“Don’t think for me.” She was perilously close to tears herself. “Don’t ever think for me again. I let you do that before, and I ruined someone’s life.”

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Margerite choked out. “It’s hateful being alone.”

“Mother.” Though she was afraid she might weaken too much, too soon, she took Margerite’s hands. “Listen to me, listen carefully. I love you, but I can’t be you. I want to know that we can have an honest, caring relationship. It’ll take time. But it can’t ever happen unless you try to understand me, unless you respect me for who I am, and not for what you want me to be. I can’t marry Channing to please you. I can’t marry anyone.”

“Oh, Sydney.”

“There are things you don’t know. Things I don’t want to talk about. Just please trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been happier in the last few weeks than I’ve ever been.”

“Stanislaski,” Margerite said on a sigh.

“Yes, Stanislaski. And Hayward,” she added. “And me. I’m doing something with my life, Mother. It’s making a difference. Now let’s go fix your makeup and start over.”

At his workbench, Mikhail polished the rosewood bust. He hadn’t meant to work so late, but Sydney had simply emerged in his hands. There was no way to explain the way it felt to have her come to life there. It wasn’t powerful. It was humbling. He’d barely had to think. Though his fingers were cramped, proving how long he had carved and sanded and polished, he could barely remember the technique he’d used.

The tools didn’t matter, only the result. Now she was there with him, beautiful, warm, alive. And he knew it was a piece he would never part with.

Sitting back, he circled his shoulders to relieve the stiffness. It had been a viciously long day, starting before dawn. He’d had to channel the edge of his rage into organizing the cleaning up and repair the worst of the damage. Now that the impetus that had driven him to complete the bust was passed, he was punchy with fatigue. But he didn’t want to go to bed. An empty bed.

How could he miss her so much after only hours? Why did it feel as though she were a world away when she was only at the other end of the city? He wasn’t going to go through another night without her, he vowed as he stood up to pace. She was going to have to understand that. He would make her understand that. A woman had no right to make herself vital to a man’s existence then leave him restless and alone at midnight.