Today, however, is not one of your better days. You’re walking briskly along the bustling Nevsky Prospekt, the rim of your hat pulled low to shield your face. It’s cold, but the flush on your cheeks isn’t from the weather. You’re upset—Vronsky missed Ivan’s birthday yesterday, and while Ivan may have forgiven him after receiving an oversized wooden toy train, you haven’t.

“Volkov, wait!” Vronsky’s voice cuts through the clamor of carriages and chatter, and you hear the distinct sound of his boots against the cobblestones.

You don’t stop. If anything, you quicken your pace, though the weight of your formal coat and your habitually dignified demeanor prevent you from breaking into a full run. “Don’t you have a regiment to charm, Count Vronsky? Surely they’ll miss you more than I do,” you call over your shoulder, your tone laced with mockery.

He catches up to you in a few long strides, his hand brushing your arm lightly, a gesture careful enough not to attract attention but firm enough to halt your retreat. “Aleksandr,” he says, voice low, his breath visible in the chilly air. “Don’t be like this. I explained—”

“You explained,” you interrupt, finally stopping to turn and face him, your eyes narrowing. “You were at the officer’s club. Drinking. While Ivan sat there asking why you—his father, mind you—couldn’t bother to come to his birthday dinner!”

Vronsky raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriating way of his. “He’s five. He was more excited about the train than anything else.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, nearly losing your grip on your cane in the process. “Oh, marvelous. Let’s make sure the boy knows he can count on wooden toys more than his fathers!” You emphasize the last word with a sharp hiss, your cheeks growing even redder.

Vronsky leans in slightly, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. “Love, you know I love him. You know I love you. But you can’t expect me to skip a mandatory gathering and it's important as Military officer—”