my bedroom. I leaned back against the door and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. My hands came up to cover my face. The first sob tore out of me before I could stop it.

I missed my dad so much it physically hurt. I missed the mornings in Tokyo, the way he would ruffle my hair and call me his little samurai even when I was too old for it. I missed the smell of his cologne and the sound of his laugh. I missed feeling safe.

Here, I did not feel safe.

I hated Daniel for being here. I hated my mother for letting him be here. I hated this expensive building that would never feel like home.

And I hated how much space Dimitri Morozov was taking up in my head.

I did not want to go to school.

I showered quickly, pulled on a black hoodie and jeans, and clipped a small flower into my hair. Then I grabbed my phone, ignored the three missed calls from Marco, and slipped out of the house.

There was a small public garden a few blocks from the building. I had found it weeks ago when I needed air. No one really came here. I found a quiet corner near a patch of late roses and dark purple dahlias. I knelt down in the grass, not caring if my jeans got dirty, and started picking.

I did not have a plan. I just needed something to do with my hands. I chose the ones that looked the strongest, the ones that had not been stepped on or rained on too much. A small bouquet started forming in my lap. I was there a long time.

Then I heard footsteps on the path behind me, and I knew exactly who it was before I even turned.

Dimitri Morozov stopped a few feet away, watching me with those blue eyes. I kept picking flowers because I did not have the energy to snap at him.

“Why aren’t you at school?” he asked.

I shrugged, not looking up. My fingers brushed another stem. “Didn’t want to.”

Dimitri was quiet for a moment. I could feel him studying me. He moved closer and crouched down beside me in the grass. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I slept,” I said, still not looking at him. I picked another dahlia and added it to the bunch in my lap. “Just… not well.”

He reached out and took one of the flowers I had already picked, a dark red rose that had started to open. He twirled it between his fingers. “You come here to pick flowers when you’re having a bad day?” he asked.

I nodded once. “It’s quiet. No one bothers me here.”

“Until today,” he said.

I finally glanced at him. He was watching the rose in his hand like it was something important, not just a flower I had yanked out of the dirt. The morning light caught on his face and made his eyes look less arctic and more… human.

It was disarming.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Until today.”

Dimitri set the rose down on the grass between us instead of giving it back. Then he reached over and picked another one himself, a deep purple dahlia, and added it carefully to the small pile I was making. His movements were surprisingly careful for someone who had had me on my knees with a gun in my mouth less than a month ago.